Fourth series, episode 21

All 153 episodes are available here on the HebWeb.

In the latest episode, there's a cloud over Europe, parking matters, shush money, quesadilla and beans, a gig at the Globe, a flood and two cranes, lest we forget, Trump and Navalny and much more

---

A Cloud Over Europe

Maybe it was the weather, or the Russian advances in Ukraine, but I was feeling a bit down. Then I realised it was an awareness that a serial sex offender, in the pocket of the giant oil companies, could become President again. To shrug off my depression, I jotted advice to myself and friends on social media.

"If Trump wins, remember there are worse people out there, including his mate Putin. Remember, there have been worse times than these – watch the David Olusoga series Two Houses and the lives of ordinary people in WW2. Get a grip and carry on, like your family did back then.

"But, if all else fails, have a drink - you're only human after all."

Parking matters

The council have dropped proposals to stop parking on Burnley Road, after complaints from locals, visitors and small businesses. Well, the air quality won't improve but their well-intentioned plan was a few years ahead of its time.

Shush money

There was a deferential, muted response to Channel 4's Dispatches and the Sunday Times revelations that Dartmoor Prison pays £37 million for residing on Duchy of Cornwall land. St Thomas's NHS Trust pay the King £11 million for hiring a depot for storing ambulances. The King's estates do not pay capital gains tax on the assets they sell nor do they pay corporation tax.

I thought back to the abusive headlines in the right-wing press when leading figures in the new cabinet received gifts from wealthy donors. So Starmer, who gave up his lucrative role as a legal advisor to fledgling democracies, has decided to fork out for his own penguin suites in future when attending ceremonies on our behalf.

Mooch and Squeeze

A famous opera singer reckons the way to keep his voice in good order is to ban dairy products from his diet. Dairy products floss his vocal chords. So I've adopted his advice before my gigs and, after a few days abstinence the frog in my throat gave up the ghost.

But we love quesadilla, a traditional Mexican dish of scrumptious, lightly toasted triangles of tortillas … filled with cheeses! They're served at Squeeze and Mooch, two cafes with a proper laid back feel.

Mooch stays open later most evenings. As well as the food, we've enjoyed chatting with `Shell from Dumfries, discovering why she came here for romantic reasons and stayed on - liking the Hebden vibe. I shared with `Shell, the Queen of the South, a fondness for addressing the haggis on Burns nights.

Black eyed beans

The only food I've been determined to banish from my diet over the years is black eyed beans, despite experts reckoning this legume is a nutritious addition to dieting. We ate it as newlyweds, back in the 70s, when PW was nursing Darling Daughter and I was primary teaching, running home and grabbing tea, and then dashing off to Leeds Uni on the train.

One fateful night at a well-attended MA class, I was sitting between two teacher nuns, when a toxic brew which had been quietly agitating in my gut like liquid magma, erupted and emitted foul odours, despite me red facedly compressing my buttocks into my chair. I finally dared to dash to the loo, firing mini explosions as I squeezed past nuns and nose holding, note taking educationalists on my way. Sometime later, I quietly found a chair at the back, not meeting the eyes of my fellow students.

Performing at the Globe

Not the one in London, to be honest, but high tec Globe Mill in Slaithwaite, performing to a group of reps employed by the giant STADA pharmaceutical company. The company is a long established German multinational but the reps were from all over the British Isles.

My brief was to "Entertain, and educate them about the North!" I only had half an hour, so I went for brevity and levity. In between the stories and rhymes, I told them that before manufacturing was established in the valleys, the textile trade was a cottage industry. Most poor people in the Pennines lived in isolated cottages or hamlets and Daniel Defoe praised them for their industrious ways.

In the Calder Valley, after a man and his wife tried to pass a clipped coin, a magistrate declared that the folks in these parts were "addled with inbreeding." I like to think that the following tale is their riposte to his jibe.

I cast my net wide

Jack went to see his father, who was the local blacksmith.

"Faither, I've been walking out with Mary Anne, who works at the big house. With your permission, I'd like to marry her."

"Mary Anne, t' parlour maid up at t' big house tha says, our Jack?"

"Yes, faither."

"Well son, I cast my net wide when I worra lad, an' tha can't go proposin' to Mary Anne, for she might be my daughter!"

Jack wor right put out by this news, and it took him all of a fortnight before he went and interrupted his father's work again.

"Faither, I've been walking out wi' Zillah … t' barmaid up at t' Robin Hood tavern. I've come to ask permission to propose to her."

His father lay down his hammer, wiped the sweat from his forehead and said, "Zillah, as works up at t' tavern?"

"Yes faither." "Well Jack. I cast my net wide when I worra lad, an tha can't propose to Zillah, as she might be my daughter."

