British – Page 23 – John Vincent

Three Decades

There are a couple of events that have reverberated over the last three decades.

1993 started with Bill Clinton taking his place as the 42nd President of the United States. So, you might say change was in the wind in that year.

History doesn’t repeat but there are changes that give the impression of a pattern. In 30-years, our daily lives have transformed dramatically. Technology has accelerated to a point where there isn’t much that it doesn’t touch.

Subscribing to the notion that there are cycles that rise and fall over the decades there are similarities between now and then. There are plenty of opposites too.

Early in 1993, the Bank of England lowered interest rates to 6%. This was the lowest rate available since 1978. Now, we have bank interest rates heading in the other direction and heading for 6%. The biggest political issue in that year was unemployment. Today, the situation has flipped. There are recruiters who can’t find the people the British economy needs.

What’s analogous is that the Conservative Government of the day was in deep trouble. There seemed to be a future Labour Government in the waiting room. The Conservative Prime Minister (PM) of the time, John Major was unpopular, and the polls showed the public mood was gloomy.

Strangely, there was slight indications that the economic situation was gradually improving. The end of the 1990s recession was becoming real. The conservatives must have felt heartened by the US Presidential election campaign theme declaring it’s “The economy, stupid[1].”

On the ground the daggers were out for John Major. Parliamentary byelections in Newbury and Christchurch were resoundingly won by the Liberal Democrats. The Conservative government did not benefit in popularity from the economy coming out of recession. Then inflation was coming down. It hit 1.3% in May 1993. Consider that with what is happening with the inflation rate that is hanging around now.

There are a couple of events that have reverberated over the last three decades.

One was the formation of the UK Independence Party (UKIP). Support for leaving the European Union (EU) was taking a shape and form that would lead to political change. It didn’t seem like it at the time. There was an element of the movement that was purely protest coming from cantankerous and disgruntled Conservatives.

The other was John Major’s disastrous “Back to Basics” campaign. If ever a British political campaign was misjudged that, was it. The campaign exposed an unpopular and split political party to ridicule and gave cartoonists and satirists a huge boost.

The current Conservative PM, Rishi Sunak hasn’t quite made that error – yet. However, his simple shopping list approach is creating a hostage to fortune. The direction of travel has similarities to 1993. Will Rishi Sunak survive the coming General Election?

The jury is out on that one. I’d like to say – no. The economy may soon slide into recession but it maybe underlying unpopularity that is the greater deciding factor.

[1] A phrase that was coined by James Carville in 1992.

Glasto 2

The weekend music city in the land of the summer people has had a vintage year. Normally, west country fields are covered in lush green grass. One of the most rugged plants on the planet. With the blue sky, overhead sun, and hundreds of thousands of feet, the green of Worthy Farm hides in the hedgerows. The land has browned in the heat. Music filled the air. Sound was everywhere. Now, thousands of revellers belong to a family of festival goers who want to do the whole thing over again, and again.

Yes, I know there’s a lot that’s mainstream. It’s probably an anathema to anyone under the age of 20. Looking at the audiences, a man over-60, like me, wouldn’t have felt out of place. Especially watching The Pretenders[1] Saturday night session. Which was excellent, by the way.

Watching the festival from afar, BBC Music has excelled with its coverage of this mega outdoor event. They curated material from the thousands of acts, catering for a good selection of tastes. Rick Astley and indie band Blossoms performing songs from The Smiths was a sight to see. The “Never Gonna Give You Up” 80s star crossed over to do a bang up job. Astley playing drums while thundering out the AC/DC anthem “Highway to Hell” – don’t tell me there’s nothing weird about Glastonbury.

What we got to see was a snap. New artists took to stages across the site. Some tried, some failed, some won and others are better for the exposure. Viewers of the box, like me, got only a small a window on the Glastonbury world.

