Gyrwe

A Few Of The Still Living remember The White Pipe, a landmark in Jarrow for schoolboys 'Playing The Wag'. Despite it's mythical status, a mere exposed sewer, shortly to be interned under the A19 arterial road. The open fields King George V Playing Fields really did have a ‘Pointless Gate’ as if leading off to paleo-future. The world, round here filled up. The wooded Primrose Dene of wild spring daffodils and bluebells, were already privatised when on flanking gentle hillsides, council estates were laid out.

From Boldon Hill, the scene in 1644 of an English Civil War skirmish, northwards, and golden cornfields stretched from Primrose via Simonside, along The Rekendyke to Laygate, Boldon Colliery in the middle distance. From the vantage point of Down Hill, a disused coal mineral railway line below from Tyne Dock, mimicked a diagonal roman road to Chester-le-Street. In 1964, Sunderland and Newcastle (both city centres visible with a single turn of the head from Down Hill) clashed again as new council houses lapped Hylton Castle. North East Durham was thus ravaged. The Spirit, soaring ever higher, the scars fading.

Leaving Jarrow to soar abroad, but it’s impossible to leave, The Undiscovered Country of Jarrow.

In Pale Thought, the carnal body does not hover, but walks somewhere between Jarrow and Primrose, to a plateau of flesh feeding foliage. Halfway to somewhere, The Spirit hovers here as if looking for a home. Inside Primrose Cemetery, the Imagined Spirit floats, to visit already dead parts of me (Uncles and Aunts) and they were indeed there, albeit lying down, invisible and saying nothing. After all this was our first meeting mostly. All Josephine had left me was a message in stone, saying she lay here since a particular date.

My Uncle wasn’t joking anymore, his black headstone lined up with the rest, his name arched in golden words, and that was it.

‘All Must Die‘, but within the hallowed ground perimeter are inscriptions on Dead Children’s Graves, who, like buntings and finches, lived only briefly, their spirit’s even more faint, claim existence with their tiny names. Who was little Phoebe? Was there anyone still alive to remember why, the tiny mite was hidden away from the rest?

The world consisted then of The World Outside, with the walled burial ground within. Clearly, nature in the form of landscape had already been defiled, the stench of the black creek near assailing the clear slopes save for a constant refreshing breeze which somehow kept out foul vapours.

In a 'sunder land', a plot exposed on three sides to the carnal (Yet who is more carnal than The Recently Dead?)world outside, on a slightly elevated platform like a plinth. I am privileged and safe here, at least for now. The necesary arteries of progress bypass this grave ground. It’s three in the afternoon when The Neon Is Out. A time of day Of Fire before cooling. The ruddy face of the gravedigger, dressed in black corduroy, like The Hireling Shepherd. The Crowd Gathered Before Us, and for a moment his gaze lands on mine, mine on his. This done, standing on his own ground, he holds his gaze on me, 'putting me down'. I stand alone yet, as a Trespasser. Unwittingly lucky, an implausible visitor to my own funeral.

Petropavlovsk-Kamchatskiy

Transport Through The Ages: Early Airliner

Labour In The North, New Labour In The North regard themselves as Northern Chieftains, even having Bamburgh Castle as Their Stronghold. Like a Modern Bernicia, Land North of the Humber, the Umber as is The Roman Colour.

Nothing could be Further From The Truth. Bamburgh is a mere outlier of Jesmond, Heaton and Gosforth linked to Belford (Chathill) by Commuter Train. The Geordie Nation, centred on GCHQ Jesmond Dene, is Quite Blue, Not Red, and The Penumbras of Sheildfield, Walker and Spital Tongues is Orange or Yellow.

The ‘Big Lie’ about The North East of England, pointed up by Matthew Parish’s two, separated by twenty years, 'Parris On Poverty', Visits to Scotswood, TV documentaries, is that Geordie's Are Poor. Nothing Could Be Further From The Truth. Season Ticket Holders at Newcastle United are from Hexham, Darras Hall and Blagdon Hall, not Cramlington, Elswick or Benwell. The Newcastle fans caught on TV, are Architects, University Lecturers and Dentists: They have The Middle Class Jesmond confidence to articulate and broadcast their Geordiness live on TV. ‘Auf Weidersehen Pet’, is no Soap Opera, it’s Social Realism. Jimmy Nail was Never Working Class. These are Well Healed North of The Tyne Actors. The Whole of The North East is managed From Jesmond, with some Senior Staff preferring the former hill top pit villages of North West Durham, overlooking The Landed Gentry West of Newcastle, and North of The River Tyne.

