Rain and Roadworks

Summer appears to be over for the time being down here in rural East Sussex and the monsoon season has firmly set in. Little dog and I have just got back from her daily perambulation around the block and we are both soaked through. She is now catching up on a few zeds in her basket after drying herself off by rolling around on the front room rug.

We started the morning off by taking Mrs C to work in Royal Tunbridge Wells which is a bit posher than Royal Uckfield and is also legitimately allowed to call itself by the title of royal. Normally this journey takes us approximately twenty-five minutes but not anymore; well not for the next twenty weeks at least.

Today it took us an hour to travel this distance because as we passed Boars Head near Crowborough we hit a traffic jam. It then took us thirty-five minutes to crawl to the head of the queue near Bunny Lane where we discovered a road works sign and temporary traffic lights. Something however appeared to be missing though from this bucolic rural scene and that something was a gang of workmen and assorted machinery who should have been digging great holes in the road.

A cynical person might think that this is just a ploy by East Sussex County Council to slow down and manage the flow of traffic crossing the border into Kent. Or are they just jealous of Kent County Council, who are having all sorts of fun at the moment turning the M20 Motorway into one giant lorry park, by creating their own mini version of Operation Stack on the A26.

After dropping Mrs C off at her work place I decided to find a different route back to the old homestead. In the pouring rain on greasy roads I took my life in my hands on the back lanes of deepest darkest Sussex. Have you ever seen the film 'Deliverance'? Whilst I stayed alert for danger (and more road closures)  Little dog got into the spirit of things by falling asleep and snoring loudly for the entire journey home.

I've spent the rest of the morning baking bread which is very therapeutic. It's a great way of relieving all that pent up stress by kneading and punching back the dough whilst imagining that it is the head of the East Sussex Highways department (makes a change from the Home Secretary). I'm really looking forward to repeating the journey later when I collect Mrs C who upon arriving home will say 'I never eat bread' as she cuts herself a thick slice.

Kingstanding

In December 2013 I posted a blog about the WW2 Bunker at Kingstanding on the Ashdown Forest little knowing that just over a year later I would be working there. My new position is as a Facilities Assistant for Sussex Police who now own the bunker and surrounding buildings set within a fifty five acre fenced compound. The site is used for storage and as a training facility for police officers but we also allow paramedics and fire and rescue personnel to use it occasionally.

I started work here in the depths of winter and now six months later I am getting to grips with the job which is a cross between a caretaker and security officer. They even gave me a Landrover to patrol and check the security of the site and perimeter fence with.  Every day brings a different challenge but the first job each morning is unlocking the bunker. In the early days in the pitch dark and with the wind blowing through the trees it felt very creepy up here as most of the supporting buildings are deserted and derelict. The perfect location for filming a zombie apocalypse movie.

Being at one of the highest points on the forest, Kingstanding has it's own weather system. The sun can be shining brightly five miles away at home but up here you can be in low cloud even in what we laughingly call summer in these parts. When the wind and rain are lashing against the windows of the gatehouse it can feel like you are on the bridge of a small boat in a storm. On hot sunny days I can't think of a better place to work, however the sun tends to bring out the adders so you have to be careful where you tread.

The complex was originally constructed by the Canadian Army Corps of Engineers in 1942 to house a radio transmitter code named 'Aspidistra' which purported to be a German station based in Calais transmitting light entertainment programmes to the U-boat crews. In between the music and rants against our Royal Family and Government we inserted disinformation to demoralise and cause confusion to the German armed forces. Although the German High command was aware of the station they never discovered it's location.

When it was built there was only one entrance to the bunker but during the nineteen eighties at the hight of the cold war it was converted into a nuclear proof bunker and a second entrance was constructed. In the eventuality of a nuclear attack on this country Kingstanding was to be the seat of local government, however what there would be left to govern is any bodies guess. After the fall of the Berlin wall and the thawing of the cold war the role of the bunker became defunct so the site was sold to Sussex Police.

If anybody reading this article is concerned that I may be giving away state secrets don't worry, as everything that I have written and photographs similar to those shown above are freely available on the internet. We even conduct tours of the site occasionally.

A few changes

It's been a little while since I last posted an article on this blog, well ten months to be exact. I stopped posting because I fell into the doldrums and couldn't motivate myself to write anything interesting.........'That never stopped me writing for the previous eighteen months' you might well say. However having recently discovered a couple of other blogs which I found absorbing, I am feeling reinvigorated and freshly inspired to set my inane ramblings loose on the internet world again.

The best way to start I think is to give you a brief resume of what Little dog and I have been up to in the intervening months. I have had several changes in both my work and leisure time and Little dog is slowly succumbing to old age, spending most of her time asleep or wondering around bumping into things. She still gets very excited though when her lead comes out and we go for a walk, unfortunately they are only short ambles around the block these days.

