Fan Mail

Couple of weeks ago I received a rather badly written letter penned in a most disagreeable tone. It was from someone who had 'come across' one of my books on the origins of place names and the content, as far as I could tell, disagreed with every name I defined in their home town. It came as no surprise to find they were a member of the local history group and, again as expected, suggested I amend the 'errors' in line with the history society's publication.

I have not bothered to respond to this letter and will not be doing so. I am quite used to these local history society 'experts'. Firstly all historians will admit to being by nature a sceptical lot. Local historians are vehemently defensive of anything on their patch, which they will always consider to be a little special and different from elsewhere - and quite naturally so. However this does not make them always right (or indeed always wrong) but does make them very reluctant to listen to anyone outside of their immediate circle.

When I first started speaking at local history group meetings, the obvious audience for my books, I was somewhat taken aback by the attitude of the odd individual, who seemed intent on disagreeing with everything I said as I 'had no local knowledge' (ie. I wasn't born or living within spitting distance of either the parish church, village pub or, more importantly, their house).

Furthermore the way I conduct my talks on the origins of place names is very informal. An initial twenty minutes or so on the languages involved, the records consulted, the common elements, a few oddities and the odd anecdote is followed by a Q&A session. I do this to ensure the audience get the answers to the names they are thinking of, while it also serves to remind me of the research and writing of that specific county's book. With fifteen published and as many in various stages of production I cannot possibly be expected to recall every name off the top of my head. However this does mean I am putting my head in an invisible noose and there was always one individual waiting to trip me up - irrespective of whether the local definition was right or wrong! That was until I added a couple of lines as I threw it open to questions from the floor.

Today I drop in how I know when someone is asking a question simply in the hope of tripping me up - it happened in the past and I got wise and took lessons in reading body language. (No, of course I haven't!) Perhaps the smart alecs have simply not attended more recent events, however I tend to think the threat of being found out is sufficient to make them think twice.

I shall not be responding to this letter for it is not worth taking the time nor trouble to do so. The individual clearly did not pay attention to what was said in the book in the first place and there is no point in repeating it in a letter for them to ignore me a second time - especially when I know it will not change their opinion in the slightest. Much as I will never convince a single Salopian that their county town should be pronounced Shrow- and not Shrew- (see blog post of 22nd November 2009).

Fathers Day

Firstly a thank you to my two young 'uns (Sarah and Jonathan) for the cards and gifts - I shall certainly make full use of the National Trust membership.

I know the rough story of how Mothers' Day came to be but Fathers' Day was something of a mystery. A little research and I discover the Catholic observed March 19th as the day for fatherhood, that being St Joseph's Day. Not until 1908 was Fathers' Day first seen in it's modern form. Mrs Grace Golden Clayton wanted to celebrate the lives of 210 fathers lost in the Monongah Mining Disaster in West Virginia in December the previous year. However this was a one-off event.

The first attempt at a regular date began in 1910 and was again an American concept. Even then it was limited to Spokane, Washington and was again proposed by a woman, one Sonora Smart Dodd - not as an honour to the father of her children but to her own father. William Smart, a veteran of the American Civil War, had been a widower after his wife died giving birth to thier sixth child when Sonora was just 16 years of age. Since that time he had played the role of both parents.

That first year of 1910 the celebrations were limited to the wearing of a rose, red for a living father and white for one now deceased. Whenever attempts were made to make the day official, the media ridiculed these as filling the calendar with another pointless promotional exercise. The next major voice came in the shape of Senator Margaret Chase Smith who, in 1957, accused Congress of singling out one parent over another. Nine years later President Lyndon B Johnson declared the third Sunday in June to be Fathers' Day, although it was not official until 1972, the United Kingdom followed soon afterwards.

While the third Sunday of June is the most common date, Fathers' Day is still celebrated in many Catholic countries on March 19th. The Arab world choose June 21st, the first day of summer. Scandinavian and Baltic nations have a preference for the second Sunday in November. Brazil opt for the second Sunday of August, nine months before Mothers' Day. Hindu countries opt for Amavasya, New Moon Day in late August or early September.

