I have a few, and at least three of them come along more or less concurrently at this time of year. So, at the risk of being called a curmudgeon, or worse, and in chronological order:
1) Halloween. A totally unwelcome American import, as far as I'm concerned. And one which seems to be going the way of other 'marketing opportunity' dates, by expanding from a day to a week, to who knows how long in future - one local chain of bakeries began advertising Halloween-related products at least six weeks ago.
2) Bonfire Night. 'Remember, remember the fifth of November'. Except that it's been smeared out into the best part of a fortnight now, everywhere sounding like the Somme for days on end - there were fireworks, more than one lot, being set off around here last night, almost a week before the 'official' date, and I have no doubt they'll still be going off for several days after next Thursday, too. Apart from the spectacle of good money literally going up in smoke, never a year passes without people, often children, being seriously injured in firework accidents. Indefensible, in my opinion.
3) 'Poppy Day'. The one that would be most likely to earn me hate mail, but sobeit. There has been a tendency in recent years, perhaps as far back as the Falklands conflict, for those who choose not to wear the Royal British Legion's symbol of remembrance to be vilified as being disrespectful and unpatriotic, but since the Gulf Wars/Afghanistan conflict, that vilification has been ratcheted up to a disturbing degree. Barbara Windsor, that well-known fount of erudition, was quoted a couple of days ago as saying those who don't wear poppies should 'sod off'. As in get out of the country, presumably. Well, I've got news for you, Ms Windsor. I'm never going to wear a poppy, and I'm not going anywhere. And I'll readily tell you, or anyone else, the two linked sociopolitical reasons why. The first is to do with the way my dad, and thousands of others in his position, were treated in this country. My dad was a coal miner, starting work in one of the collieries of the now-defunct Kent coalfield in 1940, when he was 14. By the time he was 18, he'd effectively been 'conscripted' to continue in that line of work, as one of the so-called 'Bevin Boys', and wasn't 'demobbed' from that status until 1952, obviously well after the end of the Second World War. By that time, he knew nothing else, and eventually worked in the mine for 45 years, ruining his health and shortening his life by, perhaps, decades in the process. And what did he get for that lifetime of service on his retirement? Nothing. Not even a letter of appreciation. In fact, when he died, less than a year later, my mum was 'rewarded' further by having her free coal allowance stopped, because, being five years younger than my dad, she was still working, and apparently earned too much (in what, by today's standards, was very much a 'national minimum wage' job) to qualify for the 'perk'. 'A country fit for heroes'. Yeah, right. And how often are the 'Bevin Boys' mentioned around Remembrance Day, despite their vital contribution to the war effort? Never, as far as I can recall. The second element of my distaste for the shallow hagiography that the poppy represents for me is more overtly political. And it's this. Ultimately, wars are almost always fought, certainly in the modern era, exclusively by the poor to protect the power, wealth and privilege of the few, the social and cultural 'elites' and their sycophants. If casualties of those 'resource wars' need financial support, let the people who have reaped the financial rewards of the sacrifices of others foot the bill. A couple of percent on the tax rates of the richest in society would raise far more than the small change of the 'person in the street' being dropped into collection boxes. Johnson said 'patriotism is the last refuge of the scoundrel'. Especially, in my opinion, the kind of superficial uber-patriotism typified by Barbara Windsor's remarks.
Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B
1) Halloween. A totally unwelcome American import, as far as I'm concerned. And one which seems to be going the way of other 'marketing opportunity' dates, by expanding from a day to a week, to who knows how long in future - one local chain of bakeries began advertising Halloween-related products at least six weeks ago.
2) Bonfire Night. 'Remember, remember the fifth of November'. Except that it's been smeared out into the best part of a fortnight now, everywhere sounding like the Somme for days on end - there were fireworks, more than one lot, being set off around here last night, almost a week before the 'official' date, and I have no doubt they'll still be going off for several days after next Thursday, too. Apart from the spectacle of good money literally going up in smoke, never a year passes without people, often children, being seriously injured in firework accidents. Indefensible, in my opinion.
3) 'Poppy Day'. The one that would be most likely to earn me hate mail, but sobeit. There has been a tendency in recent years, perhaps as far back as the Falklands conflict, for those who choose not to wear the Royal British Legion's symbol of remembrance to be vilified as being disrespectful and unpatriotic, but since the Gulf Wars/Afghanistan conflict, that vilification has been ratcheted up to a disturbing degree. Barbara Windsor, that well-known fount of erudition, was quoted a couple of days ago as saying those who don't wear poppies should 'sod off'. As in get out of the country, presumably. Well, I've got news for you, Ms Windsor. I'm never going to wear a poppy, and I'm not going anywhere. And I'll readily tell you, or anyone else, the two linked sociopolitical reasons why. The first is to do with the way my dad, and thousands of others in his position, were treated in this country. My dad was a coal miner, starting work in one of the collieries of the now-defunct Kent coalfield in 1940, when he was 14. By the time he was 18, he'd effectively been 'conscripted' to continue in that line of work, as one of the so-called 'Bevin Boys', and wasn't 'demobbed' from that status until 1952, obviously well after the end of the Second World War. By that time, he knew nothing else, and eventually worked in the mine for 45 years, ruining his health and shortening his life by, perhaps, decades in the process. And what did he get for that lifetime of service on his retirement? Nothing. Not even a letter of appreciation. In fact, when he died, less than a year later, my mum was 'rewarded' further by having her free coal allowance stopped, because, being five years younger than my dad, she was still working, and apparently earned too much (in what, by today's standards, was very much a 'national minimum wage' job) to qualify for the 'perk'. 'A country fit for heroes'. Yeah, right. And how often are the 'Bevin Boys' mentioned around Remembrance Day, despite their vital contribution to the war effort? Never, as far as I can recall. The second element of my distaste for the shallow hagiography that the poppy represents for me is more overtly political. And it's this. Ultimately, wars are almost always fought, certainly in the modern era, exclusively by the poor to protect the power, wealth and privilege of the few, the social and cultural 'elites' and their sycophants. If casualties of those 'resource wars' need financial support, let the people who have reaped the financial rewards of the sacrifices of others foot the bill. A couple of percent on the tax rates of the richest in society would raise far more than the small change of the 'person in the street' being dropped into collection boxes. Johnson said 'patriotism is the last refuge of the scoundrel'. Especially, in my opinion, the kind of superficial uber-patriotism typified by Barbara Windsor's remarks.
Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B
