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rynner2Offline
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PostPosted: 17-08-2013 11:25    Post subject: Reply with quote

An unusual tale:

Look back in time: Murdered farmer had been 'dead' for 39 years
5:00pm Friday 16th August 2013 in Falmouth/Penryn .

Fifty years ago today, the Packet covered the amazing case of the brutal murder of a reclusive Constantine farmer who “died twice.” The case was even more notable for concluding with two of the last hangings in Britain.

William Garfield Rowe, 64, died officially when he was stabbed to death in the doorway of his isolated cottage at Nanjarrow Farm on August 14, 1963 - but for 39 years William had been “dead” to the outside world, with neighbours believing he was a victim of the 1914-18 war.

In 1917 he was conscripted to the Army, only to desert and be back home within a week.
Home then was Venton Vedna Farm at Porthleven. Armed with £50 and his parents’ blessing, he went into hiding in another part of the country.

The Military caught up with him and he was sent to a detention centre on the Isle of Wight – from where he escaped and went into hiding for the rest of the war. Then he returned to the family home and began his 39 years of living death.

He hid from authority in an upstairs room and earned his keep through farm work during the night. With family members sworn to secrecy, the farm was able to provide all he needed to lead his secret life.

Following the death of his father, William, his mother and brother Stanley moved to the Constantine address – with William hiding beneath a pile of sacks in a hay cart.

His brother and mother died in 1954 and 1956 respectively, but William was spared the dilemma of what to do by the granting by the Queen of a general amnesty to the deserters of both world wars.
The Packet reported: “Steadfastly, William Garfield Rowe marched into the local police station to tell the world of his existence . . . but there was no wild whoopee to make up for those missing 39 years.
“He carried on quietly at the isolated farmhouse, shopping once a week, visiting market now and again, but always happy to return to his cattle, pigs and cats at Nanjarrow.”

He met his brutal end at the hands of two uninvited visitors one summer’s night. Dennis John Whitty, 22, of St Keverne, and Russell Pascoe, 23, of Constantine, were arrested within two days.
Three days later, they made the first of their remand appearances before Penryn magistrates, with their arrival witnessed by several hundred spectators lining the streets.

As the case subsequently unfolded, it became apparent that the pair had believed Mr Rowe was keeping a fortune in cash hidden on his farm. He did have £3,000 in his farmhouse, but Pascoe and Whitty – after beating and stabbing him to death – escaped with just £4.

They were charged with murder, tried, convicted and condemned to death. Simultaneously, at 8am on December 17, 1963, Pascoe was executed at Bristol’s Horfield Prison and Whitty at Winchester Prison.
Both men were buried in unmarked graves within the walls of the prisons where they had been hanged, as was the custom. Only two more prisoners were executed in Britain, both in August, 1964.

http://www.falmouthpacket.co.uk/news/fpfalmouth/10617422.Look_back_in_time__Murdered_farmer_had_been__dead__for_39_years/

The B&W photos seem to come from another century - as of course they do! I was still at school at the time of the crime and the hangings, but I think this is the first time I've heard this tale.
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KondoruOffline
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PostPosted: 18-08-2013 18:59    Post subject: Reply with quote

Its in one of the `Mysterious Cornwall` or `Strange Cornwall` books
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davidplanktonOffline
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PostPosted: 18-08-2013 22:01    Post subject: Reply with quote

That is truly fascinating Rynner, you really couldn't make stuff like that up, could you? Those murderers though, they look decades older than they are supposed to be, especially Dennis John Whitty. From that photo I would have said he was in his 40's, not 22.