In Thailand the day is movable and always shares the birthday of the current king. Taiwanese fathers chose the 8th day of the 8th month, for 'eight' translates to ba and is similar to the word for 'father' and hence known as Baba's Day. Germany chose Ascension Day, forty days after Easter, and in some parts men embark on a hiking tour with small waggons laden wine or beer and regional food choices - today just an excuse for getting drunk.

Define a Natural Landscape

All this walking research has made me think about the environmentalists and their continued calls to preserve our landscape and the habitats of species under threat. Question is what landscape do they want preserved?

The South Downs are man-made, woodland felled for agriculture would soon return were it not for grazing and the plough. The wilds of Dartmoor was also once covered by woodland, the odd original isolated patch is still found but will never return to the remaining areas. Do the environmentalists want the modern idea of the South Downs and/or Dartmoor retained - or should we get rid of the heathlands, grassy slopes and the wild flowers in favour of deciduous woodland?

What about the animals? The hog is increasing in numbers in many parts of the country, beaver are being introduced into small controlled areas of Scotland. Yet while some laud the return of these mammals there are as many voices against. Birds such as the osprey, kite and peregrine falcon have famously been protected and numbers are increasing. The greater mouse-eared bat was declared extinct in 1990, I cannot see any dissenting voices to the reintroduction of these flying mammals. Rare species of ant have been monitored for seventeen years on the sandy heathlands of Scotland - can't see a mass outcry if year eighteen sees none to count. But what about the bear, exterminated by man in the eleventh century, or the wolf officially gone by 1740. Want to see those reintroduced to Britain? And how can reintroducing animals to 'specially selected areas only' be considered natural? Surely this is simply an open plan zoo?

So I hear how every species should have its own little niche where the species is protected. But isn't that one of the major complaints of environmentalists, that habitat is increasingly fragmented and small islands for this beetle, that bird, or the other flower don't allow them to spread sufficiently to widen the gene pool and thus isolating populations?

And where do we stop? Even if we limit the timescale to species which suffered through human influence we must go back to the end of the last Ice Age when humans returned in numbers to settle permanently in Britain. The idea of returning mammoth, Irish elk and other large herbivores is difficult enough. However to bring back the habitat of these grazers would involve filling in much of the North Sea to rejoin the land bridge with continental Europe.

Perhaps these campaigners should take the lead and offer themselves up as habitats for the human flea which has suffered from a lack of habitat in our comparatively clinically clean modern homes.

I ask again, just what is 'natural'?

Writing Memories on a Lichfield Walk

Soaring Heaven on Earth is a somewhat overly dramatic title for a walk on the northern edge of the city of Lichfield. This was not a walk I anticipated would bring any great satisfaction. I like a distant sound of traffic and little or no tarmac. However this proved a pleasant albeit brief distraction, particularly so when I found myself reunited with areas of my native county which I had visited previously when compiling four of my books: Staffordshire Place Names, Staffordshire Privies, South Staffordshire Street Names, and the forthcoming Paranormal Staffordshire.

I started the route at a different point on the walk, solely because parking was impossible on that day. Soon I was trying to recall the meaning of a number of street names as I started off at Cross Keys, itself taking the name of a former public house, itself named from the symbol representing St Peter. Passing through Lloyds Walk, named after the bank which owns the land, I turned into Dam Street, a reminder of where the water flow feeding the mill was controlled. Here is Dame Olivers, the school where Dr Samuel Johnson learned his first lessons.

Nether Pool is of lesser importance than Stowe Pool. Crossing Bird Street, known as Byrd Street in 1506 and named after a local family, we come to Beacon Park, a name transferred from Beacon Street which we shall encounter very soon.