The Labour in The North of over 30 Members of Parliament by contrast, Rule By Stealth from their HQ in Gosforth. They wouldn’t go on TV or anything like that. Of course it’s The Regent’s Centre, The North East of England’s most hideous building, not even an example of English Brutalism, but a Forgettable Monster and, Just By Chance Home of Northern Rock. There, and at Silverdale Industrial Estate, The Future National Bank, have trained All Of Their Staff with Point of Sale Customer Public Relation Skills, even The Women Only Branch in Northumberland Street, In View of the Future Backlash. (I.e. ‘How’s Everyone Out Of A Job Except Them?) Labour In The North will Try Supporting The Return of Call Centres to The North East, and Elocution Lessons for Everyone.

And it’s Not Embarrassing What So Ever To Be A Free Mason In Newcastle, especially with The Scottish Border Only 75 miles away. Sir Robert McAlpine, at home in Jesmond, is Openly Masonic.

Like their counterparts in The Council House, Nottingham, The Labour In The North Rule Like Fiefdom Barons. Their strategy is simple: After Duping Voting Fodder To Vote Labour with Dull Pamphlets, protected by The Police They Directly Employ, They Never Allow Anyone To Approach Them. Like Soviet Minor Apparatchiks, They Never Interact Directly With Anyone, Never Ask Voters What They Think, Never Have A Quantifiable Manifesto, and Never Invest Any Money in The Poorer Areas of North East England.

Money from One North East, The Regional Development Agency (RDA) covering North East England, never leaves Jesmond, because those involved in the transactions live in Jesmond, with The Best Schools, Sports Facilities and Operating Tables, just across The A1. Northern Labour Members of Parliament have never been able to successfully wrestle any money from The Jesmond Middle Classes. Northern Rock, like a ligature and the Middle Class Sports of Rugby and Cric*et have a Tiny Catchment areas of People Not From The North East, Both Useless To Any Geordie.

Labour In The North’s Website has 'Never Worked'. This is because if it did work it might be useful. Even A young, deadlier and glamorous female graduate trainee MI5 recruit, would struggle deciphering what Labour In The North gets up to.

The only progress by Labour is the North are School Building, School Reform, Hospitals, Hospital Reform, Keeping The Status Quo, Retention of Most Public Sector Jobs, Efficient use of Local Government Systems, Care For The Elderly, Radical and Charitable Help for The Unemployed in Simonside, Primrose, Tyne Dock, Rekendyke and Laygate, and The New Simonside Metro Station.

The Lack of Glamour, Partly due the Complexity of Carrying Out National Policy.

All this, despite there being no obvious physical signs of economic development attracted to South Tyneside. Most damning because it is Money ’Spunked’ from North Sea Oil.

Jarrow is run like A Semi Autonomous Quasi Republic, like say, Kazakhstan was under The Soviet Union.

Valley View

The India Summer elongated even in November Jarrow, normally the scrub hawthorn trees of Primrose Dene, braced against Arctic Winds. In The Last Summer Like This, On Simonside Playing Field, the Summer of 1964, talented goalkeeper Robert Gallagher’s already joined eyebrows knit tighter, as his Bette Noir accuses him of ironically ‘missing the banana shots'. Robert had just failed to join the Human Queue, joining instead the back of a Mongolian tribe queue, a minority in Jarrow, Hebburn and Felling.

His tormentor, an informal gas meter emptier, a sallow Kasper-like Kes figure, was suggestively implying Robert resembled a monkey. From stage left, a detective and a uniformed officer, emerged from a sky blue and white Hillman Imp, approaching us. Kasper, when asked his name, replied Tony Hancock, adding it’s based on body parts, pointing at them in order (Toe Knee Hand C*ck). ‘Comedian, Eh?’ The Filth replied both Police Men, exiting left.

'Männer? Polizei Männer?'.

Robert worked a lifetime collecting Bingo numbers, a true Everyman, centre of a network of admiring and loving friends. Robert’s disarming intelligence shone through when he smiled, and bonded me to my elder brother Bede.

Robert slept 24 hours, days on end, only emerging to visit The Neon, or Sign On.

‘Neon Licht, schimmendes Neon Licht’.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xyqz_qr4PAI

The Neon’s neon sign, luminous and on, white at night, and, at Three in The Afternoon just there: Then unkempt and flickering, then disappeared.

The Neon Friends converged to Jarrow Cemetery Corner ‘sunderland‘, overlooking The River Don, going in to character, like, like, as if choreographed by a levitated puppeteer. The Chip Shop Blond Angel In Black, her hair Jet Black: In her lapel a Black Rose. This lady dignified the ceremony like a Glinting Black Gem.