Hard paper round maybe.
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Pietro_Mercurios
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PostPosted: 24-08-2013 12:18    Post subject: Reply with quote

This story must be a classic of forgotten history. An absolute sizzler!
Quote:
http://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2013/aug/23/wurst-zeppelins-german-sausage

Wurst luck – how Zeppelins hit German sausage-eaters

Quantity of cow intestines used in manufacturing airships was so enormous that making of sausages was temporarily outlawed in Germany


The Guardian, Sam Jones. 23 August 2013


Although Winston Churchill dismissed them as "enormous bladders of combustible and explosive gas" before the first world war began, the leviathans that loomed out of the night skies to drop their bombs on England nearly a century ago exploded the illusion of civilian safety on the home front for ever.

To millions of sausage-starved Germans, however, Zeppelins were perhaps less harbingers of a new kind of warfare than colossal reminders of the culinary sacrifices required by the fatherland.

According to a new documentary, the quantity of cow intestines used in manufacturing the airships was so enormous – and the military appetite for the dirigibles so strong – that the making of sausages was temporarily outlawed in Germany and allied or occupied parts of Austria, Poland and northern France.

With the guts from more than 250,000 cows needed to produce the bags that held the hydrogen gas in each Zeppelin, the German war machine had to choose between long-range bombing and wurst. It chose the former.

A document prepared in 1922 for the US National Advisory Committee for Aeronautics shows just how important cow guts – also known as goldbeater's skins – were to the military effort.

"The collection of the goldbeater's skins was very systematic in Germany during the war," it reads. "Each butcher was required to deliver the ones from the animals he killed. Agents exercised strict control in Austria, Poland and northern France, where it was forbidden to make sausages."

Dr Hugh Hunt, a senior lecturer in engineering at Cambridge University who looked into the airships for the Channel 4 programme, Attack of the Zeppelins, said he was as surprised as anyone by the intestinal and legal revelations.

"Everybody's been interested in the sausages," he said. "But without supplies from their allies, Germany wouldn't have had enough sausage skins."

To understand exactly how the guts were used, Hunt and his colleagues visited a Middlesbrough factory to see how sausage skins are made. It was there that they realised that by wetting the skins, stretching them and allowing them to dry again, they could be bonded to make perfect hydrogen holders.

His professional curiosity, however, was more drawn to the physical strengths and weaknesses of the giant airships than to questions of bovine supply and demand.

"The most interesting thing is that you would have thought that a big bag of hydrogen would be easy to shoot down and set light to," he said. "But for the best part of a year and a half, it was impossible to shoot Zeppelins down. They built 140 of these enormous airships over that period and it was only at the very end of that – towards the end of the war in 1917 – that we finally worked out how to shoot them down."

Hunt also discovered that some of the credit for finding the best way to down the dirigibles is owed to his great uncle, Jim Buckingham, the designer of the incendiary bullet. The British eventually realised that the resilient airships could be destroyed by firing explosive bullets to breach the skin and allow the hydrogen to mix with oxygen, and then following up with incendiary bullets to create an explosion.

"I remember my father talking about an Uncle Jim who had worked on tracer bullets later, in world war two, but for some reason I had never made the connection," he said.

"It wasn't until I was chatting to my cousin about it that it clicked, and I realised that we were talking about the same person."

After hours spent researching the Zeppelins – which were dispatched on bombing raids that killed 1,500 people between 1915 and 1917 – Hunt feels hydrogen-filled airships would eventually have proved popular, safe and effective had interest in them not ended with the Hindenburg disaster of 1937. He also takes issue with Churchill's uncharitable appraisal of the Zeppelin.

"I think that's fine in principle but in practice, they're not explosive at all," he said. "I think it was a bit of a soundbite."

Attack of the Zeppelins is on Channel 4 at 8pm on 26 August

They didn't just look like sausage skins. Laughing
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ramonmercadoOffline
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PostPosted: 27-08-2013 01:35    Post subject: Reply with quote

Full text at link.

Quote:
What was behind the Bristol bus boycott?
By Jon Kelly
BBC News Magazine

Bristol boycott march

A newspaper cutting shows students marching in Bristol in protest against a "colour bar" on the buses

The 95-year-old guardian of musical form
Fifty years have passed since campaigners overturned a ban on ethnic minorities working on Bristol's buses. Today the boycott is largely forgotten - but it was a milestone in achieving equality.

