Clarissa et al.

There's been a much publicised strike at the Lindsey Oil Refinery.

My cousin's husband started a new job there and had the induction day.

The next day he was on strike.

He goes 'back' to work tomorrow.

On my way to work yesterday morning I noticed this field.

I know that the presence of so many poppies is a sign of bad husbandry, but aren't they beautiful!

A good day generally with nice, bubbly children and enthusiastic teachers, and - at the end of the day - I was stopped in the shop (where sadly I was buying a card to send to a colleague whose mother has died) by a couple who had overheard part of the workshop when they were in the walled garden and wanted to say how well they thought I did it and how I really shared my enthusuasm with the children.

I have just seen on the News that the government is promising extra specialist teachers for children with dyslexia.

Good for them.

It just so happens that all four of my sister's children (and her husband) are to a lesser or greater extent dyslexic.

The specialist teaching at their secondary school has on the whole been good to excellent, BUT there are two problems which are not being addressed.

The first problem is that of general teacher awareness: Jess, for example, often comes home with only a sketchy idea of what her homework actually entails because she cannot write it down correctly in the last few moments of the lessons and has to rely on memory. Simply assigning a good speller to writing instructions down in her homework diary would help. Better still, could the teacher not bring in duplicated strips of instructions for children to stick into their diaries? As it is, if she then produces work which does not fully comply with the required homework Jess (a fairly conscientious student) finds herself in detention for work left undone.

Further than this, there are some teachers (particularly among those who come in on supply) who flatly refuse to believe dyslexia exists and persist in castigating children for poor spelling, untidiness and laziness when they have in fact probably worked harder than most of their fellows.

Which leads to the problem of word processing. Using a computer Jess can produce good work. Dictating work to her mother or myself (people who on the whole don't need a spell checker so don't allow through the odder 'corrections' to their typing) it can be very good indeed. I know that there is always a danger of plagiarism once the computer enters into the equation, but surely allowing children to code their word-processed work would go a long way towards alleviating the problem of unintentional cheating. e.g. Dys 1 - Used word processing including spell check: Dys 2 - Dictated original work to an adult helper who typed it: Dys 3 - Includes passages copied/adapted using the internet (acknowledgements at end of assignment).

[Come to think of it similar coding for all children's work would help because it is very difficult to present wholly original work all the time and knowing that acknowledged help is acceptable and will be taken into account in assessing the work would I am sure be a relief to many children. It would also allow teachers to give clear guidelines assignment by assignment which work has to be original and unaided for assessment purposes and which is a research assignment where multiple sources will be seen as a clear indication of conscientious work.]

The second problem is that of public examinations: some give a certain amount of leeway with everything from allowing extra time to the use of an amanuensis, but there is no consistency. Many jobs and courses have GCSE English (at a variety of levels) as a basic requirement. Intelligent people with severe dyslexia like my nephew Jacob very quickly learn strategies which get around poor literacy including developing an excellent aural memory. No, he is never going to get any sort of GCSE in Written English Language, but what about a special Oral English Exam specially for severe dyslexics which would involve comprehension and evaluating information? And why not (and not merely for dyslexics) have a Literary Appreciation GCSE which is specifically talored to watching and listening rather than the studying of texts? After all, the story-teller predated the novelist by many millennia.

Don't mistake me, I am all in favour of the written word. I love reading. I am a total bibliomaniac - a printoholic. I just feel that the strategies dyslexics need to adopt should be as much an acknowledged part of the examination system as the use of Braille or sign language where they are required. Or maybe I'm naive: is the battle for sign language one which has been wholly won or is it still a fight?

This month's choice is "No, I don't want to join a Book Club" by Virginia Ironside

I think that Elizabeth Taylor (yes, really!) of Lincolnshire Libraries chooses all the books with book club in the title to put on the list regardless of quality, and they have all been among the weakest books we have read. This one is entertaining enough, but in a couple of weeks if anyone asks me whether I have read it I shall have to check, and in a couple of months I shall have no recollection whatsoever of any of the characters or the plot (such as it is). I can't imagine it bringing about much discussion except for the fact that the majority of the Swallow Bookworms are in the same sort of age-group as the narrator so we may compare it with our own experience of life - if we can be bothered.

Much more interesting was the last book I read: The Return by Victoria Hislop.