On my last visit to Glastonbury, a couple of months ago, I sat in a tea shop with my mum. The town is an amalgam of the ancient and modern. The counterculture of the shops selling healing crystals mixes with the Abbey[2] and cake shops. I was remembering it as a child going to Glastonbury cattle market[3] with my granddad. It was to sell pigs, hobnob with local farmers and do a bit of shopping. He had a small box trailer which he towed up and down the Somerset hills on-behind a lovingly polished Mk III Humber Sceptre[4]. The heady blend of mystical traditions and local history makes Glastonbury a unique place. Its landmarks stand out picture postcard.

Last night, Elton John played a magical set. In perfect weather, in a perfect setting he pulled out all the stops. Had he awakened from his long slumber, King Arthur would have been dancing. Elton’s performance was legendary.

Elton gives a steping stone to new artists. Lifting up the next generation adds to his huge legacy. Songs that span the decades rang out over the hills. On my small screen, in the living room those fields looked like the best place to be for any festival goer this year. Glastonbury festival’s status as a foremost event in British culture is sealed.

[1] https://www.rollingstone.com/music/music-features/chrissie-hynde-pretenders-new-album-1029689/

[2] https://www.glastonburyabbey.com/

[3] https://www.glastonburyantiquarians.org/site/index.php?page_id=175

[4] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Humber_Sceptre

Yawn

Even seasoned presenter Fiona Bruce looked as if she was embarrassed. She certainly struggled to hold together a programme that was as dull and predicable as it was lacking in either appeal or entertainment. I persisted in watching the evening’s debate on the small screen, in the hope that some light would be shed on where we are now, and how we got here. Seven long years on from the Brexit vote, the people who wanted it to happen were ask – how’s it going?

I wondered if it was a schedulers sense of humour that one media channel was showing the classic movie: The Magnificent Seven (1960).

Question Time[1] was once a flag ship political programme for the BBC. Last night, it got to a new low. The venue for the debate was in Clacton-on-Sea[2], a small English town on the east Essex coastline.

The Question Time audience was selected from people who voted to Leave in the referendum on the UK’s membership of the European Union (EU) back in 2016. Making it usual, this parliamentary constituency voted nearly 70 per cent in favour of Brexit.

To sum up, it was the sort of conversation you might have with a disappointed grump on a scruffy park bench, on a rainy day: “The world’s going to hell in a handbasket. It’s those b***** politicians, you know.” That meaning an aggressive stance towards anyone who disagreed with their opinion.

One or two in the audience were brave enough to reflect and reconsider their past position. There’s a discomfort in publicly coming out as a doubter. Hats off to those brave few.

Amongst the panellists, one fitted the above description, one continued their religious devotion to Brexit, two sat on the fence and one attempted to look ahead at what may happen next to the UK. I can well imagine why no government spokesperson was willing to step-up and address this event.

It’s a peculiar situation for part of the country to be in. Those who desperately wanted a “Hard Brexit[3] got a Hard Brexit and are immensely dissatisfied with a Hard Brexit. They want an even harder Brexit. Chances are that would make everything worse. Chances are that they would then demand an even harder Brexit. Chances are that spiral of insanity would continue.

The stance of the Labour Party shadow cabinet minister on the panel was unfortunate. However, the tightrope they are walking, in the run-up to a General Election is a shaky one. I’ll bet that both Labour and Conservatives parties will be desperate not to talk about Brexit over the coming year.

The world of British politics and the media will likely skirt around the elephant in the room as much as they can. Nearly everyone knows Brexit has been a disaster but few wish to face it head-on.

[1] https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/m001n3px

[2] https://www.gazette-news.co.uk/news/18207250.clacton-residents-mark-brexit-day-wild-celebrations/

[3] https://ukandeu.ac.uk/the-facts/what-is-hard-brexit/

Glasto

Standing in a field in Somerset. I did a lot of that in my youth, but I’ve only been to the Glastonbury Festival[1] once. That was in the early 1980s. Elvis Costello was headlining. That much I remember. That and an image of Glastonbury Tor[2] off in the distance with a dark and stormy sky overhead. It wasn’t the greatest night of my life, but it was a fun weekend. At the time, I was living in Bristol and the trek back to the city was a real pain.

There’s a symbiosis. Some local people objected to the imposition of tens of thousands of people descending on them every year. Other local people made a healthy income from the annual pilgrimage to Glastonbury.

