D Kendall

I’ve just finished reading Nicholas Comfort’s “Surrender. How British Industry gave up the ghost 1952-2012”.  It conveys a gloomy picture of the process of collapse in the latter half of the twentieth and early twenty-first century; when trying to make a list of the names of firms I knew well in my childhood, it reads like a roll call of the dead, with a few wraith-like survivors as part of other groups.

This process continued regardless of the party in power. The emphasis changed from well-meaning enthusiasm (Signpost for the Sixties and the white heat of technological revolution a la Wilson) to disinterest in the Thatcher years (very visible industrial wreckage after the invisible hand of the market had worked its wonders).

The author has worked as a journalist and in government and provides a fluent account of developments in various industries, the lack of coherence on the part of Government, lack of modernisation, weak management and the part played (in his opinion) by craft trade union structures.

The UK share of world manufactured trade decreased from 25.4 per cent in 1950 to 2.9 per cent in 2009. These are percentage figures, which should be viewed with caution (the total volume of trade was obviously much greater in 2009 so that the absolute figures may be rather less dramatic but probably still striking).

Comfort’s book is, however, not an academic text. There are no footnotes and not even a bibliography. Some of his statistics are hard to understand. In the above example of the UK share of world manufactured trade, I wonder what the UK share means – UK-owned or UK-located industry? This may be obvious to a professional economist but it’s not clear to me.

Despite these flaws, it is a book well worth reading, which made me aware of the gaps in my knowledge. For me it raises questions such as:

Where did capital go – was there a destruction of capital when large sections of manufacturing industry went under or had the smart money already moved elsewhere as in the case of Saab in Sweden where the old conglomerate Saab-Scania was demerged into the lorry firm Scania, and the defence industry sector, while carmaker Saab was sold to General Motors before its sorry conclusion.

What proportion of shares in manufacturing industry is UK owned (and how does this vary between companies of different size)? What are the proportions and historical development of the various categories of UK ownership, institutional, individual etc. on the UK stock exchange? What are the trends among institutional investors (movement from insurance company ownership to hedge fund ownership, for instance). What foreign assets do UK shareholders own?

These questions become particularly acute against the background of Brexit.

The view from the bottom is clearer – the sections of the population that viewed immigration as a threat, those that preferred the view in the rear view mirror and longed for an earlier Britain.

But trying to decipher the contours of the top, the “overdogs”, is more difficult. The fact that much of UK large industry is foreign owned presumably weakened the manufacturing sector’s ability to assert its interests. But what did the financial sector want? On the one hand, passporting rights, the ability for banks etc. to operate within the EU as on their domestic markets, must have been important. But were there other trends with world-wide interests, which wanted to be free of the various EU directives that controlled capital adequacy, insurance etc. etc? And were they at work supporting Brexit?

It’s hard to believe that Brexit was simply a spontaneous mass upsurge of protest while powerful financial interests looked on passively at the play of democratic forces.

I’m curious as to why I have not devoted more attention to this area before as it seems pretty central for understanding the UK. Part of the explanation is probably living abroad but spending much of my time in the UK in London and the relatively prosperous south is a factor too. Wandering around Barnsley and Rotherham and gazing at the mile after mile of industrial scrap between Sheffield and Rotherham has not left me unmoved.

It whets my appetite to read more and next on my list is a tip from a rather unlikely source, former PM Gordon Brown (a recommendation from a newspaper article I hasten to add not as a result of a Brown-Kendall tete-a-tete): “The UK Regional-National Economic Problem: Geography, globalisation and governance”, Phillip McCann.

With one sky-turned eye for falling ice daggers, the other scanning the ground for slippery patches and ankle-twisting ruts, my usual Botticelli angel-like features are being transformed into Picasso eyes swivelled at unlikely angles. Despite the weather, I have kept up my programme of 10,000 steps a day so that spring will hopefully still see Kendall emerge a lean and beautiful butterfly rather than a chubby caterpillar. The last few days have been more Stakhanovite than pleasure, plodding through the
slush to achieve my plan target and, instead of looking up to savour some architectural detail, vertigo-wracked little me shudders at snow shovellers
perilously perched on the roof. The forces of nature at least take one’s mind off the coming assault of T-rex on poor America (and us) and there is still November’s brightest light, the Stockholm Film Festival.

In the last half hour, I have learnt that terms of venery refers to words for groups of animals , many of which are listed in the Book of St Albans (1486), which is also called the Book of Hawking, Hunting and Blasing of Arms. A group of crows is referred to as a “murder of crows”. There are many more weird and amusing terms at https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_English_terms_of_venery,_by_animal, although some of them like “a crash of rhinoceroses” have a post-1486 flavour to my mind.

I have also learnt that “venery” has two more meanings – first as a historical term for hunting game (or the hunted animal itself). An alternative and unrelated meaning is “the practice or pursuit of sexual pleasure”….(source Wikipedia).

Despite great enjoyment at travelling around and experiencing England, it has felt more and more like visiting a favourite theatre, emphasizing my not belonging rather than bridging my cultures and overcoming feelings of being split. I decided to choose one or a number of projects to develop a more active relationship to the culture (better structure my gawping), the first being Dorset architecture, in particular the county’s churches, my aim being not to produce anything for publication but to find the limits of my own knowledge and go beyond them.

On my first visit to Dorset for this project, I’ve visited four churches – Studland (for its consistent Norman architecture), Winterbourne Steepleton (Anglo-Saxon sculpture), Bere Regis (Turberville/Thomas Hardy associations) and Cattistock (fine Victorian additions including stained glass, which are both fields very much worthy of further study).