Skirting the park we approached Townfields, the name explains itself. It was here that a former resident allowed me to photograph the building which had once served as the privy before modern plumbing was installed. The solid brick building certainly smelled better when I photographed it, for one wall and the roof were covered in honeysuckle and its heady sweet perfume.

Shaw Lane is an old name found in the landscape, one referring to 'the enclosure', leads to Beacon Street, which was known as Bacon Street until 1836 and tells us this was where meat was cured. Along here is Erasmus Darwin House where I heard of the unexplained events of cellar lights being turned on moments after being turned off for the night. Another man in period costume appeared to a member of staff and was thought to be playing a role for the museum until she realised he had vanished and that no costumed characters were on site that day.

A side road on the left is The Close, the road associated with the cathedral, and here another phenomenon seemed keen to allow aromas of cooking to permeate into the upstairs of one person's house when nobody was cooking. The buildings on either side seem to frame the magnificent Lichfield Cathedral with its three spires known as the Ladies of the Vale. Briefly touching Dam Street again we turn left along Reeve Lane, a reeve was a Saxon officer appointed by the lord of the manor to see to the running of the estate in his stead.

This path brings us to the single circuit of Stowe Pool, from stow which has several meanings and is best defined as simply 'place' as 'special place' makes it sound of greater significance than it actually was. The path leads off and up the ramp and back to my waiting car.

The walk brought back memories of facts and narratives I would never have remembered had I tried to recall them from a question or a reminder of a name.

Oak Apple Day

Each year on May 29th is celebrated Oak Apple Day. Not a major holiday nor a religious celebration, but a reminder of one of the most turbulent periods in British history and the source of the second most common pub name in England.

Not since 1859 has 29th May been an official holiday, one which started in May 1660 to celebrate the Restoration of the Monarchy and to coincide with the 29th May, the birthday of Charles II. Yet our story starts some years before this when the Royalist forces were routed by the Parliamentarians at the Battle of Worcester in 1651. Fleeing the scene, Charles rode north and the next day was at Boscobel, near Shifnal in Shropshire when the opposition soldiers caught up with him. Together with his aide, Colonel Carless, he hid in the branches of a large oak tree while the soldiers walked beneath just feet below. They stayed there until nightfall, dropping back to the ground and, after a long chase and several close shaves, escaped to the Continent disguised as a woodsman.

As already stated, the Restoration of the Monarchy in 1660 was given the official start date of May 29th, the birthday of Charles II. Soon afterwards public houses started to commemorate this famous event by taking the name of the Royal Oak. Most depict a large oak tree with the coat of arms of the monarchy.

Being England this also resulted in a number of what today seem odd celebrations and rituals. Traditional celebrations included wearing oak apples, not a true fruit but a gall caused by a parasite or bacteria. In some parts of the country the oak apple was known as a shick-shack, hence this was also known as Shick Shack Day. Sprigs of oak trees were also permitted in some regions. Failure to wear a token of the oak tree would result in the individual being pelted with bird's eggs or thrashed with nettles. This is the reason for yet another alternative name of Oak and Nettle Day.

Almost certainly all these were remnants of pre-Christian rites, the oak tree held to be sacred in many pagan religions. Several places in England still mark the occasion: Aston-on-Clun, Great Wishford, Marsh Gibbon, Membury Northampton, Upton-on-Severn, and Castleton.

Walking Hither and Yon

Continuing to research a number of local walks, in the last month or so I have covered some 60 miles on foot. Over stiles and fields, along tow paths, over motorways, through woodland and staring into the depths of a quarry or two, the diversity of the landscape never fails to amaze me.

Around Kingsbury Water Park is an appropriate title for a walk which takes us through some of the thirty lakes, along the banks of the River Tame, and along the tow path of the Birmingham and Fazeley Canal. In the main the instructions are clear and much of the walk, especially the second half, is self-evident.
With all this water about wildlife abounds, particularly waterfowl. From time to time you will hear an odd wailing siren, something which baffled me until I noticed a scarecrow-type figure on an island in the middle of one of the lakes. This oddity leapt to a standing position to coincide with this alarm. Clearly the intention is to frighten something (presumably the birds) away from the island, yet I have no idea why.

