Water Water Everywhere, but Not a Drop to Drink

Tunnelling and Drinking...

When I was a young police officer in London in the 1960’s, there were numerous large building projects in progress all over the south of England and elsewhere.   There was still a lot of evidence of the bombing of World War Two with ruined buildings here and there.

Tunnelling became a major industry be it for the Underground Tube network or road tunnels under the river Thames.   The ones under the river were worked under pressure resulting in many cases of the labourers suffering from the ‘Bends’ – decompression sickness.

The majority of the labourers were Irish.   In fact the name ‘Navvies’ comes from ‘Navigators’ going back to the time when tens of thousands of labourers (again mostly Irish) were engaged in the building and excavations of the Canal network that criss-crossed the UK in previous centuries.

The Irish, being fond of their drink, would leave the tunnel workings without having fully recovered from the decompression and rush to get into the local public houses and drink themselves into oblivion.

   

Whenever we were called to deal with a flat-out drunk, we would search them to see if they were carrying any form of identification stating that they were working on the tunnels.  If so they would be rushed back to the site and put into a ‘decompression chamber’ to recover.

They were paid vastly inflated wages for the time and although the work was dangerous and hard, a great many were only too willing to ‘take the risks’.

One man in particular springs to mind when I think of the time.   He was a huge man and supposedly an excellent worker.   He did like a good drink however and soon became a ‘regular customer’ of ours.

He would collect his wages on Friday night and after partly decompressing, make his way to a local clothes shop.   There he would purchase a full set of clothing, suit, underwear, shirt, tie, shoes and socks.   He would pay cash then make his way to the local baths.

   

These were normally part of a swimming baths building where he would bathe, shave and dispose of his dirty clothing.  He would then make his way to one of the local public houses having discarded his old clothing.

The thing was, that he would wear his new clothing all weekend and return to work on Monday still wearing them.   The following Friday he would purchase a new lot of clothing and continue likewise week in, week out.   It must have cost him a fortune.

The drinking habits of not only the Irish, but the general public in London and all over the UK was a case of necessity.   In Victorian times and further back water quality was abysmal and dangerously polluted.  Disease was rife.  It appears that the brewing process somehow made it safer to drink beer instead of water.

  

Most of London’s rivers were in fact open sewers with human waste, the results of animal slaughter and in fact all kinds of rubbish being regularly thrown into the rivers.   The worst aspect was that as the Thames is tidal, most of the waste was washed down towards the sea but returned with the incoming tide.   The rivers and in fact most of London had putrid air and water as a result.

Another point on water:  Tap water in London is now better quality than most bottled water.   In and around the tourist traps it can cost £1.50 (that’s $1.96 US) for a small bottle.   A complete rip-off........

In the old nursery rhyme ‘Ring a ring of Rosies, A pocket full of posies’ is reputed to come from the Black Death era, but it fact such posies were carried and sniffed to lessen the smell from the rivers.

Another interesting point is that each Monday morning in the Central Criminal Court – the infamous Old Bailey – the most senior Judge goes from one court to the next to show his authority.   He carries with him a black silk material which Judges used to put on their heads when sentencing prisoners to death – albeit that capital punishment ended about sixty years ago.   He also carries a ‘posie’ – usually of purple violets – to shield him from the smells coming up from the cells below the courts.

As I said earlier, tap water in London is probably one of the best in the world and proven regularly to be better than the majority of that which is sold in bottles.

However, I doubt if it will inhibit the Irish from imbibing their choice.....Guinness.

............Mike......

Thoughts of Yesteryear....

The Good Old/Bad Old Days....

I was obviously feeling down this morning when I looked out the window onto another bleak winter’s day.   It seems to me that this year it is dragging on and although the daffodils are a few inches high it still seems that spring and summer are a long, long way off.

I kicked myself later whilst grocery shopping and had a look around me.   I saw the shelves of food, clothing, electronics and literally almost everything imaginable, the likes of which were almost unheard of back in 1966 when I first came to London.

It is a totally different world we now live in and bears no comparison with the city I first saw on my arrival from Ireland to join the London Police................

It was then only twenty years after World War Two and evidence of the devastation that London suffered was still in clear evidence everywhere one looked.   Poverty was extreme and the poor had nothing..........There were bombsites everywhere…..

Things improved vastly over the following ten years with new buildings cropping up everywhere.   Foods that could not be found during and just after the war and the subsequent twenty years were now plentiful and reasonably priced.   We were comfortably off and able to afford a small car.   We were all doing well......

However, there were always the ones who complained about everything and begged for the return of the past great days.   They were looking around themselves through rose-tinted glasses and proved beyond doubt that they possessed very short memories...............

I got tired of hearing their moaning and decided to put my thoughts on the subject in the form of a poem.   (It tells of a sad period in time when strikes were all the rage.   The municipal workers struck causing the closure of cemeteries thereby leaving them closed to funerals; refuse collectors and road sweepers refused to collect rubbish.  (Several similar withdrawals of labour took place). It was a very sad time……

I titled the poem ‘The Good Old Days’...............