‘For a minute the sky pours into the hole like plasma. There is hope, it is not given up.’

Hedworth

Transport Through The Ages: Ox Wagon

Mention of The Kicking of the Ball’ is here taboo, however, on first seeing Eleven Men halted by Finchley Road Swiss Cottage Public House Beer Garden,(tbc) dressed in the new fashion of wearing Newcastle United shirts: How would this qud beat Arsenal today at Old Wembley, first Swilling Pints so?

South Shields and The Outlier The Scotch Estate split Black and White v Red and White: Newcastle v Sunderland.

Jarra Lad Uncle Pat, Comedian and Robin Hood Public House Master of Ceremonies: ‘Suggestive Affirmation’ but with no on-line evidential backup of the plaques inscription : ‘Pat Jarra Lad played alongside Jackie Milburn then for Hartlepool.' The Shields Gazette and South Shields may have photographs and articles not available on The World Wide Web. Question: Did Uncle Pat really play for Newcastle United and was it a woman or computer answering The Turing Question?

Some of these Geordies and Mackems are buried with in Jarrow Cemetery, with Newcastle and Sunderland enamel badge cartouches on their headstones.

Seedy Hopper records: Onlooker Uncle Pat watches Seeker Dan fight any stranger, backed up on by Chicken Welsh on The Roman Road, Newcastle to South Shields, on the grounds they were Newcastle B*stards.



A horses head left nearby by Stan or Jimmy Mallam, and live chestnut one trapped shivering under the nearby Dump Bridge. In Primrose, the name of the Wild Flower Meadows flanking The River Don, used riverbanks as an informal dump: The practice of Town Edge Dumping in Jarrow before Italian and German immigrants brought private enterprise The Corporation Dust Cart pre-cursor. The River Don’s dendrite Denes drain a ridge, bound inland at Sunnyside, trapped between The Tyne and Wear‘s Ice Age Diversion to the North Sea. The Wear poetically justified flowed into The Tyne along onomatopoeic Team Valley.


Jarrow*

‘The Neon is out yet it is Three?
The bent metal spares him.*
Speeding down the Sixties.
Only tablets of flagstones,
Left of the Route master Street.

But what if the Sukhoi did land?’

In the rafters
I touch a butterfly
And it turns to dust.

11th April 2003 (Revised 21st January 2009)

A man left The Neon Social Club* in Primrose, Jarrow, a sunny Sunday in 1963. Over the Limit,Speeding down Perth Avenue, had not realised the A19 built since. From Pity Me or Esh Winning, he narrowly avoided decapitation,
then quietly disappeared, to avoid being arrested.

Knowledge of Primrose’s is underlying landscape locked away in the minds of Vince and Willa Rea. (Simonside, Brockley Winns and The Scotch Estate).

The Neon’s dereliction, The Neon’s neon sign dilapidation then absence, the yearly absence of The Neon’s Leek Show Big Top Tent, the absence of Franco Soave from 1955 established Fish Shop, The Top Shops (tbc), the colonised Perth Green, a slanted horseshoe with Colliery Bands absentees. The Bent Fence not replaced for 30 years*. (tbc)

Morley

The Dying Industry: Morley

Anyone hitch hiking to London in the 1970's from White Mare Pool, after all the Old Roundabouts on The Artery South may have noticed the River Signage.

Just in Yorkshire The River Swale is crossed, then The River Ur, then The River Nidd, then The River Wharfe, and then The River Calder.

Standing at Allinson's Mill Weir in South Yorkshire in 1963 The River was Multi-Coloured with 'The Dying Industry'.

From these Polluted River Banks Sprung Albert Pierspoint, John Christie (The Hangman and the Hanged both from the Leeds suburb of Morley) and Ted Hughes.(Mytholmroyd).

In Jarrow at about the same time in Jarrow a man was catapulted 100 foot off the ground out of The Plexiglass Factory from an explosion, landing at the foot of The Southern Tyne Tunnel Vent Shaft.



In West Berlin at about the same time the erection of The Berlin Wall commenced, modestly and briefly at first in Kreuzberg.

(Standing anywhere really, on Bismarkestrasse emerging from The Hallenbad on Krumme Strasse, the Bent Street in Charlottenburg, the vista is linear from Spandau, all the way (krumme) to Frankfurt am Oder. Oder?

The Germans, see, The Noble Berliner Schnauze Volk, were obliged to dig, and often did, these Prussian Strait Lines after the many wars they stared. Conveniently, Digging Sand out of The North German Sea Plate was relatively easy. No English City has any Empire Vistas, only Pall Mall in London.

