I Hate to Keep Going On About This, But When Can We Expect the Barbed Wire?

This is the Old Bridge in Berwick-upon-Tweed at high tide during one of the wet, windy, miserable days we've had a lot of recently. Though not nearly as many of them as the poor people in the south of England have been having. I had a vague idea that this would be a suitable picture to illustrate a post on the theme of 'choppy political waters ahead'. Go on, groan as much as you want.

Now that the referendum on Scottish independence is only - quick count on fingers - about seven months away, Westminster politicians and the London based media have started to take it seriously. Last week there seemed to be a major attack on independence by a politician and an earnest 'whither the UK' piece on every news programme. I got rather irritated at the way the rest of the world seems to have only just thought of the issues that have been bothering those of us who live on the border for years. Well - they've been bothering me for years at any rate, and if you've been reading this blog you will be well up to speed on the issues.

I've already done at least two posts showing the bridge across the border at Coldstream as an accompaniment to questions about whether this is really a defensible frontier that could cope with being the border of the European Union. The bridge at Berwick is not the border any more but I may as well continue the theme. Everyone in Westminster is threatening the Scottish Nationalists with the alleged impossibility of staying in the EU if they leave the UK. So is some EU commissioner whose name I forget. From where I'm sitting, this looks like pure gamesmanship. There is no way that any EU commissioner who had visited Berwick or Coldstream or Norham or Paxton would be prepared to allow these towns to become the edge of the European Union. It would mean turning sleepy, remote villages into armed camps and erecting miles of barbed wire across rivers. I am quite certain that a newly independent Scotland would be fast-tracked through the process for re-admission in its own right, however many backstairs deals would have to be done to get all the member states to agree.

I am now more interested in the scenario raised by an expert from LSE, whose name I also forget I'm afraid, on Radio 4. He pointed out that all new member states of the EU are obliged to join the Schengen agreement, which allows free travel on a single visa through all states that are signatories to it. At present the UK is not a signatory. So that raises the prospect of England-'n'-Wales, or Rest of UK as the Scots call it, outside Schengen and a newly independent Scotland within it. Leaving Berwick and all the rest of the border towns as the new frontier of the free single visa travel area, which is only marginally better than being the frontier of the EU altogether. It would still turn us into a heavily policed land border between significantly different political entities, whereas we are now a border marked only by a couple of cheery flags and welcome signs.

I know that Holyrood can't really be expected to care about the English side of the border, but I would have thought that they would care about the impact on the Scottish border towns. If only because their inhabitants have votes in the September referendum.

Cameron Calls For Unionist Missionaries

This is a picture of the impressively large Union flag that hung outside the Northumberland Hall (an 18th century assembly rooms) in Alnwick during the period of the 'Jubilympics' in 2012. A few days ago David Cameron, Prime Minister of a so far still United Kingdom, decided that the best way to persuade Scots to vote against independence was to stand in the Olympic stadium and remind us all of the great achievements of Team GB in the summer of 2012. That's right, he thought that the hearts of Scots would be warmed by being reminded of an event in London - in London - that cost several billion pounds more than it would take to enable all five million of them to live in luxury.

Now, we had already worked out that David Cameron is not the sharpest tool on the parliamentary gadget belt, but one assumes that he has advisers to help him with this sort of thing. If so, no. 10 should probably review its recruitment procedures. (Unless, as my friend Kate said, trying to make David Cameron look clever is just too big a job for anyone.) This was a catastrophically misconceived speech, and the main message Scots will have taken from it is not any of the actual words coming out of his mouth but the loud and clear call: Vote for independence and you will never have to be governed by an English nincompoop like me ever again!

The most bizarre aspect of the speech was the PM's call on everyone in England and Wales to use all their powers of persuasion on any Scots they may happen to come across to win them for the No side in the September referendum. This responsibility weighs particularly heavily on Berwickers. Are we expected to travel the few miles to the other side of the border on a regular basis to act as missionaries for the Better Together cause? Should we perhaps set up our soap boxes in the high streets of Dunbar and Melrose and ask the crowd, in the manner of an evangelical preacher, if they have heard the Good News of Unionism? I am sure that Conservative Central Office would be happy to supply some suitable pamphlets for distribution on such occasions, setting out in bullet point form the saving power of the United Kingdom, the most extraordinary country in history. (Yes, Mr Cameron really called it that. He must have been studying Michael Gove's preferred school history curriculum.)

I have always said that, although the polls have continued to show a clear majority for a No vote in the independence referendum, we should never underestimate the ability of the Westminster government to shoot itself in the foot. I think that a Yes majority has just become significantly more likely.

Another Seal in Residence!

