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2012

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Remake/Remodel

October 18, 2012 in Flotsam and Jetsam | 4 comments

For English chaps of a certain age – those who were in their mid-teens at the turn of the decade from the 60s to the 70s – memories of those inevitable teenage romantic ‘crushes’ on the unobtainable will more than likely number amongst them some such pertaining to that most English of actresses – Jenny Agutter.

I was sixteen in 1970 when Lionel Jeffries’ adaption of E. Nesbit’s classic – ‘The Railway Children’ – premiered before Christmas and I and countless others fell immediately in love with this luminous young lady. The following year’s ‘Walkabout’ (actually filmed before ‘The Railway Children’) showed us Ms Agutter in an altogether different light and we were smitten afresh – though this time in an markedly more adult manner!

‘The Railway Children’ is one of those films that I am happy to watch time and time again, admiring not just the radiant Ms Agutter but also the beautiful evocation of Haworth, the Yorkshire village whose parsonage was home to the Bronte sisters. The film’s ending still packs the same emotion punch as ever and I – naturally – still dissolve in time-honoured fashion. The film was shown again last weekend on one of the myriad Freesat stations by which we are routinely teased with the illusory prospect of there being something worth watching on TV. I stopped – I sat – I watched – I blubbed!

It was not, however, my intention that this post should be merely a eulogy for the lady. As it happened I had thought that I would catch another showing of the film a couple of months before, only to find – once so engaged – that I was watching a wholly different movie. It seems that ‘The Railway Children’ was ‘remade’ in 2000. This new version also featured Ms Agutter, but this time playing the mother of the character that she played in the original.

What interested me about the remake was that though much of the script was almost exactly as before – not surprising given that a significant proportion had been extracted directly from the dialogue of the novel – this film was no-where near as good. Familiar scenes seemed to lack the sparkle – the detail – of the original, and even Ms Agutter had lost some of the quality that shone through in Jeffries’ version. I fell to wondering why they had gone to the trouble – and expense – of remaking a film for which a perfectly good rendition already existed.

This, naturally, set me thinking about remakes in general. I know why they are made, of course – for the money! – but it seems to me a great shame to produce an inferior remake of a much loved – even iconic – film rather than trying something fresh. How many remakes can you think of that could complete with – let alone better – the originals? Yes there are a few – but then again…

Please do feel free to nominate remakes of your choosing, either as complete turkeys or – perhaps rather more rare – the occasional hit. For what its worth I consider the remake of ‘The Thomas Crown Affair’ to at least be able to hold up its head in the presence of the McQueen/Dunaway version, but when it comes to ‘The Italian Job’ – I shudder! What were they thinking? The original is nothing if not a tongue in cheek examination of the death of deference in the swinging sixties. The remake is – well – nothing!

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The restless urge of autumn

October 14, 2012 in Flotsam and Jetsam, Photos | 2 comments

“…as the slow sea sucked at the shore and then withdrew, leaving the strip of seaweed bare and the shingle churned, the sea birds raced and ran upon the beaches. Then that same impulse to flight seized upon them too. Crying, whistling, calling, they skimmed the placid sea and left the shore. Make haste, make speed, hurry and begone; yet where, and to what purpose? The restless urge of autumn, unsatisfying, sad, had put a spell upon them and they must flock, and wheel, and cry; they must spill themselves of motion before winter came.”

― Daphne du Maurier, The Birds & Other Stories

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The richly woven tapestry…

October 10, 2012 in Flotsam and Jetsam | 2 comments

“The mind is like a richly woven tapestry in which the colors are distilled from the experiences of the senses, and the design drawn from the convolutions of the intellect.”

Carson McCullers

One of joys – amidst the many drawbacks – of accomplishing maturity (growing old!) is that afforded by the slow accretion of knowledge which – one must surely most devoutly wish – will lead eventually to the attainment of wisdom. Sometimes it seems to me that this process – as the years advance – consists in the main of going back over old ground, slowly joining up the dots and nurturing the seeds that were sown a long time ago. Perhaps one day the final thread in this immeasurable tapestry will be woven, all the connections will be made and learning will come to a full stop.

Somehow I doubt it!

What prompts this particular reverie, I hear you enquire – tentatively?

Growing up – as I did – in the 1960s there was a fair chance that I would be a fan of the Beatles. You will be unsurprised to hear that this is indeed the case, and that I count myself amongst the more partisan of enthusiasts. I have read exhaustively, viewed widely and – of course – listened relentlessly to each and every note.

