Elected Members of Parliament are supposed to be smart! At their request they can have access to any established facts and argument from specialised Scientists, but instead the Dishonourable MP’s have wilfully been cutting the ranks of expertise(CSIRO), and listening to the lobbyists of the fossil fuel industry.
Money is the root of all evil? The Conservative coalition in power in Australia is taking us backward, pre-Unionisation of the 19th century. My family pedigree is at the bottom of the coal pit, in the cradle of the industrial revolution.
So when our kids learn the physics of climate change, and roam around the world via wi-fi to find reputable information about the situation of global warming now and predicted, the cracks in the generation gap will become a lot wider.
A law penalising Parliamentarian’s wilful deceit, greed, and negligence on issues like fossil fuels effects should happen now! At least the Federal and State ALP were making inroads to acting to prevent the worst of global warming.
Be Prepared! We got solar panels, insulation, curtains with some financial rebates, and I can report Renewable energy and energy conservation are starting to pay off in our household.
It is possible to reduce energy bills. and care for our children’s future in harmony with our knowledge of Physics and Nature – that’s what 250 years of curiosity and understanding have revealed!
After a short, always treacherous merchant ship trip to Newcastle coal port in the year of our Lord, of the reign of King Charles 1, 1631 ~ Hugh Cannaday, a Mariner, sometime resident of Wapping, did the honourable thing by the pretty wench from Bishops gate.
Hugh was 21 and rightly proud… yet humble. It was a successful trip to Newcastle as second mate. It had been bloody hard, dirty work, and if they got home in one piece was paid better than any Royal crew.
The boat ferried the lads over to the shore-line, sailors like excited children across to the Wapping playground; unadulterated Sinners.
The Captain and the Vicar were clever; Their earnings were sorted in the Vestry. It was no pay and no play until they’d expressed gratitude to the Holy Trinity at the Sailor’s Church in Stepney for getting them home alive.
It didn’t hurt to sit and begin to adjust to land and lovers, but this time he was going to do things differently. He had turned 21 in the year 1631. He could deflect the fatigue on his knees at the altar, and stand and sit for a reading of the Gospel and singing of a Psalm.
Once he was carrying a purse full of cash from his profitable sea-coal venture to Newcastle-upon-Tyne, returning to the Thames, though his back bone was weary, nothing a hot tub and rub by a musclie Turk couldn’t fix.
God Almighty knew his purpose. He wanted to see that girl again. No need for whores along Wapping Wall. He wanted to impress. There was still time to get fitted for new boots.
It would be bright tonight, suit a new shirt – she liked to stroke it…Yes, he needed the Barber, the shirt, the boots. Nothing else, after-all he was only tempting a daughter of Eve not marrying one!
The Italian barber insisted Hugh soak his hands in a bowl of warm soapy water then nails scrubbed if he was to please his mistress, or maiden is she? Believe me a female is allured like we had slinky, spot coat of the leopard at the Tower.
Really, as the Lord is my Saviour, my wife go wild in the bed everywhere when I take her to Royal Zoo.! True! Hair done, magnifico, very handsome man.
He took the money, and his eyes shone. Hey don’t forget to come back and tell me your love story! Angelo not a fighter, am a lover heh? I can tell you are too. He winked. Hugh was not one for revealing licentious information about his affairs with anybody, let alone with this depraved Roman.
His hand coveted his sword hilt. The barber was quick to notice. with pockets of money had considered not entering that particular tavern where they had met previously, danced to the early morning, then sneaked him back to her father’s shop, only a few doors down, and my God they were up for it.
He had paused at the threshold of the tavern Bishops-gate Street having a sense something momentous was about to occur. He surmised it was the thought of nothing else but the thought of fuckin’ with Thomasine again, or anybody with a nice round arse to grab.
He was 21years, a man who had a wage packet and feeling horny, but he wasn’t going to go with any tart who could give him Mother Clap for his sin.
He could remember she was a comely 17. Could have been a gypsy. Aah, stop it, get over it, so he stepped into the bar where a mixed crowd of a Friday night generated the hive of convivial activity.
The barman greeted him with a nod, first drink on the house son; one group of youngsters were playing skull drinks, friends trained their eye to knocking the skittles, a balladeer sung favourite romances.