A spring afternoon in 1963. Eighteen-year-old Guy Bailey arrived on time for his job interview. Bailey was well qualified for the post, but he would not be taken on. Because he was black.

He strolled up to the front desk. He told the receptionist why he was there. She looked up at him. "I don't think so," she said.

Bailey thought she must be mistaken. "The name is Mr Bailey," he told her.

The receptionist stood and went to the manager's office. Bailey heard her call through his door: "Your two o'clock appointment is here, and he's black."

Continue reading the main story
Find out more
Watch BBC Newsnight's full report on the Bristol bus boycott on Tuesday 27 August at 22:30 BST on BBC Two

Watch Newsnight on BBC iPlayer
BBC Newsnight
The manager shouted back from inside his room: "Tell him the vacancies are full."

Bailey protested. There was an advert for applicants in the local paper only the day before. Just an hour ago, his friend had rung the same office and been told there were plenty of jobs.

"There's no point having an interview," said the manager, still in his office, refusing to come out and meet Bailey's eyes. "We don't employ black people."

Encounters of this sort were then familiar in many parts of the world. The newspapers were full of stories about the struggle against segregation in the deep south of the US and the fight against apartheid in South Africa.

But this wasn't Alabama or Mississippi. This wasn't Johannesburg or Pretoria.

This was Bristol, in England, in 1963.

464 line
The manager who refused Bailey a job was acting entirely within his rights.

Half a century ago it was legal in the UK to discriminate against someone because of the colour of their skin.

At the state-owned Bristol Omnibus Company, run by the local council, the "colour bar" was an open secret. Despite the presence of an established Caribbean community in the city, no non-white driver or conductor had ever been employed on the network.

The company's management acted with the connivance of the local branch of the trade union that represented bus crews. These were the days when workplace unrest was common, but on this issue both sides of the industrial divide stood together against integration.

But Bailey's unsuccessful interview marked a turning point. Members of the local black community, supported by many of their white neighbours, led a boycott of the network in protest.

Quite consciously, the campaigners imitated the non-violent anti-racist crusade of Martin Luther King and other American advocates of racial tolerance.

The Bristol boycott was to prove a watershed moment. The campaigners maintain that their efforts directly led to the UK's first ever laws against race-based discrimination.

Today, outside Bristol, the story of the bus boycott is barely known. But to those who led it, this was the UK's own version of the civil rights movement that shook the American south.

464 line
In 1960, Bristol's Caribbean community numbered about 3,000. Most had arrived from the Caribbean after World War II. The 1948 British Nationality Act meant they had British passports with full rights of entry and settlement to the UK.

Continue reading the main story
Teddy Boys
Two Teddy Boys
British youth subculture influenced by American rock'n'roll music
Movement began in the 1950s and rapidly spread throughout the UK
Outfits partly inspired by styles worn by Dandies in the Edwardian era, hair often greased back and worn in a quiff
Term coined when a 1953 Daily Express headline shortened "Edwardian" to "Teddy"
BBC school radio on Teddy Boys
Many had served Queen and country. Nearly all, like Bailey, had been schooled under the British education system. And at a time of virtually full employment, employers like London Transport and the National Health Service had actively sought their labour.

But the reception they received from their fellow British subjects was frequently less than welcoming.

Bailey recalls his shock, not long after he first came to Bristol in 1961, when he was chased by gangs of Teddy Boys wielding bicycle chains, their blows landing on the back of his head as he ran.

For a young man raised in Jamaica by a fervently monarchist British Army veteran father, this went against everything he had been brought up to expect of the place he knew as the "mother country".

"Bristol was a very cold city," recalls Bailey of his early years in the UK, "both in terms of the weather and the people."

Fearful of physical attacks, the black community was largely confined to the deprived St Paul's area.