There has been until recently, however, one glaring omission to my ardent pursuit – and that can be explained by the fact that even in late 1967 – as I was on the verge of recording my fourteenth birthday – my parents were still, and determinedly, resisting demands that we should acquire a television set. We were thus unable – that Boxing Day – to join the bemused multitudes who sat in stunned silence through the premiere of the Beatles Magical Mystery Tour.

Such was the subsequent critical storm that the one hour film has since had very few public airings and somehow – though it has been made available on VHS and DVD – I have never really felt moved to track it down. Most likely I recoiled from the notion that my idols had after all proven to be encumbered with feet of clay.

Since then, of course, much has changed. Critical opinion now recognises the film to be a valid – if somewhat naive – adjunct to the burgeoning avant-garde that emerged from the 60s counter-culture. McCartney himself has been understandably and justifiably keen to promote the significance of his role in that movement. Further – the film itself is now seen as a precursor to the entire genre that is ‘pop video’, from which the whole MTV phenomenon and generation has since sprung. In this – as in so many things – it seems that the Beatles were after all truly ahead of the curve.

Last weekend the BBC finally broadcast a restored and digitally re-mastered version of the film – along with an accompanying documentary on its genesis – to mark the 50th anniversary of the release of the first Beatles single, Love Me Do. It was good finally to catch up with that which I had missed back in the winter of 1967.

Viewing the film also resulted in another connection being made – another strand finally woven. I have over the last year or so been somewhat fascinated by an American alternative rock band called ‘Death Cab for Cutie’. Actually, it is really the name that fascinates; somewhat bizarre but quite imaginative. I had not, though, investigated further.

Lo and behold, as I watched Magical Mystery Tour at the weekend, what should I see – making a guest appearance – but that well-known 60s surrealist comedy ensemble, the Bonzo Dog Doo-Dah Band, singing a song clearly titled – wait for it – “Death Cab for Cutie”! A little further investigation shows that Neil Innes and Vivian Stanshall of the Bonzos wrote the song for the film, taking its title from an invented pulp fiction crime magazine which had been devised by British academic Richard Hoggart as part of his 1957 study of working class culture, The Uses of Literacy. Small world!

Neil Innes, of course, went on to write and record the songs for Monty Python’s Flying Circus. Vivian Stanshall – amongst many other achievements –  made an ‘appearance’ as the narrating voice on the last segment of Mike Oldfield’s Tubular Bells.

Back in the 80s I vaguely knew Vivian Stanshall’s then wife. She and a friend of mine were the main drivers behind a project to convert an old German coaster into a floating theatre/restaurant in Bristol docks. The ship – the Thekla – is still there, though it is now a nightclub/music venue. The ladies fell out with each other and moved on many years ago.

I recall attending the opening night party for the floating theatre – which was filmed by the BBC for a documentary on the project – back in 1982. Vivian Stanshall was present – though perhaps the less said about his presence that particular night the better!

Nice to finally tie up these loose ends. In the phrase that E. M. Forster adopted as the epigraph to Howard’s End – “Only connect”…

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Look about you

October 6, 2012 in Life in England, Photos | Permalink

“Reader, if you seek his monument – look about you”

Inscription on Wren’s tomb in St Paul’s Cathedral

Each year the School – along with its sister school – celebrates its foundation and its Founder, John Colet, at a service in St Paul’s Cathedral – of which he was once Dean. This impressive logistical operation involves bus-sing the entire complement of both schools across London in time for a 2:30pm start. To my knowledge no-one has ever been late for it which – as those familiar with the London traffic will attest – is little short of a miracle.

I have always loved the cathedral and I attend the service each year simply to re-visit the building. This is all the more poignant given its romantic attachment for me and this year – as ever- I took a moment to stand directly under the dome and to lose myself to my thoughts.

Here are some snapshots:

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Lies – damned lies…

October 2, 2012 in Life as we know it | Permalink

…and an interesting statistic!

In addition to any casual readers who may have stumbled upon these somewhat eclectic posts (Hello there – and thank you!) there is a ‘hard core’ (not sure how well that will go down…) of regular followers – or at least of those who have subscribed to receive email notifications of postings (on the assumption that these emails are not simply diverted directly and discretely into the spam folder!).

These hardy souls – numbering around 20 in all – represent some of our oldest friends, relatives and acquaintances both in the UK and in Canada – as well as from further afield! To them I say, simply – thank you.

