Remembering the Forgotten Children

Yesterday the British Prime Minister, Gordon Brown, delivered a public apology to British children.

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/newstopics/politics/7307854/Prime-Minister-apologises-to-child-migrants-for-scheme-that-robbed-them-of-childhood.html

In his House of Commons speech, Gordon Brown acknowledged a similar apology given by Australian Prime Minister Kevin Rudd in Canberra last year to these 'Forgotten Children'.

During the 20th Century, about 130,000 children of British working class were taken from their families and sent to the colonies of Australia, South Africa and Canada. Their parents (often single parents) signed over the rights to access their children, and steps were taken to prevent them contacting the children. Some children were told their parents were dead and heartfelt letters were never delivered. These children were kept in rural community institutions and worked on the farms intended to teach them skills to work in agriculture.

In reality, most left school at the minimum age of 14, and, without capital, very few ever became farmers. When my own family arrived in Australia, on 14 May, 1966, we were met at Melbourne's Station Pier by representatives of the Lady Northcote Children's Farm. We boarded a bus and were transported to the Parwan Valley, 11 miles south-west of Bacchus Marsh. About 140 UK migrant children and Australian 'Wards of the State' lived at Northcote, many for their entire childhood.

The next morning I awoke to the warble sound of magpies on the gum trees outside the dormitory in Gungelo house, which was to be my home for the next 2 years. Some nights I would go to sleep listening on a crystal radio, with wire attached to the metal fittings on the window above my bed.

A few years back, I was invited to attend a reunion of Old Northcotians. These people have had it tough in life, and in many ways they were reuniting as a large family - a poor substitute for the family they never had. For me, however, I felt like an imposter, with no right to be there. Northcote was an important chapter in my life, but not the painful one that many others suffered. I was but a temporary visitor to this institution, which was to be my introduction to life in Australia.

This public apology may go some way to healing the long pain felt by many, whose lives were traumatised by this injustice.

Taking our annual Bath

When we first researched sites to visit while here in England, Bath was near the top of the list as a must-see place. This spa town, popular with the Romans and rediscovered by the Victorians, should be high on anyone's list.

Hot spring waters from underground geothermal rocks rise to the surface to fill pools that became a playground and healing source in this spa resort city. Local heritage groups have contained development so that building exteriors are consistently made of the local creamy Bath stone. This has preserved this town and makes it a delight to visit.
Convinced of their healing powers, some come to drink and partake of the waters, but to me it just tasted like putrid crap. Those who drink this stuff must be in search of miraculous powers from this foul mineral water.

Jane Austen is one of Bath's favoured daughters, although the tour was perhaps only for her book lovers, and a struggle for those not so well-read (interested). She lived in Bath for five years and set two novels here.

The teacake Sally Lunn Bun is another Bath specialty. Unfortunately for us, the popular and irreverent Bizarre Bath comedy walk does not operate until the springtime. We shall have to return just for this highly regarded and entertaining street walking tour.

There is a BBC documentary program about Britons who have renovated old churches, factories or other unusual buildings. We stayed in one of these type of places near Bath; a converted barn with stonework walls. Although small, it was tastefully developed, with a new kitchen and bedrooms up a creaky staircase. This unusual renovation made it pleasant place to stay for a weekend.

First European Adventure - Austria

Mid-term breaks are a wonderful English school custom that are well appreciated by one and all. It means that we are never more than 6 weeks from a welcome break to enjoy places further afield. Our initial planning was to stay south and avoid the Northern winter, but once we arrived and found ways to keep warm, we rethought (rethinked / rethunk?), um ... reconsidered instead to embrace the winter, not fear it.
So, Elise and I took our first cheap flight, courtesy of Ryanair, and visited Salzburg. Meanwhile, Anne attended a life-changing musical visit to Kecskemét, Hungary, the original home of Kodaly music education. Cameron joined us for his last few days before returning home today.

Salzburg is an amazing place, famous for many things - Mozart, Maria Von Trapp, mining salt and mighty Red Bull. And as the tourist T-shirt reads - There are no kangaroos in Austria.
This city has miraculously preserved its Baroque heritage, and is a fine place to visit. As Lonely Planet amusingly says about Salzburg - "If it ain't Barok, don't fix it." We visited the birthplace of my favourite composer and attended a glorious Mozart concert / dinner, comprising a quintet playing opera excerpts from Magic Flute and Figaro, and of course Eine Kleine Nachtmusik just had to get some airplay.