Concerned that my new acquired book on Italian literature might have book mould, I learn the concept “foxing” which is when a book acquires brownish spots, the causes of which, according to my net source, are not fully understood. Not only can people be foxed by a book but the book itself can be foxed, which feels satisfactory. Awaiting further investigation, my Italian literature book still has its own niche in a cupboard though, a book purgatory.

Another new word for me this week is “phloem”, the innermost layer of the bark, which is added to flour to make bark bread (not by us….).

“elucurbation” wasn’t entirely new but not in a state which could be used. I now know that it is to work out or express something with great mental effort or to produce a literary work by great effort, originating from the Latin “lucubrare” to work by lamplight. There is a similar word in French but there it seems to have acquired a negative connotation (rather than semi-jokey as in English).

Finally, as the perfect end of the week, I discover that the figure 57 is not only connected with baked beans but that there are also 57 words relating to hell in my Concise Anglo-Saxon dictionary (J.R. Clark Hall).

Particular favourites:

helleceafl, the jaws of hell

hellcwalu, pains of hell

hellegrund, abyss of hell

hellehaeft, prisoner of hell

hellerune, pythoness, sorceress (how did the A-Ss know about pythons?)

hellewitebroga, horror of hell-torment

hellheaf, wailings or howlings of hell

helletintrega, hell-torment

helleswite, hell-pains

hell-traef, the devil’s temple

I’m very glad that I didn’t let myself be discouraged by the title of Christiane Bröcker and Babette Schröder’s “111 places in Stockholm that you must not miss”. It’s full of quirky, amusing and interesting locations in Stockholm that I knew little or nothing about.

My first book-inspired visit today was to the Aronsberg Cemetery (Mosaiska begravningsplatsen Aronsberg) near Fridhemsplan, Stockholm’s oldest Jewish cemetery named after Aaron Isaak, who came to Sweden in 1774, supplied equipment to the Swedish army in Russia and was, according to Wikipedia later swindled by Adolf Fredrik Munck, for a time a favourite of Gustav III, subsequently disgraced and exiled and who ended up in a pauper’s grave in Italy. Aaron Isaak wrote his memories in West Yiddish, but there is a Swedish translation Aaron Isaac: Minnen: ett judiskt äventyr i svenskt 1700-tal. Stockholm 2008. A must read for a rainy day at KB.

The cemetery gate is locked. You get a good view from Alströmergatan but, of course, not at all as intensive an experience as being able to wander among the gravestones and let the everyday fade.

I love following such threads, not knowing where they will lead. Threads that make the well acquainted strange, that work against our tendency to reduce attention once an area is known and safe, good perhaps for survival but not for our sense of wonder. My eye is not bad if I use it but I am lazy and need assistance to discover. And here not far from Café Fix and Pressbyrån and all the rest of familiar Fridhemsplan, was this atmospheric place unseen for 40 years. I am attracted by Hebrew too, consigned to the shadows by our Christian culture but as much part of our history as Greek or Latin.

Offered interviews at Durham and Newcastle universities (English and Philosophy), I didn’t immediately realise the succinct disastrousness of my “I’ve read a bit of Hegel”, neatly demonstrating in six or seven words that I had no idea about the state of English philosophy in 1964. The slipper-shod interviewer sprawled across a sofa (this impressed me at the time) replied with a laconic “We don’t concern ourselves very much with Hegel these days”.

I’m much more proud of the 17 year old who thought that Durham was very fine, with its cathedral and castle, and that he must come back on a more leisurely occasion.

And now today I’ve finally managed to do so, a mere 52 years later.

I wouldn’t go as far as Bill Bryson who is quoted in the cathedral guide as saying “I unhesitatingly gave Durham my vote for the best Cathedral on planet Earth” (Notes from a Small Island). But it is certainly among my favourites. Apart from the Chapel of the Nine Altars, it’s very largely Norman work, giving an impression of stylistic harmony and strength. But, less usual for a Norman church, the bulky pillars don’t block the light out. Especially interesting is the late Norman ceiling with its pointed arches anticipating the first of the Gothic styles. These arches could bear more weight than the earlier round Norman arches, enabling the construction of a high stone ceiling (and producing the happy combination of Norman solidity and strength and the lightness of soaring Gothic).

There are also two important graves in the church. First, St Cuthbert, his body evacuated to Durham at a safe distance from the Vikings, who were ravaging Lindisfarne. He had a lavish grave here for many hundred years until the time of Henry VIII (16^th  century) when the King’s commissioners came to dissolve the monastery and lay their hands on the gold casing of Cuthbert’s tomb. Cuthbert himself was reported to be incorrupt (body intact after about 800 years…) and they let him be minus the gold (which I suspect was of much more interest than the body anyway, corrupt or incorrupt….).

More of a favourite for me, the Venerable Bede is also buried here, one of the more substantial of the slender threads leading back to Saxon times with his history of the English people (historia ecclesiastica gentis anglorum).

Information culled from “Durham Cathedral, Light of the North” (2006), John Field and “Durham Cathedral, The Shrine of St Cuthbert” (2013).

My footle tolerance is improving. I’m less and less bothered about having a low-key day after travelling and no longer experience this as a serious threat to my identity.

The day has not been without its charms, however. At Tesco, I discover (and by a supreme effort of will do not buy) hot cross buns (like Easter…) and raspberry flavoured ginger beer (the old place is not what it used to be…). I also make use of the Brexit-crushed pound to buy an electric toothbrush to be stationed in the UK (and wonder whether Farage has done anything else useful in his life apart from helping improve my oral hygiene).

Looking forward to tomorrow’s visit to Durham, a cathedral and university city a couple of train hours away to the north.