The few boarding houses prepared to rent rooms to non-whites charged a premium. Some others displayed signs in the window reading: "No Irish, no blacks, no dogs."

"You couldn't go into pubs in Bristol on your own, not if you were black," remembers Roy Hackett, who emigrated to the UK in 1952.

"You'd get a hiding. You had to go in two or three at a time. There were shops that wouldn't serve us. Ninety per cent of us, if we had been able to go back we would have. If I'd had £35, I would have done it."

Roy and Ena Hackett
Roy and Ena Hackett pictured on their wedding day
Hackett knew from bitter experience that the "colour bar" existed in employment.

When he went for one labouring job, he was told the company did not employ "Africans". Hackett protested indignantly that he was Jamaican - if he was going to be discriminated against, the least they could do was get his nationality right.

In 1962, his wife Ena applied for a job as a bus conductor. She was turned down despite meeting all the requirements of the post. Everyone assumed her colour was the disqualifying factor.

At the time, there was no Race Relations Act, and employers could not be prosecuted for discriminating on racist grounds. Newcomers from the Caribbean encountered prejudice when applying for work in other towns and cities, too.

But even in the early 1960s, Bristol's race bar on the buses stood out. Non-white drivers and conductors were a familiar sight across much of the UK.

Just 12 miles away in Bath, black crews were working on buses. London Transport recruitment officers had travelled to Barbados specifically to invite workers to come to the capital. ...

...Watch Tulip Mazumdar's report on the Bristol bus boycott and the impact it had on Newsnight on BBC Two on Tuesday 27 August at 22:30 BST, or catch up , then afterwards on the BBC iPlayer and Newsnight website.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/magazine-23795655
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JamesWhiteheadOffline
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PostPosted: 27-08-2013 11:52    Post subject: Reply with quote

It's interesting that while schools in England routinely teach versions of the Rosa Parks story, this Bristol case has been buried. It was new to me.

The UK did not have discriminatory laws and prejudice in the jobs market would mainly be less confrontational than described here: easier, mainly, to go through the motions of an interview etc.

Was it coincidental that a bus company was the focus of this protest? The case of Rosa Parks would probably have resonated within the black community, even if her 1955 protest was not so newsworthy to the general population. Political action seems to require that its roots are disguised as "out-of-the-blue" moments in which a political innocent is confronted by horrible injustice and refuses to budge or lie down and take it. The versions of the Rosa Parks story which appear in school books paint her as a care-worn drudge who was inspired to light the torch of protest, entirely omitting to mention her long-standing political activism. An accidental simplification for the sake of children?

Small ads, especially for accommodation, probably did contain blatant "No Blacks etc etc" clauses but they seem to be recalled as a matter of principle more than fact.

The equivalent "NINA" (No Irish Need Apply) has proved much more elusive than its notoriety suggests:

History Myths Debunked

Modern Property Ads Raise Awkward Questions



edit: added 12:45 pm: The BBC article underlines the "out-of-the-blue" nature of the story with its "A spring afternoon in 1963 . . . " opening. Compare that with the account on the Wikipedia page:

"Four young West Indian men, Roy Hackett, Owen Henry, Audley Evans and Prince Brown, formed an action group, later to be called the West Indian Development Council, as they were unhappy with the lack of progress in fighting discrimination by the West Indian Association. Owen Henry had met Paul Stephenson whose father was from West Africa and who had been to college. The group decided that the articulate Stephenson would be their spokesman.[6] Stephenson set up a test case to prove the colour bar existed by arranging an interview with the bus company for a young warehouseman and Boys' Brigade officer, Guy Bailey. When Stephenson then told the company that Bailey was West Indian, the interview was cancelled.[7] Inspired by the refusal of Rosa Parks to give up her seat on a bus in Alabama and the ensuing Montgomery Bus Boycott, the activists decided on a bus boycott in Bristol"

In this version, Bailey did not even attend the offices in person!