I wouldn’t say that a field full of cows in Pilton is particularly mystical, but Glastonbury certainly has an air of the unusual. I recently drove through part of the Somerset Levels[3], it’s an expanse of drained wetlands. It’s farming country but rich in wildlife[4]. It has an ancient past. Sheltering in the marshes had an advantage for early humans. At later times, the marshes became an impenetrable defence from raiding invaders.

Glastonbury Festival maybe a mix of social conscience and pleasure-seeking but the early history of that area was more monks, churches, peat, and escape routes for Anglo-Saxon. Places like Burrow Mump were islands. A perfect place to watch a sunset/sunrise. This calm and quiet place is a million miles from the frantic hedonism of Glastonbury Festival.

The festival’s growth was topic of conversation in my family. Two of my great uncles farmed close to the village of Pilton. They were an age that looked upon hippies dancing naked in the rain as funny, confusing and downright weird. For the most part they smiled about the whole event when they talked about it. Being business orientated they assumed that there was good money to be made entertaining all these strange folk from London.

Out for the experience of their lives there were years when all revellers were met with was a crowded and isolated muddy field. Tales of people falling into the pits dug for toilets were enough to freak even the most hardened party goer.

Today’s version of the festival is an outdoor experience, but it’s been sanitised to the Nth degree. Pilton’s lush green pastures host a small city. Partygoers would be more likely to be run over by a media camera crew than a tractor or traveller’s bus. The cows are hidden away.

The BBC are playing a selecton of past performances. There’s real gold in these clips BBC iPlayer – Glastonbury – Episode 1

Glastonbury’s annual muisc gathering is over the 50-year mark. There’s no reason why this huge festival shouldn’t go on and on. Michael Eavis has a legacy to be proud of.

POST: The size of it is not so easy to get a grip of Glastonbury Webcam – Events – BBC

[1] https://glastonburyfestivals.co.uk/

[2] https://www.nationaltrust.org.uk/visit/somerset/glastonbury-tor

[3] https://www.visitsomerset.co.uk/discover-somerset/inspiration/natural-beauty/somerset-levels-moors

[4] https://www.somersetwildlife.org/create-living-landscapes/levels-moors

Build-A-Car

How many people do you know who have taken a sharp axe to a Morris 1000[1] van? It’s a surprisingly effective tool. It was a hot day. The task took a fair degree of persistence. Nothing for an energetic 16-year-old.

What I was doing was to cut out the front sub-frame complete with the suspension complete. The van differed from the construction of the car by having a separate chassis. The Morris Minor had a straightforward torsion bar front suspension. Corrosion can be a real problem with these cars, but this old grey van was structurally sound.

The reason? For popular cars of its era, it had a ruggedness and simplicity that made it easy to work with and, I suppose, we got hold of an MOT failure with ease and probably little money. Besides a working BMC “A” series engine always had a value.

After the careful attention of my axe the remaining parts were to become the rear part of a car that we were building at school. That Morris 1000 front end would be welded to a Triumph Herald[2] front end. We didn’t do that. Our friend, mentor and teacher did the welding of the two chassis components. It was another year before I picked up that useful skill.

Why a Triumph Herald? That small car had a tight turning circle. I think it was about 28 feet. Funny, what gets remembered. That, and its availability in 1976 were the reasons it was valuable to my school friends and me. Putting all that together formed the basic frame of a car. Four wheels, brakes, steering and suspension. It was an ungainly looking crude construction, but it did the job. It was a good start.

What came next was an engine. This really was a version of that story from Johnny Cash’s[3] “One Piece At A Time.” No, the engine didn’t come from a Morris or a Triumph. It came from a Reliant[4].

That question of why comes up again? Well, the Reliant engine we had got out hands on was made of aluminium. It was considerably lighter than the engines of a Morris or a Triumph. The baby Reliant engine we had was bathed in oil. It took a good kicking to get it to spark into life. I recall trying to fix brackets for engine mountings. It was an exercise done by eye. Getting the engine to run smoothly and without too much vibration was fun.