Unlike Nottingham, Berlin has dedicated cycle lanes criss-crossing the Former DDR Haupstadt.

German Berliner Cyclist can see how the world used to be, by visiting The Post War Museum of Nottingham. Like a Museum von Menchenkunde, all the Paid Actors are Echt.)

Many Geordie Miners went to Nottingham mainly from Wallsend and Percy Main then progressively from Horsely Hill, South Shields, to Cotgrave and the Nottinghamshire Coalfield, generally. Try cycling along The Grantham Canal without meeting a Geordie Miner.

'The Nottingham Volk' made these Less Shy and More Vocal North Invaders Very Welcome.

Nottingham

In 1975 The River Trent lapped the threshold of Nottingham Railway Station. A stunted tree now flourishes there, in an Elevated Gutter above the red sandstone clock tower eaves, a reminder of Nottingham‘s Lost Heritage. The Town House, the absurd and bloated office of Nottingham City Council, made tragic mistakes for the people of Nottingham, but could not be dragged out and held to account On High Pavement In The Beast Market.

It all started, see, with the Judaic Retail sponsored destruction of Nottingham Victoria, a dark cathedral railway station in a massive cleft now a dangerous drop in Central Nottingham. A dark tunnel linked Nottingham Victoria to Nottingham Central Station. Retail magnates ripped out whole quarters of English cities using Hypnotism and Psychology, to herd the Unwitting Nottingham Masses into places which were often former Cattle Markets as in Grantham, Gloucester and Banbury. The same London Architect was there again at the end, to build Nottingham Trinity, a Quarter of a Century later.



Without asking anyone, see, The Invisible Town House continued the Vandalism of Nottingham, by chopping up the natural lay lines of Nottingham, a classical cross linking St. Mary’s Cathedral with Nottingham Castle, and West Brigdford with Sherwood. The Lace Market beyond Weekday Cross is A Deserted Village.

These inverted Snobbery Creatures still inhabit The Town House. Perhaps it is time for The Boy Scout Tory Boys of Trent Bridge to take over Nottingham. In The Next Decade, The Moral Decade, with all their faults, The Boy Scout Tory Boys of Radcliffe and Ruddington striding off the fields in worsted, like Farm Labourers, may be better educated for The New Decade.

The Butchery of Nottingham City was complete when the Limbs of Nottingham were hacked off with the building of The Inner Ring Road and Maid Marion Way.

Nottingham’s Entrepreneurs among Newcastle Square This and Duke of Newcastle That, from the Proud Aspect of Cliffs just north of Nottingham Castle, had built St. Pancras station and Hotel, a Victorian Cathedral and Highest Achievement of Victorian London, from River Trent mud, bricks Fired Here in the Heart of The Midlands: In Hoveringham.



And it continued see, when without asking for permission from The Unwitting Masses of Nottingham, Nottingham Tram was built at the expense of A High Speed Midlands Express Train One Hour Out Of London, Making Nottingham a London Suburb.

Selfish Nottingham Lawyers Shot Themselves and All of the People of Nottingham, In The Foot, see, when failing to set up A Legal Framework for The High Speed Midlands Express Train, preferring dowdily to continue To Fork Out The Full Fare On The Day to London, charging The Full Whack, to their Town House clients.

The rational for The Nottingham Tram, see, was that Sheffield had one and, well it’s European. The Creative and Unimaginative Nadir of Nottingham Town House, meant that the tram would be green. The Conservative Minded Town House Labour Council meant that the tram would link The M1 (Nottingham is prejudiced towards These Hermetic Citizens, their only Vocabulary a Honk of a Horn: Car drivers are more likely to have a job, accessing The Midlands quickly, mainly producing spreadsheets, in dour monochromatic brick hells, off motorway roundabouts} to Derelict Town This and New Suburb That, whose 'Useless Eaters' should have been long gone, socially engineered and Labour Directed, Chauchescu-like, like, away to Peterborough and The Surrounding Pea Tin Factories.

No planning has ever been undertaken in Nottingham for Cyclist Paths leaving the cyclists more like Angry Psychopaths on Cycle Paths.

The New Nottingham International Gallery, now blocks The Victoria Tunnel Forever.

Scunthorpe

Jenseits von England

If unemployed in Jarrow, Hebburn or Felling get a bicycle. Obviously, due to Karmic Instant Electric Prods, do not handle a Stolen Bicycle.

Carry a bag of seeds from Gregories in Jarrow Arndale for Slow Release. (Nutrition and Energy)

Spend time Researching in Jarrow Library. Remember, Before The Jarrow March and before Jarrow was Tarnished, Jarrow Library was a Temperance Place not a Gin Palace.