The fire was roaring, beckoned him over to sit with his tankard and relax after half a year of a profitable
“How do I know you ain’t stitching me up!” he said to her Mother, it could be any one of these fellas in this tavern?” Margaret Bond of Bishopsgate was 17 and burst into tears.
Dear God, forgive him, for he knows what you the Almighty wants to be done. She took his hand and pulled him to the floor to pray.
Margaret stayed seated. “He’s a good, hard-working man who would make a good father and husband, just as your Son, Jesus had in Saint Joseph. He was but an ordinary Carpenter but he performed the task which you God had purposed for him.
Due to this randy sailor my Virgin Margaret is no more, she fell for him, hook, line and sinker. As you blessed Saint Elizabeth, to be a Mother of John the Evangelist, and Blessed Mary, Mother of God, may this man Hugh consent to carry his Paternal line of Cannaday
to do your Will. Amen. Amen. Hugh had been ambushed. Margaret’s father Thomas Bond entered the room, “Here we are my dear, the finest Brandy to welcome the next little bundle of joy!” The three adults in the room stood and clinked goblets.
“Don’t forget me!” blabbed their daughter, “It’s me needs the medicine to fortify the Soul. You’re always ignoring me!, and he burst into tears. Her father rushed to her side after an urgent silent direction from his mother.
“There Pet, get this down you. It will settle you both down for the night. Please sit young man. We will leave you two betrothed love birds to re-aquaint.
See you in the morning, sweet her father kissed her head, shook his soon to be son-in-law’s hand, and said, “Margaret, you’ll have to show your young man what you have been collecting in your sea-chest!
Margaret complied. Her mother said to her, now he was reeled in, all she had to do was make him comfortable on the bed and stroke his cock.
She led him into the adjoining room with a double bed and hung curtain decoratively attached to the four posts. Margaret explained to him this was the conjugal bed which they could use until they got their own.
“I’m sorry I was weeping like a weak woman,” she moaned. I was so looking forward to seeing you handsome face and feel your strong arms around me.
“You have very understanding parents” he said as she leaned her breasts over to touch his side, lifted her gaze to his. They kissed. She was ravishing him so he had to succumb, being in an aroused state of shock.
Hugh lay back on the pillow. He thanked God for leading him to the mother of his children. What was amazing was the smell of fish, strong, fresh fish which would fly out of the sea onto the deck of the ship, showing, said he Captain, the fecundity of God.
Fecund. They took turns in saying the word in different ways. When she asked if he had seen a Mermaid, he laughed. “Not at Sea, but you are very close to how I imagined her to be.”
Now, what would they wear when they walked down the aisle at St.Mary’s Whitechapel?
Thanks for stimulating the writing episode today – David Fictum at the wordpress blog
A principle of our inherited Westminster system of government is that Ministers of the Crown receive impartial, fearless advice.
CSIRO provides Scientific evidence to guide our policies for making our Commonwealth of Australia a better place, but in recent times the Government has shown a distinct lack of respect for the institution.
There is a career public service which impartially serves the government of the day.
On this day in 1647, in the midst of the English Civil War, between the Monarch and Parliament the so-called “Putney Debates” began in the church of St Mary The Virgin Church, Putney. The debates, Chaired by Cromwell and attended by officers.
Ideas, creativity, invention was flowering. Communications technology such as accessible printing presses had a double-edged sword for those who wanted to promote new ideas and information to those who didn’t want them to be disseminated. Knowledge was Power, and it empowered the New Model Army.
Colonel Thomas Rainsborough and his brother William of Wapping were well loved in their seafarer and merchant community.
LIke their father who was honoured by the Crown for his prowess with the King’s ships, the sons inherit the wise, learned non-conformist gallantry which resonated with the populace.
Today we would call them “Champagne Socialists”.
When I hear our current Members of Parliament (in the Commonwealth of Australia) “verballing” the most vulnerable who depend on the safety net of welfare, targeting cuts to income and services – taxing the poorest and subsidising the richest, I think of the power of those words recorded at the Putney Debates 400 years ago, which is as relevant today:
“ … [T]he poorest hee that is in England hath a life to live, as the greatest hee … ”. I’m going to borrow that for personally political purposes! BOOK REVIEW
In Australia the immigrant Irish outlaw NED KELLY became a folk hero against the British Colonial administration. The standard bog-Irish prejudice transferred to the Colonies with it’s Protestant hierarchy. Sometimes you don’t even realise you are prejudiced until something switches the neuron lights on and one has a revelation.