Just before writing my last post I was laid off from my part time job at the art company. It would appear that the online art world was not as buoyant as the new highly paid CEO led us all to believe. His services were dispensed with a few months later, the difference being though was that he left with a golden goodbye (apparently). It was a little bit sad leaving the company because I worked with some brilliant people with whom I had a great craic and shared some really good laughs.

After several months of working a night shift for a well known supermarket chain (and hating every minute of it) I secured a part time job working for the local Constabulary. My new title is 'Facilities Assistant' and the role is a cross between a security officer and caretaker. My new work place is a training facility set within fifty five acres of prime heathland on top of the forest centred around a cold war nuclear bunker.

I still very much enjoy walking up on the Forest and in the Downs and am presently in training for a long distance walk in North Yorkshire in early August. I've also become a Search Technician with Sussex Search and Rescue and am on call 24/7 to assist in searching for vulnerable missing persons in East and West Sussex. More about all these recent changes in later posts as I have to stop writing now because Little dog has woken up and is pestering me for her walk.

My Camino de Santiago (Wet Pants and aching legs)

I was  awoken to pouring rain lashing at the windows, whatever happened to sunny Spain? Staying in my sleeping bag wasn't an option as the Hospitaleros chuck you out of the hostel at about 8:00 a.m. Never mind 'Onwards and upwards'. We had a short stroll of about 29 kilometres today along paths and small country roads to the small pueblo of Terradillos de los Templarios.

Jacques, Pablo and I set off together along an old Roman road which stretched for approximately twelve kilometres into the middle of nowhere. The terrain was as flat as a pool table and a stiff breeze blew up driving the rain into our faces. I began to regret buying the cheap light weight waterproof trousers as within a very short time they were no longer keeping the rain out. My legs were soaked and there was a small icy puddle building up in my crotch area (is this what it's going to be like when I'm old and doddery and in a care home).

Luckily the Camino Angels were looking out for us again. After walking about halfway along this ancient trackway we came across some enterprising local people who had set up a barbecue and bar under some tarpaulins in a small field alongside of our route. For five euros I bought a hot coffee and a hamburger bocadillo which I drank and ate whilst standing in the sodden field, with rain dripping off of my trusty old Tilley hat. It was the best five euros that I have ever spent!

Eventually though we had to get going again as the rain and wind were starting to make us shiver and we were in danger of going down with hypothermia. On the plus side, after walking for a short while the icy puddle in my pants was starting to warm up, warmed by my body heat (either that or I had peed myself). The rain and wind continued until about 4:30 p.m. and my left lower leg was slightly swollen and starting to hurt. Luckily my feet were still dry and I still hadn't succumbed to blisters.

We eventually arrived at Terradillos de los Templarios in the early evening and booked into the only albergue. The village was much smaller than we anticipated, a real one horse town (and the horse had bolted). According to the guide book this village (Population 80) was a stronghold of the Knights Templars and apparently we were about to experience the simplicity of this humble village. The book was not wrong. The dormitories were over crowded and the peregrino's evening meal was extremely simple, apart from the price! Still if you can't take a joke, you should have stayed at home!

Every Man Remembered

One hundred years ago on 4th August 1914 Britain, France and Russia declared war on Germany after the German army invaded Belgium. To commemorate this occasion there have been parades, Candlelit vigils, Church services and many other celebrations held throughout the country.

One of the leading organisations behind these commemorations is the Royal British Legion a charity set up in the 1920's to help injured and disabled ex-servicemen. The symbol of the Legion is the red Flanders poppy which we all wear with pride on Remembrance day each November. The reason that the poppy was adopted was because in the shell ravaged no mans land of the Western Front this was one of the only flowers that thrived (Another was the corn flower which was adopted by the French as their flower of remembrance).

The British Legion have created a data base called 'Every Man Remembered' which anybody can access and make a dedication (for a small donation) to one of the 855,000 men and women from Britain and the Commonwealth who paid the ultimate sacrifice during WW1. 

Many thousands of Ceramic red poppies have also been commissioned, one for each of the fallen, which can be bought as a keepsake. All these poppies are being displayed as a cascade in the moat of the Tower of London until after Remembrance Sunday when they will be dispatched to the purchasers. You can also request for the name of your chosen Serviceman or Woman to put on a list to be read out by a Yeoman Warder at a ceremony each evening at 8:30 p.m. 

My Sister-in-Law applied for the name of her Great Uncle, George Read who died at the age of 17 in May 1916 near Arras, to be put on this list. His name was to be read out last Sunday evening so we made a family trip to the Tower of London to witness this event. Just before 8:30 p.m. a Yeoman Warder and Bugler from the Guards Division marched into the centre of the moat amongst a field of these ceramic poppies. 

The crowd became silent as the Warder began reading the long list of names for this evening. We held our breath as George's name and regiment, one of the last on the list, was read out. At the end of the reading the Bugler approached the microphone and blew the Last Post in remembrance of these brave men and women. It was a very emotional experience and as the last note died down the crowd began to slowly drift away in silence, several of them had tears in their eyes.