Wikipedia on the Bristol Bus Boycott

I see the full article contains a lot of detail and recollections by some of the participants but that interview story sounds like an event as re-imagined for a Sydney Poitier movie!
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stunevilleOffline
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PostPosted: 27-08-2013 19:26    Post subject: Reply with quote

In fairness, it's been discussed a fair bit locally for years. Bristol went through a protracted phase of contrition a few years ago about the slave trade, etc, and the bus boycott, subsequent abolition of the colour bar, and the St Pauls Riots of the early 80s are seen as the "end" of institutional racism here (discuss.) I do have to say racial tensions in Bristol today are, compared to many cities, minimal.

The M Shed museum on the Harbourside has an entire area dedicated to a comprehensive and permanent exhibition about racial prejudice in the city (so much so that upon opening some wag dubbed it the "We're Very Sorry Warehouse".) There's a multimedia display about the boycott included, and it pulls no punches.
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rynner2Offline
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PostPosted: 04-09-2013 22:49    Post subject: Reply with quote

The British WWI prisoner of war who returned to captivity

A British officer captured during World War I was granted leave to visit his dying mother on one condition - that he return, a historian has discovered.
And Capt Robert Campbell kept his promise to Kaiser Wilhelm II and returned from Kent to Germany, where he stayed until the war ended in 1918.

Historian Richard van Emden told the BBC that Capt Campbell would have felt a duty to honour his word.
It also emerged that Capt Campbell tried to escape as soon as he returned.
Mr van Emden discovered the story when researching Foreign Office documents at the National Archives for his book, Meeting the Enemy: The Human Face of the Great War.

Twenty-nine-year-old Capt Campbell, of the 1st Battalion East Surrey Regiment, had been captured in northern France on 24 August 1914 and then sent to a prisoner-of-war camp in Magdeburg, north-east Germany.
While in the camp he received news that his mother Louise was dying of cancer.
Capt Campbell wrote a letter to the German emperor begging to be allowed to go and see his mother, which the Kaiser allowed - as long as Capt Campbell gave his word that he would return.

Mr van Emden said that Capt Campbell almost certainly travelled through the Netherlands and then by boat and train to Gravesend in Kent, where he spent a week with his mother before returning to Germany the same way.
His mother died in February 1917.

Mr van Emden told the BBC that Capt Campbell would have felt a duty to honour his word and "he would have thought 'if I don't go back no other officer will ever be released on this basis'".

Mr van Emden said it was "surprising" that Capt Campbell was not blocked from returning to Germany from Britain.
No other British prisoners of war were afforded compassionate leave, though, after Britain blocked a similar request from German prisoner Peter Gastreich, who was being held at an internment camp on the Isle of Man.

In another twist to the story, Mr van Emden said that as soon as Capt Campbell returned to the camp he then set about trying to escape.
He and a group of other prisoners spent nine months digging their way out of the camp before being captured on the Dutch border and sent back.
Mr van Emden said that as well as feeling honour bound to keep his word to return to the camp, as an officer, Capt Campbell was also honour bound to try to escape.

The Daily Mail reported that after the war Capt Campbell returned to Britain and served in the military until 1925.
He then rejoined when World War II broke out in 1939, serving as a the chief observer of the Royal Observer Corps on the Isle of Wight.
He died in the Isle of Wight in July 1966, aged 81.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-23957605
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rynner2Offline
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PostPosted: 07-09-2013 17:24    Post subject: Reply with quote

Mike Truscott remembers Penryn's 'Johnny Onions' and street hawkers
3:00pm Saturday 7th September 2013 in Falmouth/Penryn
Mike Truscott writes:

I had a lovely catch-up coffee session recently with a dear friend, Joan Coote, whose late husband Roy was loved by so many as a boxer, sailor and, for much of his working life, Falmouth tug skipper, writes Mike Truscott.

Roy, who died in 1999, was actually a Penryner - as recalled in a book that profiles his life and remains one of Joan's treasured possessions.
Published by the Packet in the early 1990s and written by our then editor John Marquis, it provides an early 20th Century snapshot of Penryn that is scarcely recognisable today.