Earlswood Lakes were constructed to provide water for the canal. As a child I spent many hours in the area, fishing, cycling, picking blackberries, and camping. There are more houses today, and the pub no longer have a delivious ploughman's lunch on offer, yet over forty years the area has really changed very little.
The walk takes in some delightful views of the lakes and woodland, largely steers clear of the roads, with large stretches confined to field after field. At one stage the route ascends the railway embankment and the path crosses two railway lines by means of a wooden crossing. It sounds more dangerous than it is, for the line is fairly straight here and there are good views for half a mile in each direction.

Brueton Park and the Grand Union Canal begins at a free car park alongside Brueton Park. Parking is free here for four hours and, while the estimate is a minimum of 2 hours and 30 minutes, try not to spend too long enjoying the scenery for there is a threatened clamping for those exceeding the four hours. Personally I would think the powers that be should pay more attention to those who park outside the marked bays, on the day I was there the combination of school holidays and excellent weather meant many cars were parked illegally and made entering and leaving the car park much more difficult than necessary.
My personal preference is for the peace and quiet offerend by green fields and this walk does keep bringing us back to civilization. Crossing the golf course, a busy road or three, traffic along country lanes, a footbridge over six lanes of motorway, not to mention the outskirts of Solihull town centre and the park itself, are reminders of just how near the town we are.

Around Baddesley Clinton Manor House starts off with an excellent wander through woodland which, in April, was literally carpeted by bluebells as far as the eye could see. Before crossing fields the next leg does take in a rather lengthy section of road, something we see again before the final leg across many fields.
Note the instructions state to park outside the church, yet this is now blocked off by a locked gate (open only when services are held). Hence cars are forced to park on the grass verge and there is only room for four or possibly five cars here, although there are more spaces further down the hill.

Fradley Junction is well worth a visit even if there is no plan for a lengthy walk. A choice of places to eat, plenty of canal traffic to watch from both canals, with a wildlife stroll around a pool, and posts with recorded information on the history of the site.
The walk looping around Alrewas is basically a triangle. The first stretch follows the Trent and Mersey as far as the River Trent. It is here the walk becomes a little complicated, the way is not particularly well marked although there are few alternatives around the cricket ground and skirting the housing estate. After crossing the road the route across the fields is obvious, as is returning to the junction along the tow path of the Coventry Canal.

Although I walk in most of what the British climate has to offer, the unseasonable weather certainly gave every mile an added beauty. From the vantage point of a hilltop or ridge the landscape below revealed how the sunlight enhances every natural feature, while those man-made are simply scars.

Mind Your Language

As a writer with an interest in etymology, particularly the origins of place names, I am well aware how easy it is to misinterpret or misuse a word or phrase. Recently listening to a podcast teaching Dutch to English speakers I was reminded just how important accurate translation is.

Someone had asked for clarification of any stop and search policy in the Netherlands as they had recently been searched while passing through Schiphol Airport. By way of a reply the tutor had contacted a senior police officer at his local police station giving the answer by way of an interview.

Interviewer asked if stop and search by the police is to be expected in the Netherlands. He answered it was legal but should only be expected in certain sensitive areas, such as the airport, government buildings, railway stations, or where large crowds gather, at sporting events for example. The follow-up question was, not surprisingly, under what circumstances can the police justify such a search. Once again the answer was not unexpected, they must show reasonable suspicion that the individual may be hiding weapons about their person or in their luggage.

The interviewer then asked for clarification that carrying any weapon without the necessary permits and documentation was illegal. Had I not realised the police officer's English was poorly constructed and a literal translation, his reponse would have been somewhat worrying, for he answered: "Yes. In the Netherlands the police have the monopoly on violence against ordinary citizens."

Accurate translations in future, please.