Tours of the Sound of Music scenes and the Hallein salt mine (the salt mineral Halite takes its name from this town) are worthwhile, and we also managed to squeeze in a sunny day's skiing in mountainous Flachau.

These Hills ARE alive with the Sounds of Mozart.

A tiny town deserving World Heritage status

Ironbridge is a small historic town located just north-west of Birmingham. It has a world's first - it's famous bridge made of cast iron, which opened in 1780.

In the late 1700’s, Coalbrookdale was a centre of iron production, after Abraham Darby developed a cheaper extraction method. The underlying geology of this area laid down the ideal conditions for the establishment of an industry waiting to happen. By fortuitous coincidence, this valley had significant mineable deposits of coal, iron ore, limestone and clay.

The Blast Furnace, studied by most school Chemistry students, requires three essential minerals:
• the raw material Iron ore
• Coal (converted to coke) for the high temperatures needed to reduce the iron, and
• Limestone, which is used to convert the waste to a substance that can be separated from the molten iron.
And the valley of Coalbrookdale had all these materials available in abundance; each deposited millennia ago. The Severn River runs through this valley and cut a deep gorge that exposed the sediments to be available to miners working at the surface by cutting into the steep sides of the hills.

During its 1800’s production heyday, this area kick-started the Industrial Revolution that changed the course of history. Its iron foundries, pottery works, tanneries and soap factories scarred the landscape, muddied the river and fouled the air, making the heart of this valley a putrid mix of toxic pollutants. Inevitably, disease followed and, in one episode, water-borne cholera caused the deaths of many residents, usually the poor factory workers taking their drinking water from the nearby river.
These industries became unprofitable over century ago, and the industries closed. Today, the valley is now a UN declared World Heritage tourist site. It has noticeably prettied up very well and is now a quaint little valley village with its world first iron bridge at its epicentre. On the day we visited, there was a light dusting of snow to make this place picture perfect.

Coalbrookdale – small in stature, this influential place has punched way above its weight in its effect on our world.

The Great Canal Incident

The Industrial Revolution initiated a need for cheap transport of large raw materials such as iron ore and coal. Roman networks of canals were expanded and ran from coast to inland cities, and horse-drawn barges were built to be narrow and long to travel along these inland waterways.
Eventually, the canals began to be used for pottery, lumber and textile transportation, and soon the canals were busy waterways flowing between industry, cities and coastal ports. The commercial benefits to cities and commerce was evident when the opening of the Bridgewater canal soon lowered the cost of coal in Manchester by 75%.

Inevitably, technology overtook the canal system as rail, then road, transport saw cheaper and faster methods of moving goods. Ironically, the system was replaced by a revolution that it had helped intitiate. The canal network declined in use; a victim of more efficient logistics, became clogged with weeds and silt and fell into disrepair.
A few canals were persistently kept open to transport goods, but the harsh and long winter of 1962 froze the canals for 3 months and users turned to more reliable logistical methods, never to return to the water.

But, Britain has a great interest in preservation, and groups were formed to research the history of this pivotal part of its heritage. With such extensive canal networks available, there began interest in their use for leisure activities. Blocked canals began to be reopened, and today canals are pleasant places for leisurely walks or boating trips to see life at 4 miles per hour.

Which brings me to my own story – the second running story in a week.
I have felt the need to keep exercising and last week, I was invited to go on a training run with the cross-country team. Upon leaving the School, we ran across the road and through neighbouring University of Birmingham. Across to the railway station, over the bridge, we descended the stairs to run alongside the canal. The ice, mixed with floating rubbish, of recent weeks was breaking up with this week’s (relatively) warmer temperatures of 5–7 C.

Following the parallel walking path for five minutes, I was enjoying the event and the inner warmth that builds after the initial cold shock of early stages. Taking in the novel surroundings and chatting with my running companion / teaching colleague, I spotted ahead a group of people gathered on the path. The path deviated sharply where the people stood, and I looked ahead of me to look for a path to avoid running through the group. The pathway straight ahead was dark bitumen with puddles and appeared to be an alternative route.