Regular readers of this blog will be aware that I am constantly in quest of the perfect seal photo. Two days ago I was walking across the bridge on my way back from Asda (other supermarkets are available) when I spotted a juvenile seal, still with a lot of its white baby coat visible, sitting on a sandbank just below the bridge, looking up at me with an adorable expression. At last - the perfect seal photo that will bring me fame and fortune! With hands trembling with anticipation I took my camera out of my bag. The battery was dead. They could probably hear my cries of anguish on the other side of the border.

Next day, armed with a fully charged camera battery, I walked out across the bridge again, thinking that there would inevitably be not a whisker of a marine mammal to be seen. Wrong! The seal was there again. Just not in such an ideal position and with a lot of sand messing up its pretty coat. Never mind, these are still my best attempts at seal photos yet. I particularly like the nice diagonals in the one on the right and the way the track of the seal hauling itself across the sand shows clearly.

Two years ago another baby seal was a regular fixture in this spot. We are all wondering if it grew up to become the mother of this new arrival and has now brought its baby back to its own childhood haunts. Some people reckon to have seen an adult seal near this juvenile. So we may have the start of a multi-generational colony beside the bridge, ideally located for gawping at by humans. Welcome, seal neighbours, we love you.

Let's Hear It for Rabbie Burns

This is the window display put up by one of our local independent butchers here in Berwick to promote their haggis for Burns Night last Saturday. Pretty eye-catching, isn't it?  You will probably have heard of the 'address to a haggis' that is traditionally read at these Burns suppers. I looked it up today for the first time ever. It is written in a mock serious style and contrasts this splendid traditional food of the Scottish peasantry, responsible for raising a population of hardy tillers of the soil, with 'French ragout and fricasee' that would 'make a sow spew'. Take that, you celebrity chefs.

I have written before of my affection and admiration for the political views so eloquently expressed by Rabbie Burns, but to mark this year's celebration I thought I would quote him at more length. Probably his best known poem after the one about the haggis is the paean to the values of democracy and egalitarianism featuring the line 'a man's a man for a' that'. This was sung at the opening ceremony of the re-formed Scottish parliament in 1999, because it was felt to express the values that the parliament should defend.  The verse I really like is the one that comes after that line.

See yon birkie, ca’d a lord,

Wha struts and stares and a’ that

Though hundreds worship at his word

He’s but a coof  [fool] for a’ that

For a’ that and a’ that

His riband, star and a’ that

The man of independent mind,

He looks and laughs at a’ that.

 My 19th century edition of the complete works glosses 'birkie' as 'a spirited fellow'.  Hmm.  Chambers dictionary gives the meaning as 'a strutting or swaggering fellow' and suggests that the etymology is related to the verb 'to bark'.  Now that's more like it. Any number of 'coofs' in modern Britain who swagger about barking nonsense and getting away with it because they have 'lord' or some other aristocratic title in front of their name come to mind. And nowadays they're not just hereditary ones, we have the cursed invention of life peerages, largely used as a way of getting the prime minister's mates into parliament without the inconvenience of an election but sold to the public as an introduction of the meritocratic principle into the whole rotten aristocratic system. I would like to see this poem inscribed on a plaque and nailed over the entrance to the House of Lords. 

Why Berwicum Super Twedam Does Not Seem to Floreat Much

I snapped this ornate piece of civic pride hanging in the council offices on the sly while stewarding an installation for the film festival in there. The piece of rather naff Latin translates as 'may Berwick upon Tweed flourish' and so seems as suitable as anything to illustrate this report of a talk I attended this week.

It has become an annual custom for the speaker at the January meeting of Berwick Civic Society to be a representative of some branch of local government. I sometimes wonder why they agree to make the long trek to this furthest outpost of Northumberland on a freezing winter night just to be abused for a couple of hours by irate residents who don't get many other chances to express their dissatisfaction with what they get for their council tax.

This week the speaker was John Lord, the Berwick project director of Arch, a company set up by Northumberland County Council as an 'arms-length' deliverer of regeneration projects. Last January Mr Lord gave us what I thought was an excellent talk on the problems involved in regenerating Berwick. There are a lot of them. He was bold enough to make the point that nobody nowadays needs or wants to do their shopping in a 1950s style high street, because we have supermarkets now and we like them a lot more. This year he had expanded this point to an entire presentation, packed with quotes, graphs, charts and other assorted data to illustrate the massive changes in the way we live, work and shop over the last few decades. I was very impressed. I think I may have been the only member of the audience who was. Confronting some of the local activists with economic reality is a pretty thankless task.