The Good Old Days.............

Bring back the good old days again, when we were young and free,

When we were fit and felt no pain, when we were twenty-three.

We laughed all day, and drank all night, from dusk until day-break,

With ten ‘ P’ fags, and ten ‘ P’ beer, we lived on sirloin steak.

No guns, no bombs, no radios, no need a three foot stick,

No riot gear, no night-time fear; just don’t go down the ‘Wick’.

When Magistrates were strong but fair, like old McElligott,

When ‘No Comment’  was never heard, and villains said ‘Fair Cop’.

But memory, it plays sad tricks, the hurt it does erase,

It numbs the mind; it makes one blind, and leaves us only praise.

But think you of the cold and damp, the hunger-pain and stomach cramp,

The dying child, the dirty room, the poverty, the dismal gloom.

The rasping cough, the winter smog, bodies unburied, graves undug.

The rubbish heaps, streets unswept, I swear to God, I often wept.

For truth is times were seldom good, no happiness and little food.

So don’t  say you now how times are tough, no overtime, pay’s not enough,

Or I’ll take you back to days gone bye, then you will know, not wonder why,

That I accept the modern ways and you can keep The Good Old Days.

Mike

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Too Many Horses............

March 2019
February 2019
September 2018
April 2017
March 2017
February 2017
January 2017
December 2016
November 2016
October 2016
September 2013
April 2013
January 2013
December 2012
November 2012
October 2012
September 2012
August 2012

‘After the Lord Mayor’s Show.......’

This is an expression used by Londoners and now spread elsewhere, that goes to prove that when you reach the top, there is only one direction that you can go.   I will explain further as I go along...........

Firstly, let me give you a little background:    The ‘City of London’ is not that which most people consider to be ‘London’.   It is in fact, one square mile on the north bank of the River Thames and has its own Lord Mayor, its own Police Service and many, many other quirks.   Just a quick for instance:  a Freeman of the City has the right to drove sheep across the river bridges all of which are also  within  the  jurisdiction  of  the  City – most  of which, if not in fact all, are outside the square mile.  Confused?......Carry on......

Having elected a new Lord Mayor, a parade is held.    It is always quite spectacular and takes place on the second Saturday in November.      It dates back to 1535 and continued throughout World War 2.    The Mayor rides in a State Coach which was built in 1757 at the princely cost of £1,065.0s.3p.  What the 3p cost was for one can only guess, but it was probably for a  replacement  screw  or  something  similar.

The coach is pulled by six horses and traditionally they were large Shire horses from Whitbread’s Brewery which used to be situated on the edge of the city.   They were used to deliver beer throughout London on ordinary days...........

 During the parade, the Mayor’s coach is ‘guarded’ by Pike men from the Honourable Artillery Company which has its headquarters in City Road just outside the city.   This is the oldest regiment in the British Army and as a ‘Privileged Regiment’ they are one of the few that have the ‘right to march through the square mile with bayonets fixed, colours flying and drummers drumming’.   They are basically a volunteer force made up generally speaking of city  employees  who work  mainly  in the city banking and insurance sectors.

They are also flanked by about forty mounted horsemen of I think, the Queen’s Household Cavalry.  They are fabulously dressed in full regalia.

I have often policed the parade during my police career and one occasion in particular will always stick out in my mind.    I was on duty outside the main army gate with some Military Police (Red Caps) as the soldiers arrived in civilian clothes carrying their uniforms and boots.

On this particular day, one of the soldiers was running late and bustled his way through the public crowd who were standing nearby.   His beautifully ‘bulled’ shiny boots fell from his arms onto the pavement.   He swore at the woman who bumped into him.   

Without any hesitation, one of the Red Caps stepped forward and took him into custody at the same time kicking his beautiful boots along the pavement, through the gate and all the way towards the Guard Room.    I bet the soldier never swore again in his life.......

I do not know what the final outcome was in fact but I am certain that it was not pretty...................

The military side of the parade leaves the Regimental H.Q. and makes its way to London Wall where it forms up with the civilian section.    There are ‘floats’ of every description extolling the virtues of city companies.    There are several military bands and representatives from all kinds of groups including the British Legion, the Army in general, the Navy, the Air Force and many, many other groups.   In fact, if one was to stand and watch, it would take   probably  two  hours for the entire lot to pass.........

It is a truly spectacular event and well worth watching.   I almost forgot, there is generally speaking (weather permitting) also a ‘fly-past’ of old aircraft –Spitfires, Wellingtons and many others.

If you were to watch the parade pass by in its entirety, you would see from where the title of this post comes.  The absolute final person to pass is a little Corporation road sweeper with what looks like a large wheel barrow and sweeping brush.   He clears up the horse-dung.................

So you see, the moral of this story is:  When you have reached the top of your game, the pinnacle of your career or other similar situation, the greatness (the Lord Mayor’s Inauguration for instance) is always followed by a ‘major let down’ – namely the one who has to clean up the crap you leave behind you..........

(I am also reminded of an old police piece of wisdom:  ‘In this job you are always in the crap – it is merely the depth that varies).

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