So, I decided to take the straighter, less crowded path across the wet bitumen. I jumped off the step and launched myself into – the icy waters of Birmingham canal!
The ice broke open on impact, and I got a great shock as I hit the cold waters. I tried to return to the bank, and was assisted out by my colleague and one of the crowd members. My hands were sore and my leg was swelling from impacting the ice. I was also acutely embarrassed by own stupidity right in front of a shocked audience! A couple came over to offer me some coffee – they were well prepared retirees on their weekly group walk. One woman suggested I try hers, since it had rum in it. Upon hearing my thanks, another asked in her strong Brummie accent, ‘You’re not from arood here, are ye, luv?’
I now know that the purpose of this deviation from the canal path is a boat turn-around point. Since the temperatures were cold, I was chilling rapidly. The best thing to do was to run back and get into a hot shower to try and reheat and recover.
I did come to England to try new experiences, and certainly this day provided a most unexpected one. I must say, I have had better days, but this was the stuff of comedy that Benny Hill fans would have loved.

Bittersweet Cadbury

Today, Britain lost another iconic company to international competition, when chocolate giant Cadbury was sold to the US company Kraft. There has been much lament and concern here in Birmingham with the implications of this takeover.
Cadbury began over 130 years ago in this city and has been well respected as a company that cares for its workers. The philanthropic Cadbury's were Quakers and, many many years since the family sold its share of the company, the area remains a dry area, with no pubs. In 2007, residents mounted a campaign to prevent Tesco from selling alcohol here.

The model village of Bournville, walking distance to King Edward School, was built to house the factory workers. This large factory dominates life in the local area, just like Ford's close links to Geelong and Broadmeadows. The company still maintains its paternalistic approach to its community, with a trust offering affordable homes to families in need. By 1915, the village mortality rate was significantly lower than the rest of the city.
Cadbury was one of the first companies to introduce a pension scheme, and gave workers the opportunity to buy shares. This bred much respect and loyalty from the community. Each Christmas Eve, there is a carols by candlelight-type event, attended by about 7000 people, as the carillon plays 'O Come, All Ye Faithful'.
Driving past the gates of Cadbury brings back images of Willie Wonka.

There is much concern as to what the long-term impact will be on the local area. Will Cadbury go the way of other British icons and be closed, in favour of overseas factories with cheaper labour and production costs? There is evidence that this has happened in the past. The Jaguar-Rover plant was only a few miles away, as well as HP Sauce and Dunlop factories. After being sold to international interest, the plants were closed, and Birmingham's people bore the brunt of the losses.
The English do make a point of telling us that local chocolate is far superior to the Aussie version. This has something to do with thickeners in the Aussie version to prevent the chocolate melting in the heat - but also preventing it melt in the mouth. On our list of things-to-do list was to visit the famous Cadbury World and test this theory. Maybe we should do it sooner rather than later - before it is too late.

Chester Jog Blog

"The walls of this town
Are full of renown,
And strangers delight to walk round 'em,
But as for the dwellers,
Both buyers and sellers,
For me, you may hang 'em or drown 'em"
- Jonathan Swift

Woke up in Chester early this morning and felt that, after a month of excessive wintry weather, I desperately needed to go for a long run.

The ancient town of Chester was founded as Castrum, or Roman fort. Indeed, all English cities with Chester in their title (Winchester, Manchester) were all similarly walled cities. Chester is famous for its almost complete Roman wall surrounding this ancient and beautiful town.

Leaving our quaint boutique hotel north of the city, I jogged along empty streets as the sun was rising. The streets were deserted as I listened to Katie Melua on my iPod. Reaching the town, I climbed the steps of Northgate and jogged along the walkway on the top of the wall.

I was feeling stronger than I had predicted, worried that my fitness would be diminished after the long break. So, I kept going and continued along the wall.

The thin mist was still in the air as I ran towards the rear of the imposing and majestic Gothic Chester Cathedral. As I neared it, the bells began to strike from the large carillon. I paused to listen to the Big Ben sequence, followed by the 8 strikes announcing the hour.

I continued on, with a feeling that I was sharing something special this misty morn. I was treading over two thousand year old history, in a land at the far northern edge of the mighty Roman Empire. The snow of the past weeks had been so quickly flushed away by rain over the last two days, and I saw tiny patches remained in protected corners. Remnants of a snowman remained in a grassy field, hinting of child play of recent days.

Under the famous and well photographed Victorian clock, I passed over the shopping street with its Tudor buildings. I then ran parallel to the River Dee, and paused again to witness where the river passes the hydro station and turned off Katie to hear the sounds of rushing water rolling over the weir.

Continuing my jog, I ran around the castle to Chester's south, and headed around to the west of the town. Up along the canal with its locks and headed back to the hotel. Feeling energetic and exhilirated by this personal event, I picked up pace and finished back where I began. A hearty English breakfast awaited.

This was a most enjoyable and memorable 5 km experience in historic Chester.