I don’t know why it has taken me so long to make this particular connection, but the realisation came to me just the other day that – of this chosen few – no less than three of us are currently engaged in Long Distance Relationships – or LDRs, if you prefer the TLA! Now it seems to me that three out of twenty is statistically rather on the high side, which does make me ponder yet again the nature of co-incidence – on which subject I have mused previously. I have also posted before on the subject of LDRs – here, here, here and here – and I very much doubt that this will be my last word on the subject.

One could delve into the backgrounds of those concerned with a view to identifying some pre-disposition, or to look for some commonality of experience which might result in us arriving at the same place (as it were) at the same time, but in reality our reasons for being so – in terms of distance, duration and indeed intent – are sufficiently different as to render any such essay meaningless. When all’s said and done it is, most likely, ‘just one of those things’ – though so to say will doubtless offend both the logicians and enthusiasts for the scientific method.

It is really rather comforting to know others who are themselves in similar circumstances – to be able to swap notes and to compare experiences. Thanks again to you both – and good fortune for your particular journey. From our conversations I suspect that – if there is one thing that we have all discovered – it is that no matter how carefully we make our plans the trickster that is life will throw them into disarray. More on the trickster in future posts!

On the subject of Long Distance Relationships – today is Kickass Canada Girl’s birthday. It is the first of our birthdays together that has had to be celebrated by way of Skype, eCards, Amazon (CA) and the Brentwood Lodge Spa website. Whereas I am hugely grateful to the InterWebNet for making such things possible I have to say that it is a pretty poor substitute for being able to celebrate the occasion in person! 

I suspect I will need to make up for this ‘big-time’ – but for now…

Happy Birthday, Kickass Canada Girl!!

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Planting a tree

September 26, 2012 in Flotsam and Jetsam | Permalink

“That’s the way I do things when I want to celebrate, I always plant a tree.”

Wangari Maathai

 

This last weekend saw the final cricket match of my season. It was a very relaxed, festive affair – taken in good heart by both sides and with much jolly banter and gentle joshing. I found myself batting for a while alongside a much younger chap whom I had not met before. This is not unusual as the nature of a wandering side such as ours is that players come and go over the years, playing a few fixtures here and there as and when they can, or when the mood takes them. You might gather that – given my advancing years and general inability to keep up with the keen youngsters who turn out for more ‘serious’ sides – this suits me rather well.

As it turned out this particular batsman had well and truly got his eye in and laid waste to bowling of all complexions, only finally succumbing shortly before our allotted overs were up for a score in the mid 60s. (Note for the uninitiated: I am not even going to try to explain cricket here. Maybe in a future post… or ten!) The chap concerned was delighted. He had been playing for 9 years, and this was the first time he had scored a ‘fifty’!

Whilst congratulating him unreservedly I couldn’t help feeling a small pang of envy. I came back to cricket in my mid 40s – having played in a desultory fashion at school – and I have thus only been playing semi-seriously for about a dozen years. Scoring a ‘fifty’ has been a major ambition of mine throughout this period and – though I have flirted a number of times with the 30s and once almost made 40 – I have never been able to go on to get the ‘big one’. Maybe there is yet time – maybe not. Though I am learning to “treat these two impostors” with equanimity I have to admit that this has been the cause of some small sadness.

 

No matter – this post is intended to be purely celebratory. I may not have scored a ‘fifty’ at my favourite game – but I have scored a ‘ton’ when it comes to blogging. Yes – in a little over 38 weeks since I took up blogging as a complete novice I am now posting my 100th entry. Hooray!!

Well – I’ll drink to that – and also to the gentle reader for sticking with it…

Cheers!

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Parade’s End

September 23, 2012 in Flotsam and Jetsam | Permalink

Look – I’m sorry to bang on about this – and I really don’t want to bore the gentle reader more than is absolutely unavoidable – but I really must just put in one final word for Tom Stoppard and the BBC’s adaptation of Ford Maddox Ford’s ‘Parade’s End’, which finished on BBC2 on Friday evening.

Achingly beautifully written, acted, directed and shot this (hopefully!) award-winning drama represents all that has ever been best in what really has become a very sorry creative sphere – that of modern television production. Those who know me even marginally will be only too aware of how little I find to admire these days in the televisual and filmic arts. Kickass Canada Girl claims – with some justification – that I have spoiled the cinema going experience for her. It is no fun at all to sit through a film at my side as I sigh, grunt and squirm irritably when faced with clunky dialogue, unbelievable characters and unnecessary yardage of exposition. The trouble is that she herself has now become much more critical and less able to sit through such mediocre offerings. Sorry about that!