What was entity novel for a small car was our transmission system. I don’t know how this came about but we wrote to Volvo asking for them to sponsor our school’s project. They did. They provided our school with a hydrostatic drive system. That’s the pumps/motors and the assorted hydraulic plumbing. The removal of a mechanical transmission with fixed gears was the benefit we were promoting. Hydrostatic transmissions were used in boats and construction machinery but not in a small car.

All of this was stored in a tin shed at our school. Without the stubbornness of our teacher this project may have fallen into the wilderness, but we kept the faith. As I left school the project was handed on to the next generation. It was mobile. It worked, after a fashion.

The basic car became an entry in the BP Build-a-Car competition in October 1976[5]. This was a national competition where schools around the country designed and built a “practical” 2-seater car. The prize was a new school minibus. So, the competition attracted some capable, smart, and well-resourced schools.

I’d started an apprenticeship by then so didn’t get to go on the trip to the Royal Electrical and Mechanical Engineers (REME). This was the site for the contest to show off what the cars could do.

It was reported back to me that some of my designs for an electronic dashboard using LEDs attracted the interest of the judges. At the time Lagonda were ready to take on the world with a bold new design and a car with electronic instrumentation[6].

Later in my career, aircraft cockpit instrumentation design and integration were a big feature.

NOTE: I suddenly have more respect for Rick Astley. Just watch She Makes Me (Official Music Video)

[1] https://www.mmoc.org.uk/

[2] https://www.autoexpress.co.uk/classic-cars/104977/triumph-herald-buying-guide-and-review-1959-1971

[3] https://youtu.be/Pv8yTqjYCGM

[4] https://www.reliant.website/history.shtml

[5] https://youtu.be/evDWFB58Vo0

[6] https://www.auto-data.net/en/aston-martin-lagonda-ii-5.3-310hp-3052#image3

Momentous Vote

Will a line be drawn under the shenanigans of the last few years?

Number 3 on the BBC News list? This was not a vote in the Conservative Party it was a vote in the mother of Parliaments. It was a vote that put the likelihood of Boris Johnson making a political comeback at extremely improbable. Yet, it was number 3 on BBC News. Well, I guess it was considered by the newsroom as a minority interests subject at 10 pm in the evening.

A House of Commons (HoCs) vote took place on the findings of the Committee on Privileges[1]. Not a great title but that committee thoroughly undertook the job of addressing the vexed question of a Prime Minister lying to Parliament. That means lying to us all.

19 June 2023 should go down in British history. There was no civil war. The statue of Cromwell outside parliament remained unmoved. Parliament deftly asserted its right to take a view on the behaviours of a former member. Not just any former member but a former Prime Minister (PM). A PM being held in contempt of Parliament is not an everyday event.

The current PM staying away was a show of poor pollical antenna. Images of a vacuum in leadership will haunt him here on in. While another former PM endorsed the report and thanked the committee for their work. Several cabinet members did the same. The leader of the house acted with a solemn certitude that she is becoming known for.

For Conservative Members of Parliament, it was a sad and difficult duty. Each member was given the chance to make up their own minds about the report.

Upholding the truth matters. Both the Parliament’s HoCs and the Committee on Privileges set themselves on the path to restore public confidence in democracy.

Questions as to why Boris Johnson was ever elevated to the position of PM in the first place were not answered. Some members spoke with anger in their voice. It’s the case that magnificent oratory was missing from many contributions, but the heartfelt reflection of constituents’ rage was sincere.

To succeed, in the British political system a PM must have an effective working relationship with Parliament. They don’t need to like each other but a degree of respect is essential.

Parliament may look weak in that there’s limited meaningful sanctions that it can impose on a past member. A member who jumps before they are pushed appears to get off. However, the impact of the events of 19 June 2023 means that Boris Johnson will practice only with a media bully pulpit.

What remains for us to find out over the next few years is how that will play out[2]. Will a line be drawn under the shenanigans of the last few years?

[1] https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-politics-65953605

[2] https://news.sky.com/story/boris-johnson-vote-sunak-privileges-committee-report-on-lied-to-parliament-12593360

Vinyl

Vinyl records gave us a whole langauage.