For Fifty Years my husband had linked his paternal lineage to the Hero ROB ROY MCGREAGOR.
Quite logical for a young lad from Leeds called ROY, with a surname McNEILL…He must be more Scottish than Yorkshire. Our grandson runs around with his superhero cape on, his grandfather Roy, when a Yorkshire lad in the 1950’s collected comics and patiently waited for the T.V. series.
Roy’s parents would have been encouraged he spent his pocket-money at Leeds markets, investing in the second-hand colour magazines, KNOWLEDGE of 1962 which grows into an encyclopaedia(and he hasn’t thrown them out yet)…
Being a MOD at 14years, Roy fancied himself as a lover of THE ENLIGHTENMENT which he learned from the Time-Life Books of 1966. The “Great Ages of Man” accompanied the Collier’s Encyclopaedia’s sold by a door-to-door salesman in his new landscape of Highett in suburban Melbourne.
When I met Roy and became a McNeill one habit I learned to love was listening to the ABCScience show at midday every Saturday(and for the next 32 years!)
With the advent of the DNA science it was a chance to confirm what he had always imagined. When he got the results from a sample of his Y-DNA it was not the Scottish hero ROB ROY MacGREGOR who was his direct ancestor but the Irish War-Lord Niall of the Nine Hostages!
If it wasn’t enough to know you received a Y chromosome from the pagan High King Niall who kidnapped St. Patrick as a boy thus triggering the motivation to convert the Irish to Christianity, the story has leaped into my imagination via a Spanish/Portugese migratory path.
“Galicia, northern Spain, ‘the land of a thousand rivers’, is famous for the ‘city of glass’, La Coruna, the treacherous shipwrecked coast Costa de la Muerte (the Coast of Death) and its unmistakably Celtic roots.
Due to centuries of shared fishing traditions and cross-emigration, Galicia has developed a unique culture, but one that is profoundly influenced and inspired by Ireland.
The region boasts a folk music tradition with tin whistles, fiddles and bagpipes, a form of traditional dancing and a similarly rich literary and folkloric history. In return Galicia has provided Ireland with one of its most potent symbols.
Five hundred years before the birth of Christ the Galician King of Spain Milesius sent his three sons, Ir, Heber and Heremon, to invade and conquer Ireland – promising the island to the first of the siblings to touch its soil.
As the legend goes, each of the parties raced towards the shore and one of the sons cut off his own hand with a sword and throwing it onto dry land so that he could lay claim to the country. The soil was Ulster, and the Red Hand has persisted ever since.
Due to the Irish oral tradition of storytelling, there are many variations of this tale. In some accounts the invaders are Vikings, returning Irish mercenaries or Scottish clansmen. One even attributes the symbol to battle-wounds received when two giants brutally fought each other across the mountains and valleys of the North.
Debate around its precise origins must be tempered by the recognition that the tale is likely apocryphal and of little factual historical basis. The Red Hand symbol is older than, and as universal as, civilisation itself, continually recurring in aboriginal art, Native American engravings right back to the cave paintings of Cro-Magnon humans”.
Distant Celtic Grandparental via Y- DNA – Earls of Tyrone McNeills/Ui Niall v the British Government 17th century.
Australian politics 100th day of protest on Nauru Liz Walsh 27 June 2016 For many years, Australian television crews have been denied access to the detention camp on Nauru. That’s the way the Australian government wants to keep its political prisoners: faceless and shrouded in secrecy. Since 2014, Nauru has charged a […]
Under the Refugee Convention a refugee is a person who is:
outside their own country and
has a well-founded fear of being persecuted due to his/ her race, religion, nationality, member of a particular social group or political opinion, and is
unable or unwilling to return.
Many countries, including Australia, have signed and ratified (legally implemented) the Refugee Convention. This means that countries are obliged to help individuals who are dislocated from their home country because of the threat of persecution.
By signing the Refugee Convention each country shows their intention to implement the legislation and policy that is required in order to support the refugee protection process. In Australia the law is implemented through the Migration Act 1958 (Cth).
Countries that are not signatories to the Refugee Convention have no international obligation to accept people seeking asylum, although many still do.