The greatest failure to my mind on the part of TV and film producers – and one which is almost certainly a result of there being too many ‘executives’ now involved in the process who mistakenly think they know how to make drama – is that of not trusting the intelligence of the viewing audience. Let’s put that another way – of patronising the viewing audience. There is nothing more eloquent in drama than that fragmentary understated occurrence or reaction that generates in the viewer a small shock of recognition and understanding. This – surely – is how art can have such a great and direct impact on those eager to learn from it. These days in film and on TV it seems that there is a belief that only if signposted in huge letters on enormous billboards will the viewing audience actually get the point. My worry is that this in itself is breeding a new generation who indeed will not be able to ‘read’ creative works without such assistance.

By way of illustration of what can be achieved let me give just the tiniest example from ‘Parade’s End’ – and that not from any of the main plot threads but of just a single small incidental detail – beautifully handled.

In the trenches of the first world war Ford Maddox Ford’s passe protagonist, Tietjens (played exquisitely by Benedict Cumberbatch), finds himself unexpectedly and unwantedly in charge of his battalion. One of the more unexpected duties he is called on to perform is to give permission for a private – whom we have heard unknowingly for some minutes in the background practicing his bugling – to play the following night before the top brass at an event behind the lines.

A while later – during a German artillery barrage – Tietjens is given the news that a shell has burst in the entrance to a slit trench, and that there has been a single fatality. Tietjens hurries to inspect the scene and sees – half buried in the mud thrown up by the blast – the bugle case that we have seen previously. There is no dialogue – no lingering shot – merely the briefest reaction in Cumberbatch’s eyes.

Then – after some further narrative development – both we and Tietjens hear again the distant refrain of the bugler at practice. Again – no dialogue – no labouring the point – simply the realisation as revealed on Cumberbatch’s face.

This sort of thing requires (under)writing and acting of the highest order, but stirs in the viewers breast an empathy and understanding that no amount of dialogue or elaborate visual symbolism could have effected.

Enough! You have missed ‘Parade’s End’ in its first run (congrats to those who did not!) but it will doubtless be repeated.

…and there is always the boxed set – which would doubtless make a wonderful Christmas present!

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And on the subject of retirement…

September 21, 2012 in Flotsam and Jetsam | Permalink

I carry with me at all times what might these days probably be best described as a ‘man’s clutch organiser’.

It might, of course, also be called – usually with a whiff of obtrectation – a ‘man bag’.

This pejorative – with its invidious and somewhat mysogynistic insinuation both that the female of the species is in some way inferior and that a man who carries such an item is, by implication, somehow lacking – might in no small part explain why so few men – even in these enlightened times – actually carry one.

Such opinions trouble me not, as I have carried a bag in one form or another since the early 80s. I started doing so at roughly the same time that I cut my hair! Yes, when I left school in 1972 – having been required to keep my locks “above the ears and ‘orf’ the collar” throughout the fag end of the 1960s – I determined that I would henceforth wear it as long as I wished, and thus did not subsequently get it cut again until 1981 or thereabouts. Having surviving – from the unenlightened – the torrents of ‘humorous’ obloquy on the subject of my appearance throughout that godforsaken decade I am rendered completely immune to any such jibes.

I am frequently asked what I carry in my bag. The short answer is – ‘everything’! The slightly longer answer is – ‘all the things that other chaps stuff in their jacket, shirt and trouser pockets – then have to remember to switch to other clothes when they change – and have to remember to take out before they sit down or they’ll break their mobile phone”. That sort of thing…

The other question that I am asked is – “aren’t you afraid of losing it?”. Well – I never have lost one, but I have suffered several thefts. On one occasion my wallet was stolen from the bag… whilst I was holding it front of me… in a lift… in the Hotel Cosmos in Moscow! When – subsequent to the event itself – I worked out how it had been done, I was almost in awe of the execution of the heist. The setup had featured a little old Russian lady acting as the distraction, whilst the ever-so-helpful young Russian guy ever-so-helped himself to my wallet whilst ever-so-helpfully holding the lift doors open. Sweet!

On the other occasion the bag itself was stolen – in the bar at the National Theatre in London. This was particularly embarrassing as I had gone there to meet someone that I had not met before and did not know – to discuss a creative project. The bag – containing all my worldly possessions – was lifted from the foot of my chair as I sat in the bar having a drink with her. Without keys I had to abandon my car in the service road in front of the theatre, and without money I was forced to borrow from the stranger that I had just met in order that I might catch the train home.