A few examples of statements which may appear obvious to my readers but produced frissons of disapproval in the room. There is a general trend for local high street shops to move downmarket because they increasingly cater primarily for a captive group of consumers who cannot afford to travel far to shop. Anybody who has the means to travel to a large urban centre to shop does so, because it's just a much more enjoyable experience. It is 'not remotely true' that the rents of shops on Marygate, Berwick are higher than those on Princes Street, Edinburgh. (As if! I wonder how long it is since that questioner has been to Princes Street.)  The reason that most of the small towns in the Scottish Borders are much more attractive and prosperous looking than Berwick is because - wait for it - the people who live there are richer than the people who live here. At this point the chair helpfully chimed in with the information that average incomes in Berwick are the lowest in the whole of Northumberland. No data on how they compare with the Scottish Borders, which is a more meaningful comparison for Berwick residents, seemed to be immediately to hand, but we can guess that the conversion of places such as our namesake North Berwick into essentially dormitory towns for Edinburgh, with a bit of tourism thrown in, has raised the average a fair way above us.

The nub of the problem is that Berwick upon Tweed is a bit too far from both Edinburgh and Newcastle to attract affluent commuters, but near enough to both of them to attract locals to do their shopping there. So the economic forces drawing money out of the town are stronger than those pulling it in. Add in the reluctance of most Scots to live cross border, and we're stuffed, really. 

What Does 2014 Hold?

This is the Sallyport in Berwick, shown here to give me an excuse to say: as we finally emerge from the long dark tunnel of 2013 towards the faintly visible light of a new year, what can we expect here in the Borders?

Are We About To Be Over-run with Immigrants?

The media yesterday were doing their best to give the impression that we are. At one point after listening to the BBC radio headlines I peered gingerly out of the window, thinking that I would see a gradually thickening flock of Romanians and Bulgarians advancing stealthily nearer to the house, like the seagulls in The Birds.  But I couldn't see a single one, and the real seagulls were no more threatening than usual. The only effect of the lifting of restrictions on these migrants' right to work in the UK that I expect to see immediately is that Illi, the nice Romanian man who has been patiently selling the Big Issue in Alnwick since the shop he stands outside was a Woolworths, may finally be able to get a proper job.

Will the Scottish Independence Referendum Return a Yes Vote?

This is the big one. The polls all say No but some well-informed commentators urge against complacency. A Glaswegian activist told me recently that the result would be much closer than everyone is predicting, and added with complete seriousness, 'Alex Salmond is a master politician'. I was interested to see that no less an authority than the Financial Tines,  in its predictions for the year ahead, backed this up, saying that 'the campaigning genius of Alex Salmond should not be under-estimated'. So a few more people here in Berwick had better wake from their political stupor before September.

Does Anybody in the English Borders Actually Care About Any of This?

On the whole, I would say that the average Berwicker would only take an interest in Scottish independence if they thought it might affect the number of parking spaces in the town. Or the quantity of seagull droppings or the frequency with which the gutters get cleaned. If a resurgent Scotland ever decides to pursue a revanchist policy towards Berwick, it would scarcely take a campaigning genius. The place is anybody's for a multi-storey car park.

A very happy 2014 to you all!

Santa Claus Is Coming To Town

A very Merry Christmas to all my readers. Here is Santa visiting Spittal yesterday. Accompanied in his sleigh not by an elf but by the Spittal Gala Queen. His journey down Main Street was the culmination of a very well attended Christmas fete, with a funfair in the street and the Norham school brass band playing in the church hall while you browsed the stalls and refreshments.

The great attraction of the Spittal Santa is that he comes complete with real reindeer. Or rather, the last time I was there he came complete with a whole team of reindeer from the Cairngorm herd who earn their keep by being hired out to pull sleighs at Christmas. This year he was drawn by one single solitary reindeer. Maybe this is yet another example of Austerity Britain - perhaps we didn't put enough money in the donations tins last time to cover the cost of hiring a full team again. I was sufficiently concerned about this to put £1 in the bucket on the way out of the church hall, as well as spending £1.50 on the cup of tea and a mince pie meal deal. On the other hand, it could just be that the limited number of reindeer in Britain are in such demand at this time of year that their agent could only spare one for this little town.

I took this photo two years ago when half a dozen reindeer came. I spotted their transport parked outside the local school playing field, where they were being shown off to the children before leaving to prepare for their sleigh pulling shift. I did see them being led back to the van but could not get close enough to grab a picture, as their minders were understandably careful to prevent them being mobbed. And of course photographing a single reindeer in the dark is even more challenging. I did not feel comfortable about letting off a flash in the poor creature's face. I wonder if these reindeer go on the sort of training course that police horses are put through, to get them used to noisy crowds? They certainly seemed very stoical about it all. Maybe they have just understood that if they play along with this human idiocy for a couple of weeks a year their reward is to roam free and happy in the Scottish mountains for the other fifty.