For instance: “Penryn alone had six or seven full-time professional fighters, all of them kept busy by the insatiable public demand for sporting excitement.
“Sky Sport and Match Of The Day might be major attractions now, but in those days the 'couch potato' culture had not taken hold. People liked to get away from their own firesides to watch sport live.”

And on Penryn life in general: “It would have seemed busier. People were out and about more then, either on foot, bicycle or horse and cart.
“Milk, bread and fish were all delivered on carts, the milkman scooping milk into housewives' jugs from a giant churn.
There were also hawkers and travellers to be seen buying and bartering, knife-grinders among them offering to sharpen cutlery.

“In the summer, Breton farmers would appear in the streets selling their delicious onions, which they carried like bandoliers around their necks.
“These strange foreign figures were known locally as ‘Johnny Onions’ and would bring their crop over from France aboard their boats, which they moored in Penryn.
“They used premises in Commercial Road for sorting their onions before setting off on bicycles to sell them.”

Dressed in striped shirt and beret, riding a bicycle hung with onions, the Onion Johnny became the stereotypical image of the Frenchman and may have been the only contact that the ordinary British had with France.

From the area around Roscoff in Brittany known as Bro Rosko, Johnnies found a more profitable market in England than at home, and typically brought their harvest across the English Channel in July to store in rented barns, returning home in December or January.

They could have sold their produce in Paris, but the roads and the railways were bad in the 19th century and going there was a long and difficult trip - crossing the channel was shorter and easier.

The golden age was during the 1920s and in 1929 nearly 1,400 Johnnies imported over 9,000 tonnes of onions to the UK. The Great Depression, followed by the devaluation of the Pound in the early 1930s, ended the era as trade suddenly fell, reaching a low in 1934, when fewer than 400 people imported under 3,000 tonnes.

http://www.falmouthpacket.co.uk/news/fpfalmouth/10657764.Mike_Truscott_remembers_Penryn_s__Johnny_Onions__and_street_hawkers/

There's another thread with a lot about Johnny Onions, both serious and silly, here:-

http://www.forteantimes.com/forum/viewtopic.php?p=1280851#1280851
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PostPosted: 09-09-2013 13:51    Post subject: Reply with quote

rynner2 wrote:
the milkman scooping milk into housewives' jugs


*Schoolboyish snigger.*
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PostPosted: 09-09-2013 14:11    Post subject: Reply with quote

I was going to accuse The Packet of nicking much of that article from Wikipedia:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Onion_Johnny

Re-reading the start, I see that the unattributed borrowing was the other way about!

The quotes from the old book in The Packet, however, miss out the fascinating detail that the Breton Johnnies were not French-speaking. It seems they were happy in neither English nor French but were able to converse with fellow Celts in Wales. I wonder if they found many speakers of Cornish to compare notes with?

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PostPosted: 14-09-2013 01:32    Post subject: Reply with quote

Quote:
Allende’s socialist internet
http://www.redpepper.org.uk/allendes-socialist-internet/

Leigh Phillips tells the story of Cybersyn, Chile’s experiment in non-centralised economic planning which was cut short by the 1973 coup

The Cybersyn OpsroomThe Cybersyn Opsroom

The story of Salvador Allende, president of the first ever democratically elected Marxist administration, who died when General Augusto Pinochet overthrew the young administration in a US-backed coup on 11 September, 1973, is well known amongst progressives. But the human rights horrors and tales of desaparecidos have eclipsed – quite understandably – the pioneering cybernetic planning work of the Chilean leader, his ministers and a British left-wing operations research scientist and management consultant named Stafford Beer. It was an ambitious, economy-wide experiment that has since been described as the ‘socialist internet’, an effort decades ahead of its time.