I have replaced the bag at intervals as each has – one by one – fallen apart. As a result I have observed that these things go in and out of fashion, and that it is sometimes virtually impossible to get a bag with a sensible configuration – one that can hold everything without being ridiculously bulky. When I found the present incumbent – five years ago in Paris (don’t we sound cosmopolitan!) – I snapped it up immediately even though it was wickedly expensive, because it was the closest I had ever found to being the perfect bag.

Recently, however, it has started to show its age. One of the main zips has failed rendering it insecure and thus considerably less attractive. I enquired of Tumi – the manufacturers – as to whether or not it could be repaired, given that the leather itself is still in pretty good condition. Tumi hinted that they would need to send the bag away to Germany and wanted to charge me so much for the pleasure that it was really not worth doing.

It crossed my mind that – like me – the bag was ready for retirement and I took the opportunity of meeting friends in London last weekend to try to locate a suitable replacement. I was in for a shock. Tumi had discontinued this, the most useful bag in their range, and had no substitute that was even close. Further investigation revealed that – as far as bag manufacturers are concerned – this sort of thing is now distinctly out of fashion again. After a frustrating afternoon’s search I had to concede that I was not going to find a bag anywhere near as perfect as the one that I was about to retire.

Perhaps I should think about this a little more…

Naturally the InterWebNet provided the solution – a firm on Eton High Street called ‘1st Class Leathergoods Repairs’. Those that know Eton will, of course, not be at all surprised that in the end the solution was more or less on my doorstep, or indeed that it should take this form. The firm’s website announces:

“We are repairers to 

  • The Bridge – Il Ponte Pelletteria
  • Jane Shilton
  • Hidesign
  • Louis Vuitton
  • Mulberry
  • Radley
  • Samsonite
  • Tula & S.American Hide leather Holdalls, Land etc
  • Texier
  • new zip from £36
  • ladies purse
  • gents wallet
  • passport holders
  • handbags
  • shoulder bags
  • luggage wheels repair
  • antique trunks, storeage trunks, steamer trunks, wicker trunks
  • vintage car trunks, door retainer straps, bonnet straps
  • masonic cases , bags for freemasons
  • straps and covers, 
  • custom – bespoke hand made leather case, hand made leather 
  • custom made bespoke gunbags, custom hand made guncases
  • leather rip repair, leather scratch repair
  • leather strap, canvas strap, webbing strap, luggage strap
  • gun cases, cartridge bags, gamebags, refurbish , reline , 
  • footwear uppers, ladies sandal straps, riding & polo boots
  • fireside bellows
  • leather Tankards
  • leather grommets & washers
  • fire safety leather straps
  • experienced pilots have old cases
  • pannier bags, picnic cases, pencases
  • musicians have instrument cases – guitar , saxophone , mandolin , violin , cello , trumpet , horn
  • laptop bags, holdalls, cases
  • leather clothing, bike jackets, bike all in ones
  • embossing leather, embossing on sewn on panels
  • leather care products
  • repair estimates for insured travel goods, luggage, suitcases

Customers over the years have been unusual and varied in their requirements, and include historically famous families, celebrities, and business and professional personalities, as well as meeting the every day needs of ladies and men and people on the go.”

I can’t argue with that – and my ‘man bag’ is now safe in their hands.

I did reflect – as I walked away from their shop clutching all my worldly possessions in a plastic carrier bag – if there wasn’t a message in this for my own retirement!

Can’t think what it might be though…


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Not shy – just retiring

September 17, 2012 in Life as we know it | Permalink

“It is time I stepped aside for a less experienced and less able man.”

Professor Scott Elledge on his retirement from Cornell

 

You may have noticed that my posts over the last couple of weeks, whilst covering a variety of topics, have steered clear of further commentary on the progress – or otherwise – of my campaign for Canadian permanent residency and of next year’s proposed move to British Columbia. Truth be told, this latest separation from the Kickass Canada Girl has been particularly tough on us both and I have, subsequently, concentrated on keeping my mind occupied elsewhere rather than brooding on the tortuously slow progress that is currently being made on that front. The start of the academic year at the School – with its concomitant frenzy of work – has in any case not left much time for reverie.

