Benjamin Ferencz - SS Prosecutor

It's taken a few weeks to get back to the Sunday morning Radio 4 article that I listened to in awe. I could listen to this soundbite over and over, this man gives you the feeling of goodness and belief in the right things, makes you feel that you are not really on your own in your tussles with your faith.

I have no idea if this man believes in God but whether he does or not, he is truly good. At 91, his speech and articulation and intelligence, besides his self assurance make me feel like a gibbering fool. I could only ever hope to have this clarity of conveyance.

His description of the Nazi death camps were graphic, but even he said that words could never describe the horror, and it was like peering into hell. I've visited Anne Franks house in Amsterdam and watched the films there. I had to leave sobbing and will never forget what I saw. Even watching such films as Saving Private Ryan, where the boy dies, crying for his mother, are extremely emotional. At least he is surrounded by his friends who stroke his head and face and give him pain killers. Plenty die alone, calling for Mum, in agony. This has got to be one of the most huge anxiety for any mother (and there are plenty of others). God Bless all soldiers.

Gypsy Boy - Mikey Walsh

The Choice, on Radio 4, hypnotic listening this morning about a man who is a Romany gypsy but who lived a very hard childhood in his community because of the expectations and temper of his father. It was almost like going through therapy with him, as he answered questions about his life.

In short (and I will read the book, I've already flicked a couple of pages in Waterstones) the boy was expected to be a fighter like his con man father. The family had a reputation as fighters.
Reminded me of a couple if guys in the church the other week. The were tapping and chatting to everyone throughout the service. I was hoping that my son would not take this as being ok. One of them, in front of me in the line to Communion, turned and remarked that he's not seen us before, and asked if we were new. I just nodded & smiled and he replied, 'You'll get used to us....we're a Family', he emphasised, spreading his hands as if he might have instead meant the mafia..unfortunately, yes, the Romany community do get confused with bad 'uns, because the only contact the general community has with them is usually through the process of getting ripped off re. dodgy drive laying etc. and no other example shown. I'm sure this is a very disproportionate view.
Unfortunately for the boy, he did not live up to his father's expectations, and didn't respond to his father's 'toughening up' procedures as hoped. He is, in fact, gay, and could not have been worse placed as this society does not accept homosexuality. He had a really miserable time, although bitter sweeet as he still has much love and respect for his Romany community, although The Choice he made was to leave the unbearable endurances which were unending. Regular beatings were understandably wearing thin. He'd met someone who wanted to save him, although, he was only around 15+ years old and the man did not understand that to take the son of the hard man of the local Romanies would mean much misery for him. It took 3 weeks for him to give up and then he took Gypsy boy to another town and 'dropped him off'.

Now here is the remarkable thing. This boy had the Romany way entrenched into him. He was little educated. He had no-one and nothing. The boy got a job in a burger bar and went to the bank to open an account to have wages paid in. He had no former address. He explained his plight to the bank worker and she took pity and used her own address to get him an account, Bless her for that!!

He did not wallow, he got up off his backside and educated himself. He applied for a place at a Royal renowned arts and drama college and actually got in, flippin 'eck more than I could hope for with my stable background! He was trained for 3 years and wrote his book.

Hearing him speaking so low because he was sobbing was so very touching. I am a champion of the underdog, for life, having seen the struggles of my blessed parents. I have so much respect for him, and it just shows how amazing people with no priveliges and rotten role models can be the strongest. this man deserves health, happiness and success.

Out of the mouths of babes...

My sons keep me chuckling, even when I least expect it. The other day I stuck some lovely animal stickers on the wall next to the little one's cot. They are padded ones, slightly sparkly and brightly coloured. He has of course picked most off by now but hey ho. My 5 year old came in to look at the newly stuck stickers and said,'Ooo, animals, there's a funny flower, a lion, a Zoo sign and an elephant with a dead giraffe on it's back ..(deadpan).
I laughed as I had previously thought that the spotted blanket on the elephant's back did look like a dead giraffe but perished the thought.