In 1970, the Allende government found itself the coordinator of a messy jumble of factories, mines and other workplaces that had long been state-run, others that were freshly nationalised, some under worker occupation and others still under the control of their managers or owners. An efficient strategy of coordination was required. The 29-year-old head of the Chilean Production Development Corporation and later finance minister Fernando Flores - responsible for the management and coordination between nationalised companies and the state, and his advisor, Raul Espejo, had been impressed with Beer's prolific writings on management cybernetics, and, like Allende, wanted to construct a socialist economy that was not centralised as the variations on the Soviet theme had been.

Allende, a doctor by training, was attracted to the idea of rationally directing industry, and upon Flores' recommendation, Beer was hired to advise the government, and the scheme he plunged himself into was called Project Cybersyn, a ‘nervous system’ for the economy in which workers, community members and the government were to be connected together transmitting the resources they had on offer, their desires and needs via an interactive national communications network. The whole idea would seem, frankly, eccentrically ambitious, even potty, if today the internet were not such a quotidian experience.

Although never completed, by the time of the coup, the advanced prototype of the system, which had been built in four months, involved a series of 500 telex machines distributed to firms connected to two government-operated mainframe computers and stretched the length of the narrow country and covered roughly between a quarter and half of the nationalised economy. Factory output, raw material shipments and transport, high levels of absenteeism and other core economic data pinged about the country and to the capital, Santiago – a daily exchange of information between workers and their government, easily beating the six months on average for economic data to be processed in this way in most advanced countries.

Paul Cockshott, a University of Glasgow computer scientist who has written about the possibility of post-capitalist planning aided by computing, is a big admirer of Cybersyn as a practical example of the general type of regulation mechanism he advocates: ‘The big advance with Stafford Beer's experiments with Cybersyn was that it was designed to be a real-time system rather than a system which, as the Soviets had tried, was essentially a batch system in which you made decisions every five years.’

Staff tallied the data and seven government surveyors (seven being the largest number of people who can comfortably participate in a discussion) viewed real-time economic processes for immediate decisions from a space-age, Star-Trek-like operations room, complete with Tulip swivel chairs with built-in buttons, but the aim was to maintain decentralised worker and lower-management autonomy rather than to impose a top-down system of control. The intention was to provide an Opsroom overseeing each industry and within each plant. At the factory level, it was planned that workers’ committees would run the Opsroom. Figures were avoided in favour of graphics displays under the belief that people should be able to engage in economic self-government without formal mathematical or financial training. Vast, economy-wide co-ordination is not the same as centralisation.

When the government faced a CIA-backed strike from conservative small businessmen and a boycott by private lorry companies in 1972, food and fuel supplies ran dangerously low. The government faced its gravest existential threat ahead of the coup. It was then that Cybersyn came into its own, when Allende's government realised that the experimental system could be used to circumvent the opposition’s efforts. The network allowed its operators to secure immediate information on where scarcities were at their most extreme and where drivers not participating in the boycott were located and to mobilise or redirect its own transport assets in order to keep goods moving and take the edge of the worst of the shortages. As a result, the truck-owners' boycott was defeated.

After that other September 11 almost forty years ago, when the bombs fell on La Moneda, the presidential palace where Allende took his own life rather than surrender to Pinochet’s fascists, the fires that destroyed democracy in Chile also took the world's first non-Stalinist experiment in economy-wide planning with them, replaced by another economic experiment of an altogether opposite character: the monetarist structural adjustment of Milton Friedman, infamously replicated by Margaret Thatcher and her dozens of imitators.

Today, 40 years later, systemic change is on the table again. After decades of defeats, there is a burgeoning - if still fragile - sense that far-reaching transformation going beyond a tinkering with the system might be necessary and, crucially, achievable.

So you would think that the period would be ripe for discussion of a post-capitalist economics, for a blossoming of competing concrete proposals of what a thoroughly different economic system might look like. Yet very few have engaged in the hard thinking about what could happen ‘the morning after’ a presumed victory. We are undergoing the biggest economic disaster since the 1930s, an unprecedented global slump that may turn out to be worse than the Great Depression, and no one wants to theorise about the day after tomorrow, fearful that we may be ‘building castles in the air’.