When I think about playing music a couple of sketches come to mind. One is the Not The Nine O’clock News sketch about a HiFi Shop[1]. It’s jargon loaded customer service that’s now moved on-line whereas then it was a face-to-face experience. The term Audiophile doesn’t seem to have become Digitalphile. No not Digital File. Maybe it should for those who impatiently mock anyone wrestling with a poorly designed App.

The other is Flanders and Swann and their Song of Reproduction (1957)[2]. Again, the joke is a superb mockery of the non-technically minded when faced with the modern fashion of the time. This obsession with getting better and better sound reproduction hasn’t gone away. My tinkering with amps and speakers in the 1970s may have led to my interest in electronics.

The above are comic stories of the era of Polyvinyl chloride (PVC). Better known simply as Vinyl when talking about to the way we played music for several decades. Collecting vinyl records is making a big resurgence. I’ve been hit by the bug.

Pick it up for £1 in a charity shop. Play it. It’s perfect. Well, not in every case but there are some surprises when playing 50-year-old disks. Some former owners cherished and cared for their collections. 45 RPM may not mean a lot to the streaming generation. That said, there are not so many popular objects that are a half a century old that you can simply play as if they were new.

I’m playing the 1972 hit “Stuck in the Middle with You” by Stealers Wheel.

Vinyl records gave us a whole langauage. The phonograph, disk jockey, jukebox and hit parade are becoming as unfamiliar as a conversation in a Victorian salon. The inconvenience of having to get-up and place a disk on a turntable is part of the experience. It’s a task that isn’t matched by swiping a small glass screen.

Yes, vinyl disks get scratched, warped, and cracked. That makes them ephemeral and more akin to a living artifact. A stream of digital “1” and “0” never ages. There’s something sterile about that.

Strangely the 6-inch disk shaped the way popular music was made as much as how it was played. Having to fit everything into a 2- or 3-minutes slot focused song writers, musicians, and producers to go the extra mile.

I’m now in 1967 and playing “Autumn Almanac” by The Kinks[3].

A number of these plastic artifacts may end up being one of the rare items playable in a 1000 years’ time. I wonder what those in 3023 will make of these primitive tactile objects. They may value them greatly.

[1] https://youtu.be/HoPXQ9fotZM

[2] https://youtu.be/EL5SzTSMxLU?list=RDEL5SzTSMxLU

[3] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Autumn_Almanac

Time for Change

….people have been living, loving, and telling tales for thousands of years on this great European island.

The past is another country. So, it’s said. We now hear those who claimed Boris Johnson was the only man who could unite the Conservative Party eating their words. Eating them with a shovel. It wasn’t as if their support for the former Prime Minister was measured and rational, earlier it reached blind obedience as the troubles of the last decade accumulated. Lies, monstrous errors and blatant foolishness were defended by many who claim to be – working for you.

I know loyalty is important. Any team, or institution needs a degree of unity to go forward with confidence that it can deliver. It’s the miss-appropriation of that loyalty and its twisting into unquestioning conformity that corrupts democratic processes. Politician minions will tramp along under any flag that will give them gongs.

It’s fascinating how flamboyant and raucous personalities can steamroller over convention and Pied Piper[1] like lead us into misfortunes. Hang about – we have a recuring problem here. This week, I was reminded of Itay’s challenges of a couple of decades ago. I remember Italian colleagues quietly apologising for Silvio Berlusconi[2].

A common feature of these personalities is an immense sense of self-importance. Whatever the story, it’s always about them. This is playing out with Boris Johnson’s departure from parliament. It’s playing out with Trump’s ambitions in the US. There are others but the mere act of using their names is distasteful.

Vulgar, scandal-ridden, and manipulative characters make good drama. On the pages of plays or the big or small screen we like to see rampage and for them get their just deserts. Classic stories of the rise and fall of demi-gods, showmen and tyrants are a literary staple. They are fictional warnings that can, and do, get copied into real life. We should, more often, heed those warnings.

There such a thing as a free lunch. Having your cake and eating it too, is a myth.