We read Mrs. Hislop's earlier book The Island as a book club choice and very much enjoyed it. 'Enjoyed' is perhaps not quite the word to describe these books as they are rather harrowing, but we discussed them with enjoyment. This one was recommended by a member who had read it because we had read the earlier one. The Return is set in Spain both in the present and during the 1930s. I must admit that the Spanish Civil War is a subject about which I have fought shy over the years, skimming even Laurie Lee on the subject at a time in my life when, in the wake of 'Cider with Rosie', his other books were something of a 'must read'. Anyway, I persevered with this even after the graphic description of the bullfight partially prepared me for the later horrors. It was a really gripping read, although not, I think, a book I shall ever want to re-read.

On a side issue, Mrs. Hislop is probably the most envied author of all those we have read as she has not merely written two books which achieved both critical and popular success but is also married to the delightful Ian - a great favourite with both book club members and their daughters; and any one of us will have the pair of them to dinner anytime they happen to be in Lincolnshire.

I was sent this recipe by a friend, tried it and found that it works. I have altered it slightly by adding more options and reducing the amount of sugar. I also used a pudding basin rather than a coffee mug, but I was using a big old-fashioned tablespoon and a simply huge egg.

5 MINUTE CHOCOLATE COFFEE MUG CAKE!!!

Most Dangerous Cake Recipe in the World
For those with minimal baking facilities/talents and a sweet tooth...

4 tablespoons SR flour
2 tablespoons sugar
2 tablespoons cocoa
1 egg
3 tablespoons milk
3 tablespoons oil
3 tablespoons chocolate chips or mini marshmallows or nuts or berries etc. (optional)
A small splash of vanilla essence and/or Camp coffee (optional)
1 large coffee mug or other container (at least half a litre/one pint)

Put dry ingredients in your largest mug and mix well.
Add the egg and mix thoroughly.
Pour in the milk and oil and mix well.
Add the chocolate chips etc. (if using) and the vanilla/coffee essence, then mix again.

Put your mug in the microwave and cook for 3 minutes at 1000 watts (high). (Mine is 850w and it works fine)
The cake will rise over the top of the mug, but don't be alarmed! (But not over the top of a basin)

Allow to cool a little, and turn out onto a plate if desired.

EAT! (this can serve up to 4 if you want to feel slightly more virtuous).

And why is this the most dangerous cake recipe in the world?
Because now you are only 5 minutes away from chocolate cake
at any time of the day or night! You are going to forward this straight away, aren't you ... .

This evening Joe and I went to an interesting talk "What Science Can Tell Us About Stow" by Dr Belinda Colston which was organised by Friends of Stow Minster. Joe had been to an earlier talk in the series with a friend who was unable to go on this occasion, but it was my first.

As so often with these things it struck me how few people (18) there were there for the amount of effort it had taken to organise it, and the time taken to prepare the Powerpoint show and write the talk. There must be thousands of people concerned with the upkeep of their parish churches who could have learned a good deal about conservation from this talk. Sadly it was not widely advertised, and the bare title did not really give much of an indication what the the talk was really about; my own expectation had been (wrongly) something on the lines of the scientific analysis of historical items - carbon dating and the like - when it was actually about the environmental factors in damage and decay of ancient buildings.

Yesterday we had been to the much better attended (and much duller) meeting in our own village hall about SHLAA (Strategic Housing Land Availability Assessment) propopsals for development in Swallow.

We were told that "Mr. John Ware, Senior Plans Development Officer for West Lindsey District Council will explain the significance of the SHLAA proposals within the planning process and how it will become part of the Local Development Framework, which will become the successor to the Local Plan, which provides for the future planning development in the District.

We are at the early stages of this ongoing process but in view of the potential impact of this March 2008 document on the future of Swallow, Swallow Parish Council felt that residents should have an opportunity to hear WLDC's plans for the future and to discuss issues with the Planning Department."

This arose because WLDC had, on government orders, invited land owners to put forward possible developement sites. Sutton estates, which owns a sizeable proportion of Swallow's farmland had responded and this had appeared on the WLDC website translated in terms of average density of housing as an apparent proposal to increase the size of Swallow to more than double. Understandably this got a number of village knickers in a right old twist, while others of us regarded it as being about as likely to become reality as finding a unicorn grazing in the garden. The meeting was called to clarify the situation.

Personally I felt quite sorry for this poor man - a virtual stranger to the area - having to face questioning (mainly politely, but quite forcefully put) from the great and the good of the village including a barrister, a journalist and several local government officers (both retired and still active) over policies which were not of his devising and past events of which he had no knowledge. Naturally he was unable to give us any concrete assurance that Sutton Estates' offer will not come to fruition although there is so much against it in terms of lack of infrastructure, lack of sustainability, being a site in a designated Area of Oustanding Natural Beauty etc. that the chances of its becoming a part of any future local developement plan seem to me very remote. No doubt, however, those who went to the meeting assuming it to be an undesireable fait accompli will equally have heard nothing to alter their opinion.