Last night I was getting in my jamas whilst bathing the 2 boys and my 5 year old asked, 'What are you doing, Mummy?'
'Putting cream on to make my skin soft', I replied.
'Yes', said my boy, 'Don't struggle with stubborn hard skin, like on the telly at my dad's'. I cracked up... They speak plainly and isn't it great?

Really, the Lord's My Shepherd!

Uncannily, as I'd not checked the order of the Mass for this week, I took my boys to Mass this morning and the Responsorial Psalm was, you've guessed it, 'The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want'.
I took the boys into liturgy class, and the lady who runs it had ingeniously brought some toy sheep, a 'grass' blanket and a tiny fence. The theme was, of course, why we say, 'The Lord is my Shepherd'. My 21 month old was most taken with the sheep. He has a real thing for the creatures and will even shout excitedly 'Sheep, sheep!' when we see a little dog on a lead at the school, or if the cows are in the field across. So funny!
I was save from getting emotional in Mass by a) the liturgy class, and b) the terrible behaviour of a tot in front of us, and then my 5 year old kicking off 'cause the little one took his pen. I had to lift him bodily and transport him out of the room. Luckily we were adjacent to the door, but the little one panicked as I'd momentarily left him in the room hence more disruption. Eeek. Well you can only try.

One thing that does get me is that when listening to the words of the Psalm, in particular, 'Goodness and mercy will surely follow me, all the days of my life' and I think about the people I've read about in the Gulag, in the Nazi death camps etc. Which makes me feel so so lucky to be born, touch wood, extremely privileged compared to vast areas of the world past and present. You would not blame the most persecuted in the world for stumbling on the faith block.

Judaism teaches that to question faith is to affirm your initial belief in the Creator (I've read that Jews do not say 'Lord' or similar, and find the reading of the concept of Judaism very interesting and thought provoking. The actual act of reading up on this briefly, was that my Jewish boss reckons they don't call the Lord, creator or whatever your choice is, 'He'. Well I've not laboured the point with him but I've seen no evidence to support what he says...anyway, onwards.)

The Lord's My Shepherd

I really do like writing this blog. My mother recently called me a God-botherer, which is rich, considering she converted fron the Cof E the Catholocism to bring her children up in the Church. I think this is because I called a priest to give her the Sacrament of the Sick after a recent and very grave spell in hospital. My sisters' husband took quite an exception to this too, although absolutely none of his beeswax....
At least I can write this in peace, I haven't had any comments, adverse or otherwise, unlike the time I appeared in the press for a complaint I made to a supermarket...Phew talk about knives out! You should have seen the number of inarticulate insults I got, but that's another story.

There are so many lovely things to remember in life, like my baby son handing out pickled onions to everyone at his Nana's birthday party, and when my 5 year old makes me laugh when he still says, 'Ozzerwise' and 'Lellow' from babyhood.

But I have chosen, definitely, one of the hymns for my funeral. I know this sounds weird but in the past year, I have grieved and had to face death and illness of people close to me and chosen/listened to some very poignant hymns. When I'm at Mass I'm often reduced to tears by hymns, and the St Anne Mass (Macmillon) which is most touching when sung by the fantastic choir at St Marie Cathedral in Sheffield.
It's awful, the more embarrassed you feel the worse you can control the tears. I got huge comfort when I read that St Augustine, a noted former sinner but a great reformed person/speaker/writer, said that sung hymns overcame him and reduced him to tears. He famously said that, 'He who sings prays twice' and I was taught at school that the greatest praise for God was when you sing enthusiastically.

Anyway, back to the point..my hymn of choice is Psalm 23, The Lord's My Shepherd. Sung by the Kentwood Choir. The solemnity, pathos and beauty of the singers is breathtaking to me and it has been on repeat in the car now for two days (my poor children!).

The 23rd Psalm

The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures:
He leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul:
He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name' sake.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil: For thou art with me;
Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies;
Thou annointest my head with oil; My cup runneth over.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life,
and I will dwell in the House of the Lord forever.

-- KJV

PS. I prefer the above version, although there are a couple of more contemporary ones you can see if you Google this Psalm.