It’s coming up to Brexit’s 7^th birthday and the annual pagan midsummer celebrations at Stonehenge[3]. Of the two, one reminds us of how foolish we can be. The other, reminds us of the enduring nature of our beautiful landscape and heritage. It comforts me every time I go up and down the A303. The reason being that whatever folly we encounter in our era, people have been living, loving, and telling tales for thousands of years on this great European island.

The people of Stonehenge were not isolationists. Artifacts found show that they traded widely. They communicated over large distances as part of a widespread prehistoric society. Brexit will be consigned to the dustbin of history in coming years. What counts about this wonderful land will endure for generations.

[1] https://www.bbc.com/travel/article/20200902-the-grim-truth-behind-the-pied-piper

[2] https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-europe-65877241

[3] https://www.english-heritage.org.uk/visit/places/stonehenge/things-to-do/solstice/

What Town?

It’s a confusing film. I enjoyed it in a strange way. This is one of many times fiction has wrestled with the idea of parallel universes. “Everything Everywhere All at Once” gets crazy[1] and has some absurdly funny moments. Embracing all possibilities, however unlikely is a lot of fun. Childlike fun.

Life’s branches – it’s easy enough to grasp if there are a not many to think about. Lifelong “what ifs” are familiar territory. What if, I’d taken a different path? What if, I’d met this person instead of that person? What if that accident had been more, or less severe? It’s so human to play with imagination and different scenarios. What’s difficult to grasp is the notion that there might be an infinite number of different branches in and infinite numbers of universes.

When large numbers of possibilities arise, it can be the source of anxiety. Me being on the stoic side, I shrug my shoulders and carry on. Don’t get me wrong, thinking about lost opportunities or idiotic mistakes stirs-up more than a few feelings. Living in synchronisation with reality means choosing to focus on changing the things that can be changed and choosing not to bash one’s head against a wall. The key words being to choose.

This is the time of year when future students are looking at future possibilities. Walking past the gates of the local college, a group of school leavers could be seen eyeing up the building. That one first major step at 16 years. Up and down the county, universities are hosting potential students. Trying to answer all their questions. That step, at 18-years is one of the biggest those lucky enough to make, get to make. This town, or city, or that out-of-town campus.

I wonder what I’d be doing now if I’d gone to Bath university or Brunell in Uxbridge? How did I make those choices? Well, there was the factor of sponsorship so there was no way that the chance to study art, politics or philosophy would come up. My search was for a sandwich course to be able to mix study and work. My chosen trade was electrical and electronic design. That fascination with how stuff works continues to this day.

At 18 years, I had little grasp of the fact that university, or polytechnic as it was, was far more than technical study and the usual bundle of exams. The 4-years I had going backwards and forwards between the west country and Coventry was a mammoth transformation.

Although, I had no particular leaning towards aviation there was moments when aircraft and aeronautics came into the mix. On my journeys north to the midlands, I’d often stop at a lay-by at the end of the runway of RAF Kemble and watch the Red Arrow practice[2].

Coventry in the early 1980s was the home of GEC. That being the case there was a telecommunications bias in some of what we were taught. That suited me fine. Let’s face it, in that period we lived in an analogue world with a strong technological push to adopt the early generations of digital systems. Although electro-mechanical telephone exchange production had finished[3] much of the installed equipment in the country was still a mass of relays.

Coventry between 1978 and 1982 was the place to be. It was rough and ready. It was suffering the onslaught of Thatcher’s march to destroy the past and transplant the new. The pace of change left oceans of people behind. Culturally the pressure of that grim social revolution liberated a generation of music and rebellion that we look back on as magic.

As if by magic, and I didn’t plan this, BBC Radio 4 is playing “Ghost Town” by The Specials[4]. Yes, that was a defining soundtrack to influential moments in my life.