Josh is eighteen today - the last of Helen's boys to become a man.

He hates having his photo taken and tends to pull faces - this is him a couple of years ago unaware that he was included in the picture of his hawk.

I asked him what he wanted and have bought him some bits for his Land Rover, but yesterday I gave him at great expense (£1 for 11 packets from Morrisons) a bag of kiddy sweets for his last day as a child, and today - for something to open - a nice grown-up box of Thornton's chocolates.

Jacob was twentyone last month and they celebrated the two birthdays with a day off-roading in their Land Rover.

We have been without internet access over the weekend, but now we are back. It isn’t many years since most of us were saying “Well, I’ll try it, but I don’t suppose I’ll have much use for it” and now a few days without and we feel utterly bereft!

During that time my father was re-elected at the County Council election.

Was I – was anyone – surprised?

No.

Perhaps the only surprising thing is his age (82) and the number of years since he was first elected (55). However, you mustn’t get the impression that he is a doddery old institution re-elected out of habit. Far from it: he is a very hard-working and effective councillor who puts in far more hours than many of his younger colleagues.

Unlike many younger colleagues he is not ambitious: at 82 he is not career building, neither looking for chairmanships and quangos within the council nor seeing the council as a step towards parliament. (He has been there, done that, and – as I wrote a week or so ago – turned down the offer of the T-shirt.)

This means that all his efforts are centred on his constituents rather than himself. He doesn’t need to please the party bosses so he can be as much of a maverick as is necessary to achieve what needs to be achieved. And this is what he does.

He attends dozens of little Parish Council meetings each month, noting down their needs and their worries, reporting on what has and will be done by the County Council within their area, and taking on board what they want to be done. Quite often he also makes notes for the District Councillors as well because they find it harder to attend the Parish and Town Councils as their own meetings are also held in the evening whereas County meetings are for the most part held during the day. He deals with problems large and small which are brought to him in person, my telephone, letter and email by his own constituents and, quite frequently by people from neighbouring areas who find him easier to deal with, more accessible and generally more likely to get results than their own councillor. And, of course, he also attends County Council meetings in Lincoln and meetings of bodies – e.g. Eastern Sea Fisheries, the Humber Bridge Board and Humberside Airport – where he is either the nominated member or designated substitute.

All this may seem rather a lot for an octogenarian, but he still (after 55 years) loves every minute. He whizzes around the county to meetings (and before anyone remarks about the safety of elderly drivers, not long ago councillors and council employees were invited to a driving assessment: Pa took up the challenge and, after a couple of hours driving around, the assessor had to admit that he couldn’t find a fault), getting up at about 6.30 most mornings and going to bed sometime between 10.35 and midnight most nights. No, he’s not superman: if the opportunity arises he will have forty winks either in the afternoon or in the evening while ‘watching’ television. In fact the only thing that age has so far done to limit his effectiveness is to make him somewhat deaf so that, despite the hearing aid, he is of the opinion that most people mumble and that I am becoming a fishwife because I sometimes have to shout at him.

Some members of parliament have recently brought all politicians under suspicion of being dishonest and in it for what they can get out of it. Back in May 1954, when my father was first elected to Cleethorpes Borough Council, there was no attendance allowance and I don’t believe there were any expenses either. Six years later when the baby of the council was elected the borough’s youngest ever mayor, that too had to be done largely at his own expense; they provided him with a chauffer driven car to take him to official engagements and a small budget for Mayoral Receptions etc. but that was it – no money for time taken off work and no money to help my mother dress as befits a mayoress. Thank goodness he worked for Granddad in those days and my mother was an expert needlewoman, or he would never have been able to afford the honour.

Even after attendance allowances and expenses came in, it was some years before he availed himself of them, and it was only when he retired that he started claiming. Unlike MPs’ expenses, councillors’ expenses are up for scrutiny, and published for anyone to see.

Because of all this – his effectiveness, his busy-ness, his probity – my father has a high profile in the community: if you live round here and have any interest at all in the life of your community, you will have run across him. So, at the election, he sent out leaflets to every household, but he didn’t have to canvas (he hasn’t canvassed for years) because every day for the four years between elections he is up in front of the people of the area, with his phone number, email address and home address on every village notice board and on every village website, and anyone can get in touch with anytime of any day, and if he’s not at home he will get back within a day to anyone who leaves a message.

