General Witterings -
Thinking About Women on Rosy

In these cold winter nights, one's thoughts turn to home comforts - like the WRAC (Women's Royal Army Corps) now, I think disbanded, with the women being integrated with the men.  Anyway …

Hoary Old Story #1:  A very brave Brigadier who always had brown bread for breakfast (try saying all that with a lisp!) was summoned from his HQ (in some ghastly place in the far north of England) to the Palace to receive a medal for his bravery from the hand of his Sovereign.  So he summoned his WRAC driver (a comely wench) and told her to clean up both the car and herself for a special day out to London.  The next morning they left for London, but, sadly, the engine took to coughing and spluttering and the traffic was so heavy that they were being severely delayed.  After several hours, they stopped at a service station for a coffee, and when they came to leave the engine would not start.  The driver opened the bonnet and both she and the brave Brigadier stared at the engine.  Eventually they found a loose wire that had come adrift from its mooring due to a loose screw.  The tool kit was brought out, but it consisted solely of spanners.  At this point, the following conversation took place.

The Brave Brigadier:  I think we need a screw, driver.

The Comely WRAC Driver:  Might as well, Sir, 'cos we're never going to get to London in time at this rate.

I suspect at this point that you must be gagging for the hilarious tale of the General, the comely WRAC driver and the camel, but I fear that you will have to wait as there are more important matters to consider.

Winter maintenance continues on Rosy.

I've finally beaten the engine stop control into shape.  Ever since the new engine was put in, this has been a bit of a hit and miss operation.  On the engine, there is a lever that has to be pulled back to lift the valves to stop the engine.  The lever then has to be pushed forward to lower the valves so that the engine can be started.  We had jury-rigged some elderly 'Morse' control cable that was sort-of doing the job, but it is now done properly.  It required a wooden wedge to support the operating handle (on the control panel at the steering position) and to position it at the correct angle.  The wedge had to be cut to size, sanded, undercoated, topcoated, scumbled and varnished and then bolted into place.  The bolt needed to be longer than normal, so a visit to a specialist shop produced some that were a bit too long, and by the time I'd finished cutting them down to size they were a smidgen too short.  Second time around we got it right.

At the engine end, the Morse outer cable had to be cut to length, and clamped on either side of a support bracket with some metal cable clips.  The inner, stainless wire then had to be cut to length and fitted - this last job required doing accurate, delicate work in excruciatingly cramped conditions - not helped by Fanny the Woof suddenly finding my left ear to be of particular interest to her, and exploring its inner recesses with her tongue.

Talking of Fanny the Woof … I had to take her to the vet as she cut her paw, and although the cut healed she continued licking it to an extent that the whole area was pink.  The vet said it was the anti-slip salt put down on the frozen roads that was irritating the foot.  Whist there a youth came in, clad in extremely scruffy black leather.  His visible skin was heavily tattooed, and every bit of his body that stuck out was pierced with rings and dumbbells.  He had lanky, greasy black hair, and gave the general impression that he ate human flesh for breakfast.  Why was he visiting the vet? He had a little cage in which was his pet guinea pig.  He was worried sick about it, as it was very poorly.

I've just finished reading a book called 'Stasiland' by Ann Funder - an Australian woman who has investigated the STASI ….  and its aftermath.

We are moored in what was East Germany - the GDR (German Democratic Republic).  I had thought that the 'liberation' of East Germany, with the Russians leaving and the coming of 'true' democratic government would have been welcomed by the East German people.  I knew that there were problems - like unemployment in Germany is pretty high, but it is much higher in the east - up to 20% apparently.  This was/is caused by the closure of unprofitable ex-state enterprises.  There are also ongoing problems about things like the price of food which was heavily subsidised in the GDR.

What I was not prepared for was so many folk here telling me that life was BETTER in the GDR.  Why was it better? Because unemployment was unknown, housing was cheap, food was cheap and, generally, life was 'better'.

But what about overseas travel, I ask.  No problem.  People went on holiday to the Black Sea and many other Eastern European holiday centres.

Not being a very confrontational person, I leave it that.

Ann Funder points out that in West Germany, although Nazism was disowned, it wasn't until the mid-1960s and beyond that people could actually talk about it, and it ceased to be a taboo subject.  Perhaps the people in the East will need that same length of time before they can confront the Socialist period.  (Interestingly, I haven't heard or seen the 'C' word since I've been here - 'C' for Communism, of course).

Just to give an inkling of how bad it was here, Ann Funder points out that in Stalin's Russia, there was one KGB officer for every 5830 citizens.  In Hitler's Germany, there was one Gestapo officer for every 2000 citizens.  In the GDR, there was one Stasi officer for every 175 citizens.  It gets worse.  Add in all the regular Stasi informers, and it's one for every 63 citizens; and add in the part-time informers and it's one to every 6.5 citizens.

On a personal level, I guess that that is why I get shouted at so often (once every 2 weeks on average).  The shouters are nearly always smartly dressed gents aged over 45 - though most must be 60+.  I get half my shoutings when I cross at a pedestrian crossing that tells me not to cross - even although the road is wholly empty for 2 or 3 hundred metres each way.  The other half come from cycling on the pavement.  Cycling on pavements seems to be pretty much allowed anywhere, except when there is a nominated cycle lane as part of the road.  And most cyclists cycle on whichever pavement is most convenient for them.  A minority of aging male cyclists believe that you should cycle on the right hand pavement, just as the cars drive on the right hand side of the road.  (This might, for all I know, be the law.  But if it is, it is only a small minority of aging gents who obey it.)  I usually reply to a shouting with a particularly cheery (and, I hope, annoying) wave and a 'Guten tag, mein Herr', though I'm thinking of changing it to 'Guten tag, mein kamarade' as I suspect that that would be even more annoying for them.

Finally, a story that I heard on 'Home Truths' on Saturday morning that might appeal to owners and/or admirers woofs of the pointer variety.  I'll put it in the first person, as that is how I heard it.

"I was taking my pointer dog for a walk on some nearby heath land that is open to the public but is also used as a military training area.  After a while my dog froze in a pointing mode - though there was nothing obvious to get all pointy about.  It's a nuisance when she does this as she is a bit dim, and isn't sure what is supposed to happen next.  From experience, I've learned to carry on, and she'll eventually return to real life and catch up with me.  So I carried on walking.  A few minutes later she ran past me, with a guilty look on her face and a ham sandwich in her mouth.  I returned to the spot where she had pointed and looked more closely.  There was a gorse bush … with a pair of eyes in the middle of it - eyes that said 'Your dog has just nicked my ham sandwich.' What could I do except shrug my shoulders and walk on."

Toodle pip!!

Bill