I do feel now, however, that it is time to start thinking positively again – to attempt to make manifest the progress that has been lacking hitherto. To that end I intend re-commencing investigation of a number of the topics that need to be addressed – such as how to ship all our worldly possessions over the ocean to Canada – and whether or not I should put all our belongings into storage, give up my rather splendid rented apartment and find a room somewhere… as a way of saving some monies.

I am going to start, however, with the notion of retirement. I am aware that it is a big step, and that if one fails to plan… yada, yada, yada! I intend, therefore, to do some reading and some thinking and, as ever when I do such, I will then inflict the results thereof on the gentle reader in my usual series of whimsical musings.

Though by no means limited to circumstances such as those in which I find myself, the last year at work before retirement does take on a particular poignancy if one works in education. Because the school year is, in the main, a repeated cycle of events – not just terms (semesters!) and holidays (vacations!), but also plays, concerts, sporting events, founder’s days, benefactors’ lunches, prizegiving and so forth – the final year manifests as a series of mileposts that flash past, counting down to a rapidly approaching destination. As each event passes I am made acutely aware that this was indeed the last time that I shall experience it, and that the next such occasion will take place in my absence. This – naturally – makes one only too aware of one’s insignificance in the great scheme of things. These great schools have survived half a millenium and more. They will certainly survive my departure.

The question is – of course – will I?

…and the answer is – of course I will!

…but it won’t necessarily be easy. Time to get planning…

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Hubris

September 13, 2012 in Life in England | Permalink

Whilst we – the British – as a nation yet bask in the glow of satisfaction engendered by the successful organisation of games Olympic and Paralympic – at having rediscovered ourselves as a race – at having regarded ourselves in the mirror and, to our surprise, having rather liked what we saw…

…comes a shocking revelation of the truth concerning a scandalous incident from our recent history, on the subject of which all of us (with a very few exceptions) should feel deeply and profoundly ashamed.

The independent report into the Hillsborough disaster of 1989 in which 96 Liverpool Football Club fans lost their lives has concluded that not only were the fans in no way to blame for the disaster – as had been strenuously suggested over an extended period – but that the South Yorkshire police and the emergency services had done their very best to divert attention away from their own culpability and their failings on the day, to the extent of having altered more than 160 critical witness statements from their own members in order that they might obfuscate the truth.

Had it not been for an obdurate 23 year campaign by the relatives of the dead the independent enquiry would not have been set up – the more than 400,000 pages of previously suppressed documentation would not have been released – and the appalling truth would not have been laid bare.

This has been a day of apologies – from the Prime Minister on behalf of the government and the nation – from the South Yorkshire police, whose crowd control failure has long been held to be the primary cause of the disaster – from the Sheffield ambulance service, whose failure to get other than a single ambulance into the ground contributed to the deaths that occured long after the initial crush – from Sheffield Wednesday football club, at whose then substandard ground the fixture was held – from the Sun newspaper which, at the promptings of the police and briefed by a member of the then Conservative government, printed a scrurilous story claiming that that tragedy had been caused by drunken, ticketless fans – under the banner headline (insisted upon by the editor at that time, Kelvin MacKenzie) which read – “The Truth”…

The coroner who refused to accept that any of the deaths occured after 3:15pm – thus precluding at the inquest consideration that more than 40 of the fatalities might have been avoided by prompt action from the emergency services – has not yet apologised.

Now that the truths have finally been revealed – and widely acknowledged – some belated attempt at justice might perhaps be made. There should be no sense however – other than for those who have campaigned so long against apparently insuperable odds – of satisfaction at the outcome. All of us should perhaps feel a deep sense of shame – shame that our nation was capable of perpetrating and perpetuating this appalling cover-up – shame that we continued to vote for the politicians who, in spite of their knowledge of the existence and, in some cases, of the contents of the suppressed documentation, continually refused to take any action or to criticise the police – shame that we continued to purchase the offending tabloid newspapers – shame that we grumbled at the repeated efforts of the campaigners to achieve recognition of their case – shame that we did not shout loud enough and long enough that the truth must be revealed, thus failing the bereaved for two long decades.

I still recall watching the terrible events of that day unfolding on the live TV coverage, and being horrified even then that such a thing was possible in the United Kingdom. Each time the tragedy has been revisited in documentaries or articles throughout the intervening years the horror and sadness has come back to me, frequently moving me to tears. Now that sense of horror and incomprehension is edged with shame and anger.

What took place on 15th April 1989 was an avoidable tragedy – what happened subsequently is unforgivable.

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