Well, that news set back young Jack no end. One evening, his mother found him moping about in t' kitchen. She said, "Why's tha indoors on a grand evening like this our Jack?"

"Mother, I went to see faither, and asked if I could propose to Mary Anne as works up at t' big house. And he told me he cast his net wide when he worra lad … an' I can't propose to Mary Anne, for she might be his daughter. An then I courted Zillah, t' barmaid up at t' Robin Hood … an' faither said I couldn't marry her. He'd cast his net wide when he worra lad, an' Zillah might be his daughter!"

"Eee, our Jack. Don't take on so. I cast my net wide when I worra lass, an' your faither's not your faither."

Down in the valley

Lord Crewe opened his Slaithwaite worsted mill in 1887, by which time the trade had changed from a cottage industry and had long moved down into the valleys. In earlier times children were employed to do some of the most dangerous work. Shifts were long and mills stayed open for 24 hours per day. Despite improvements in employment laws, a pall of smoke lingered over the villages and towns. Before the clean air acts came in after the second world war, the average working man in the textile industry died before he reached sixty. I was quite surprised the Reps were surprised about all this.

I'd thought to tell them my ditty about Slaithwaite, but after telling three longer, well received pieces, I was pressed for time. I gave them a choice and the course leader asked for Fancy Man Stan, but here's what they missed …

There was a young man

There was a young man from Kirkheaton,
Who did it and got soundly beaten.
In Denshaw, Diggle and Delph,
They reckon it's bad for your health.
And in Haworth and Heptonstall and places refined,
They say, "Don't do it, you're sure to go blind!"
But granddad knew one place would allow it.
Since he wor a lad he's done it in Slaithwaite.
So give him a big hand; come, join in with me.
To granddad, who first dunked his hobnob in tea!

Before I left, I asked the Reps if was worth buying a STADA humidifier to keep my vocal chords in good condition. Their eyes lit up.

Break a leg

I drove back from Slaithwaite and thought of Paul Degnan, and how I shared the Cast My Net Wide story with him on a journey one time after a club night at the Rat and Ratchet.

Paul keeps himself in good nick, being an outward bound type of guy, fond of camping out in all weathers, in out of the way places. He acknowledges pre-Christian dates in the folklore calendar, and helps groups that restore ancient footpaths, or construct leaky dams.

He seemed indestructible, but a few days later he confessed on social media that he'd had a bad fall, breaking his leg in two places, and was fortunate to have friends who kept him warm, waiting two hours for an ambulance to get to him. Hopefully, he's on the mend, with his reinforced titanium leg, in good time for Yule and more outings to Shaggy Dog, Haworth Storytelling Circle or the Rat and Ratchet tellers in Huddersfield.

A cloud has descended over Europe

I stayed up all night on the 5th to the 6th. Next morning a local shop assistant was loudly hailing Trump's overnight triumph to his fellow assistant, saying, "And let's hope they kick out that clueless bastard Starmer. They should have put him on the bonfire! When he gets kicked out that'll just make my day, I'm telling yer now," and I supposed he's one of the fabled people we should listen to, the ones the left has lost.

Armistice in Hebden Bridge

Here's a photo of the armistice commemoration from a few years ago. There was also a good turnout for this year's event. During the two minutes' silence, I was thinking of two grandads who served in the trenches and my dad, who was in Burma. After which there were hymns sung, but I found the prayers from the two very nice clerics a bit jarring.

As a humanist I couldn't mitigate my sorrow by hearing about god and heaven, neither of which I believe in. Normally, I like to hear the hymns and Sarah Courtney kindly offered me a hymn sheet as I crept past.

Next year I'll stand nearer to the park gates. I wonder if there are any humanist commemorations around here?

Flood!

Before standing down as an MP at the last election, Halifax MP Holly Lynch walked through Parliament and knocked on the door of Calderdale MP Craig Whitaker and persuaded him to demand money from ministers to improve the valley's flood defences. Eventually our whole valley received an award for £32 billion. This year the flood resilience workers are focused on Hebden Bridge.

Last week I went to the flood risk shop, next door to Marco's, to report the recent flooding in our street's cellars. The flood team logged the incident and contacted the council, who sent out Richard, their structural engineer. After his inspection of our under crofts, Richard told PW and me and our neighbour Nick that the flooding was caused by the massive cranes sitting in the canal. Which is what we'd thought all along, although the engineer from CART had wondered if the flooding was from a spring water culvert more than a hundred metres up the lane.

So, we just hope CART send a team to repair the breach in the canal bank in the near future - or our street's WhatsApp group will be on to them!

Photo: Peter Thornborrow

---

Murphy's Lore, the book, is available to order here

If you would like to send a message about this piece or suggest ideas, email George Murphy

More Murphy's Lore

See the Murphy's Lore home page for all 153 episodes.

---