As I write the storm clouds have lifted, the rain has stopped and the winds abated. The sun is high in the blue sky and Manchester City has announced that Pep Guardiola (Manager of Bayern Munich) is to take over for three years at a mere £45m. In addition, a ewe has just dropped triplets and all is well with the world. What could possibly go wrong?
Well first, Bristol City FC are struggling, and secondly I have been wondering about which way to vote in the referendum on whether we are to leave power in Brussels or bring it back to Britain. But more of that next month! In the meantime, I am wondering what it is about the human-race that whenever someone gets a white collar job or a promotion, they act as though they have instantly become more intelligent and rational than their colleagues?
We see evidence of this in every walk of life but a recent example is that of the new Head Teacher at a Primary School in Lancashire. She told parents they were not to send children to school with homemade cakes or sandwiches for fear the food might be shared and someone have an allergic reaction. I expect possible insurance claims figured in her decision, but she might also have listened to those food experts who scarily prattle about millions of deaths unless they are given more money for their research programmes.
I am not saying we should never listen to experts, however we should always ask ourselves how our grandparents managed to raise our own parents. We should remember their cold draughty houses, outside lavatories, hot water from the boiler of the coal fired range, home grown vegetables and washing day with its dolly and tub. Children in those days got dirty by spending their evenings playing in fields, gardens or streets.
We should also ask how, until fairly recently, families managed without fridges, freezers, cling film, plastic bags, electric ovens and microwaves? We could further question what our great grandmothers’ would say about the advert showing a modern Dad spraying Dettol on every door-knob in the house? My own grandma’s tongue could be as astringent as any antiseptic and she would probably have said that, “Dettol is for cuts, not for wasting on killing 99% of bacteria which include the 96% that are either neutral or good for us.
No doubt the Head Teacher thought her action was rational. However it did come in the same week as a public health report which revealed that, the guts of those people who peremptorily wash their hands after gardening contain a vastly greater number of healthy bacteria compared with those who can’t wait to wash and scrub their hands: Another study on the same day came to the same conclusion but this time regarding stroking pets. These two reports confirm my own experience of living with animals and reminds me of a war-time-childhood of sharing half eaten food, especially apple cores or, as we used to call them, ‘Coggies.’
The head teacher is not alone in her safety fears as I discovered when discussing the issue with a school teacher friend. As a keen gardener and smallholder he was astonished one day to learn that his staff-room colleagues thought his pursuit of gardening and smallholding strange because they themselves never actually touched soil. I said, “I wished his friends could have heard the words of my maternal grandmother ‘Gertrude Minett’ as she enunciated her list of ‘life’s conditions’, one of which was that, “You’ve got to eat a peck of muck before you die.”
Mention of ‘Gertie’ reminds me that my grandfather Harry regularly won the prize for the best kept council-house garden in Sutton-in-Ashfield, and even now my mind clearly sees his garden layout of beans, peas, onions, carrots, potatoes, parsnips, rhubarb and assorted salads. He and Gran may have been poor, but they ate well.
Harry worked for the local Gas Board and was reckoned to be a ‘bit of a lad.’ As a child that phrase had no-meaning for me, but looking back, I wonder, what he would have made of the tale of the elderly gentleman who was wandering aimlessly in Gloucester’s ASDA when he banged his trolley into a young chap. “Oops Sorry’ I do apologise but I can’t find my wife,” he said. “I’ve lost mine too,” replied the young chap who then went on to describe her as “ 5’.4’ very shapely, blonde, blue eyed, 28 year old and, as it was summer, was wearing a white open necked blouse and red mini skirt. “What does your wife look like?”
“No hurry,” came the reply, “let’s find yours first!”
View from the Pew 