England has a fascinating industrial history: England is an Industrial Museum, actually, with animated 3D Englanders floating through it. So enjoy Jarrow whilst you still can.

It would be odd to base a cycle tour of England on shopping centres, or those large futuristic silver boxes in the landscape, distribution centres. The cyclist chances upon these and their arteries, like chancing upon an alien species who have Invaded Earth. Like a trapped animal, the cyclist is shaken by the brutal, noisy intrusion blocking their lay line idyllic ramblings. Yet most English Common People find themselves in a car, somewhere often.

In Distribution Protocol, Shopping Centre and Shed location logic, is a subordinate sub-logic of Motorways, and distribution feeds directly off this. The huge task of motorway building once started became regarded as a Great National Achievement.

All roads and signs lead to EuroHub, Derbyshire but On Arrival it’s mysteriously disappeared or Is Not There.

Like The Great Wall of China the lettering on these Distribution Hubs is visible from space as in IKEA Team Valley and Junction 29 on the M1 before Ilkeston, or the JCB fabrication shed lettering near Uttoxeter. Triumph motorcycles silver shed is a beautiful elemental silver box in Hinckley.

ASDA's HQ is Leeds, also an Israeli Stützpunkt with a Prominent Cube among the Dereliction of Wakefield, South Yorkshire. Further, the logic is: Centralization in The Middle of the Country or Convenience Stores near The Port of Southampton.

If distribution, though is the main mantra for shopping, why not Edeka or Aldi invite car drivers on to a container ship sailed into the Port of Tyne Authority at Willington Quay?©®™

People often referring to Blue Water or White City , tribes unwittingly following their invading siedlung instincts as if they had just walked off The Zealand Ridges into ‘EsturRhine‘ ©®™ Kent? This is why they circle around when they get there. This is the root of Crowd Behavior Research and a key concept in herding shoppers.

'Why they all out the same time as us?' the Lady Says, under the passing shadow of Ferrybridge power station, from the back seat on the Old A1.

Such a tour, though, although obscure and frankly slightly mad, would lead the cycle tourist into Ordinary Everyday English Life.

(This, all this at the end of Summer, 2009: Like a Twilight Zone Gap between August and September, a rut easy to get stuck in.)

Dyce

Since Sea Gem, 'Jarrow Lairds'©®™ have worked North of the Border, bringing back what their women folk dismissively called 'Monopoly Money'. Dyce is the busiest Helicopter Base in the World.

Sandwood Bay, Wester Ross

Walking out from The Rabid Town to Sandwood Bay is not practicable: It’s too far, though looks only 2” inches on ‘The Map’, and would just take too long. Even if you do not charge around in ‘The’ Vanden Plaz Chariot, on Wings of Desire, and don’t end up reading The Daily Mail in the Lochinver car park with the engine still running: Or even if it is a Sky Blue Hillman Imp, one woman owner from Yorkshire. Despite flying now being ‘A Sin’ (Exchange Indulgences though if a Limited Company), you still are allowed to travel by aeroplane or train and occasionally go somewhere in ‘The Car’. Alight at Dyce, but be patient and wait for the steps to arrive.

Some destinations in the UK are not ‘do-able’ (ibid) on a bicycle, as at Sandwood Bay, south of Cape Wrath. (Highest Cliffs on the UK mainland) You may find yourself in The Last European Wilderness. This is No Place. Especially for a bicycle (sand wears the bicycle away and tyres sink). Park ‘The Car’ in the car park. Walk to Sandwood Bay, pass The Stack and visualise momentarily Zowie Brown (Hand Jamming Joe Brown’s Daughter) climbing it, Live on TV. Closely inspect the brown friable rock underfoot, and take off to a parallel universe of complementary colours: Remember to come back though: It says on my school report ‘Hangs Around With Adults and Is Easily Distracted’. A simple fact is, though, Day Becomes Night, if a blue and sand picture is reversed in Paint. (Paint.Net) So, why is the Sky Blue? Does anyone know?

Complementary colours, you see, were investigated by someone on the Isle de France and is linked with Neurobiology. Its no good getting to Sandwood Bay though, with a blank mind, but reader, Sandwood Bay Wipes the Hard Drive of Your Mind, Defaulting it back to Childhood. A Secret Silver Research Aircraft from The Fifties appears: Down there on the North Sea surface The Two Princes remember left treasure, covered by a sandstorm, they won't be going back to. In That Moment My Artistic Life is Complete. Even you, though, now momentarily God-like, will have to go back to the Lockinver car park. (As the Heat Sinks in The Wilderness of Northern Lights).