Philosophise or get consumed by Stomach Ulcer causing Bacteria...

I heard on the radio this week (let's face it, most of my interesting, or otherwise, conversation is led by my radio programmes) that a Nobel prize winning Aussie discovered that stomach ulcers are not really caused by stress, but by a certain type of bacteria. He won the prize by proving that it was the bacteria by downing a glass full of liquid containing the bacteria, and henceforth getting an ulcer. The killer move in gaining the prize was that he further proved it was bacteria by taking anti-biotics and thereby curing the ulcer...the discoverer of the cause and the cure for stomach ulcers in one swift programme.

So not much fear of getting an ulcer no matter how much stress there is in life, although I never really hear of low stressed people getting an ulcer, it always seemed to be the super-charged Wall Street traders in the 80's. Must've been the bad diet I guess.

At the moment I'm trying to download some CAD software for a one off technical job (the first time in 23 years I've been approached to do private work, woo hoo!), and I have got to say that I earned the same amount in 2 hours sat on my bony butt as I have been doing in 3 weeks, tramping up and down the (mostly) well heeled streets of a local village, plying my Avon books to interested and sometimes blatantly uninterested parties.

Ii have to say that the humbler residences are really my cuppa, lovely friendly and encouraging people, who give you smiles, eye contact and a warm feeling. The more priveliged, the grander, the bigger the house, generally the colder, the ruder, the more condescending the occupant. They seem to automatically assume that, because you're selling something, you must be an under educated low life, and less than a human being for that. Which is really not cricket, as, if you're a decent person, who gives a stuff about how educated someone is, or their background (as long as not a danger to anyone else, of course).

But great chuckles also, reading about fellow Avon plyers-of-books' experiences of the rudeness of folk, one saying that a lady had told her, with a look of, yes, sure it was pity, 'Don't be too hopeful dear, I find it all rather cheap'. Guffaw!
I got a note in a book, which I'm absolutely positive was meant kindly, but saying that she had Avon from her neighbor and she 'hopes it works out'...Bless her, but made my heart sink for a minute with foreboding of hard times ahead..

Fish & Chips and the Great British Seaside

Just to start this posting, I want to say how disappointing life can be...I have posted Gulag Voices..and one of the views I have had seems to be from India, the viewer clicking on during a search for a nasty wierdo perverted website, where my blog has somehow appeared because it contains the words cruelty and gang rape (and will probably now appear again)..My reaction to this is, perverts, low lifes, wierdos etc, mend your ways!! Judgement will be upon you!! I could say more but don't want to waste more time on the pervs.

Just been for a couple of days to the coast, a lovely traditional, small and historical coastal town with a lovely Abbey. Picked a room last minute for us, and it was really quaint. Attic room with low beams and a perfectly decorated bathroom with a bath stand-alone (the kind with feet and chrome fittings, yum) and a metal wall hanging in the shape of a tree. Atmospheric lighting too! My boys had a field day with the fake tulips in a vase very low down, which made me think that the proprietors had no small children (it is attached to a family room).
Breakfast was perfect, huge and well presented/cooked. The porridge was served with maple syrup and cream, and was the best I've ever tasted. They had cleverly used last nights left over baked spuds fried with the skins on with the egg, bacon etc..brill, will use this idea too in future.

There were drawbacks though; the little one who won't sleep anywhere but his cot at home, would not sleep. Think it was 11.15 ish before exhaustion got the better and then after an unsettled cool night on a very uncomfortable mattress and a constantly coughing 5 year old, little un was up 5.50 am. That day was quite tiring! I have about 8 bumps on my head from constantly walking into low beams and sloping walls and a couple of those were stunners. The baby was unimpressed with the glossy bathroom lino, which was like a skating rink and he unexpectedly did the splits once or twice. So, beautiful place but no return planned. Just wonder how they jumped over the health and safety hoops but maybe there weren't any, as I'm thinking that most of the tiny places in this old town are similar.

Just heard that Pope John Paul the Seconds remains have been exhumed and he will be beatified. John Newman was recently beatified, although the miracle performed could have been a little shaky. Will research this.