[1] https://www.imdb.com/title/tt6710474/

[2] https://the-buccaneer-aviation-group.com/history-of-cotswold-airport/

[3] http://www.telephoneworks.co.uk/history/gec_telecomms.htm

[4] https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/m001n1h5

Link Box

It’s the petite agricultural tractor commonly known as the Little Grey Fergie

The Mendip Hills in Somerset are known for quarrying. A variety of rock types end up in construction and road building. For farmers, not far under the soil that rock is both good and bad. When it comes to grazing land and the annual ritual of haymaking, hard rock is a menace to machinery.

I’m going back in time. I did this, this week. One or two memories flashed through my head as I walked around the vintage tractors at the South of England Show[1] in Ardingly, West Sussex. I’m glad I went on Friday. A large agricultural showground in the heat of this summer weekend must have been quite testing. It was dry, hot, and breezy on Friday. Every other stall was selling hats. It was a day for suncream and plenty of drinking water.

There was a good selection of livestock at the show but no poultry, for obvious reasons this year. Bird flu. The animal numbers were not large, as they might have been in former times, but the quality was clear to see. Sitting under the shade of a large oak tree watching the pigs being judged was more entertaining than it sounds. Pigs have a mind of their own, and go the way they want.

In the 1960s, farm machinery was miniature in comparison with the massive high-tech machines on display to serious buyers. It was basic. Much like the cars and vans of the time. An average village mechanic could fix just about anything. Everything was manual. Everything was raw metal. Everything wasn’t made for comfort, or safety for that matter.

Seeing the simple cast iron seat of a Fordson Major[2], the contrast with an environmentally controlled tractor cabs of today couldn’t be starker. That said, there’s something to love about these heritage farm machines. Often lovingly restored, cherished by their owners and worth more than you would imagine. It’s the petite agricultural tractor commonly known as the Little Grey Fergie that I’m remembering. My granddad had one. A Ferguson TE20 to be precise[3]. And it was grey, or was it red?

On the A371, south of Shepton Mallet, Somerset is a small hamlet called Prestleigh. It was a regular haunt of my early childhood. Yew Tree Farm consisted of an ancient farmhouse on the west side of the main road and buildings and a yard on the eastern side of the road. The farm gate was in a treacherous place. On a corner, on a steep hill. In my time, my grandparents sold the farmhouse and built a bungalow to the south of the farmyard.

As far as I recollect, it was a small business that ticked over keeping my granddad busy. He was an avid gardener too. Nothing is flat in that part of the Mendip countryside. The rolling slope of the land formed a shallow valley. You couldn’t avoid the local landmark. The Somerset & Dorset railway traversed the valley by an impressive viaduct. Granddad’s fields went up to the railway and to the other side of the viaduct.

Yes, some of my early childhood conjures up images of The Railway Children. The steam trains trundled along that line until 1965. After that it was a place for us to explore and have mini adventures. It’s more the stories of steam trains than the trains themselves. It’s difficult to believe that the trains acted as a time piece for the countryside. Daily trains signalled milking time or teatime.

Back to stones. Sharp limestones. They littered the field above the Prestleigh railway viaduct. When it came to mowing that field, the abundant stones would blunt the blades of a cutter bar mower[4]. They could do a lot of damage.

There was a job for the Little Grey Fergie, my granddad, my brother, and me. He had two energetic young boys in his service. He’d drive the tractor at a snail’s pace across the field. We’d jump in and out of the link box on the back. Strong summer sun turned the grass brown.

Arm outstretched granddad pointed out the bigger stones and, like a couple of retrievers we’d run off, pick them up and then stash them in the tractor link box. It was the task of Sisyphus[5]. There was no beginning and no end to the task. The sun backed ground brought stones to the surface every season. At the end of the day we measured our work by the weight of the link box.

That’s what the vintage tractors at the South of England show reminded me of, amongst other childhood farming memories of an era gone forever.

[1] https://www.seas.org.uk/south-of-england-show/

[2] https://heritagemachines.com/tractors/the-fordson-major-story/

[3] https://www.coventrytelegraph.net/news/coventry-news/massey-ferguson-coventry-manufacturing-giant-15739539

[4] https://www.pinterest.at/pin/121034308718777099/

[5] Sisyphus is punished in the underworld by the god Zeus, who forces him to roll a boulder up a hill for eternity.