Look him up: he hasn't anything to hide - Councillor Anthony (Tony) Herbert Turner JP, MBE.

Am I prejudiced? You bet I am!

But am I telling the truth? Yes, but not the whole truth, because it isn’t possible in a short blog to give a real idea of just how much my father does, and always has done from the days when he was the baby of Cleethorpes Borough Council, through his time on Humberside County Council, to being the Grand Old Man of Lincolnshire County Council.

As he said to Prince Charles at his investiture with an MBE a dozen years ago when he asked if he had any thoughts of retiring, “Maybe when your mother does, Sir”. The Queen is seven months his senior and is probably one of the few people of that age who works as hard and as long hours. I hope she enjoys her work as much.

On Monday I remade my bed for summer: that is, I turned the mattress (as I do at the beginning of each season), washed the under-blanket, washed and put away the various extra layers which have been lying folded on the ottoman since the weather turned warm, and went to look for my summer-weight duvet rather than put the clean cover back on the regular one.

It was nowhere to be found.

Not hiding in the ottoman. Not in the airing cupboard. Not in the drawers under either the spare bed or my father's bed. Not in the sewing room with the spare linen, nor in the ironing basket (I was getting desperate by the time I looked there). It had completely vanished!

So I put the clean duvet cover on the regular duvet.

I got home from work today. "Have you seen my summer duvet?" asked Papa.

Well I could have told him it was missing because I would have seen it in one of the places I looked for mine if it had been there.

So where are they?

Has one of us had a mad tidy fit and put them in some place so tidy that neither of us can now think of it? Have they run off of their own volition. Has somebody appropriated them for his nice new house (Joe) or his caravan (Jacob) or even for his/her dog or horse (everyone, but Joe)? Whatever the truth, they are lost, stolen or strayed, and if the warm weather continues I shall be scanning the shelves of Matalan or the Original Factory Shop for a couple of low tog duvets pretty soon.

This morning I taught the Toys workshop at Burton Agnes Primary School - lovely children, beautifully behaved.

This left me with a free afternoon at one of my favourite places though I find it is almost two years since I was last there. http://swallowedwhole.blog.co.uk/2007/08/11/burton_agnes~2790743/

As soon as I saw this time-tabled I asked Joe if he would like to come with me and he jumped at the opportunity even though it meant a morning either sitting in the car listening to the radio or mooching around a very small village.

As soon as the toys were packed back in the car we went to the hall where we made our way straight to the cafe and had some truly excellent baguettes - one ham and one turkey, although we each ate half of each, with the meat cut thick - and home-grown side salads.

It was lovely just for once looking round the house slowly at a properly adult pace. Because of the games garden this has almost always been a place to take hoards of children so, even when a proportion of the little ones stayed in the garden with half the adults while the other half went round the house, there has always been a bit of a speed element involved which is a great shame as Burton Agnes is filled with great art.

The largest part of the collection is the post-impressionists collected in the last century when they were still new, but it is a still growing collection and there were several pieces I had not seen before. Joe is less impressed by modern art, and, though willing to try my sit and let it grow on you approach, still doesn't get it. We enjoyed a brief conversation with the artist in residence (I think she was called Julie Thompson) whose sea- and sky-scapes are very easy on the eye: nothing difficult for Joe to try to understand, but the sort of paintings you could comfortably live with in a small room.

The garden was, as always, beautiful. Just look at all these aquilegias . . .

. . . and the source of part of our lunch

The ice-cream, tea and cakes with which we finished the afternoon were also very good.

I went into the post office with a cheque from my sister to pay for Joe's TV licence for the next year.

The post office doesn't do TV licences any more. I had to go to the Spar shop.

At the Spar shop the man behind the counter had to call another assistant. She couldn't find the right form. When I tried to hand over the cheques she told me that they aren't allowed to take cheques. (I had already paid Joe's electricity bill by the same method at the post office.) To keep Joe legal I have now bought the licence on line and made out the cheque to myself.

So much for trying to keep local businesses going!

PS The "permanent" hair colour which I bought on offer at Tesco has mostly washed out at the first wash.

Keeping the World Away by Margaret Forster was Swallow Bookworms' May choice.

It is a beautiful elegiac book which traces the history of a Gwen John painting through its various female owners. I really enjoyed reading it at the beginning of the month, but as is so often the case with beautiful elegiac books without much plot it has faded rather rapidly in my mind. Shame, because I did like it very much indeed with very few reservations.

Everyone liked it although one member was bothered by the mixture of fact and fiction, and worried about how much of the Gwen John section was true, and whether the other characters were also real people.