This is the utility of Allende’s Cybersyn for us in 2013. Cybersyn is not some quirky historical curiosity. Nor was it a utopian dream. Rather, Allende’s experiment was a real-world example of post-capitalist planning that needs to be scrutinised in great depth and then appraised to see what bits of it, if any, can be redeployed were ordinary people once again to win power.
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PostPosted: 21-09-2013 20:49    Post subject: four films thought lost, now found Reply with quote

http://www.newser.com/story/174448/lost-part-of-film-history-found-in-barn.html
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(Newser) – Just before tearing down an old barn in New Hampshire, a contractor did one last check and discovered a treasure: seven reels of film that he donated to the Keene State College Film Archives, reports the college. It has since determined that at least four of those films were ones thought to have been lost. One of those, Their First Misunderstanding, is the 1911 silent short film that features silent movie star Mary Pickford appearing in her first credited role. Prior to that, Pickford, then 18, had been known only as "Little Mary" in films. The Library of Congress is funding the film's restoration (it hadn't even been stored in a can), and it will be screened at the New Hampshire college on Oct. 11.

"It's a big deal," says a Pickford scholar of the film's discovery seven years ago. Another expert says the movie "fills an important gap," because Pickford had a "short-lived association" with Carl Laemmle's Independent Moving Picture Co. Their First Misunderstanding was the first movie she made for IMP. It's about a newlywed couple's first fight, and also stars Pickford's then-husband Owen Moore, the Los Angeles Times reports. The nitrate reel was stuck to another, and had to be carefully separated. Though there are slight "jumps in action," the Pickford expert says "no significant amount of footage" was lost. See a clip here.
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PostPosted: 22-09-2013 08:18    Post subject: Reply with quote

Recovering a WWII bomber hidden in a French cave
By Chris Bockman, Sacoue, south-west France

For historians, wreckage from a World War II German bomber in the French Pyrenees is an exceptional find, but some local residents are less keen on digging up the past.

It is a long drive over gravel and dirt roads in the Pyrenees through the mist.
Finally, more than 1,000m (3,280ft) up, I reach my destination and I feel I have either joined the flickering embers of an all-night rave party or a group of hardcore forest environmentalists.
The men look haggard, bundled up against the early morning cold.
There are shabby tents bunched on the rare patches of dry earth and lots of heavy machinery on the ground, while coffee brews on a makeshift stove. The remains of a cassoulet sit on the bottom of a large pan.

This is the select French world of WWII plane wreckage investigators.
About 50 of them are here retrieving the remains of a German bomber - the dreaded Dornier 217.ZA. Some 1,700 were built, but none remain intact to this day.

This particular salvage operation is intriguing.
The Germans had stationed many of the Dorniers outside the French city of Toulouse from where they conducted bombing runs on allied forces at sea.

However, in July 1944 two of these bombers got lost on their return to base and collided over the Pyrenees mountains.
The eight crew members were killed instantly but the mountains were also home to "passeurs" - members of the resistance - who helped smuggle allied troops over the peaks and into relative safety in Spain.
Local people feared reprisals from the Germans who would come looking for the bodies, so they decided to throw the wreckage down a nearby 100m (328ft) cave hole to hide the evidence.
And then, for decades to come, a collective unofficial silence descended on the community.

Today's plane wreckage hunters are a mixed bag, including archaeologists and historians.
Many, though, come from the aerospace industry, working for manufacturers like Airbus or the turboprop maker ATR. You could say they have aviation in their blood.

Gilles Collaveri is one of the most determined members of the group. It was word of mouth and long-forgotten rumours that sent him trekking through the forest last year in search of this remote cave.
Its location matched eyewitness accounts of the crash but it was inaccessible.
So he asked a local speleologist group to help him discover what might be at the bottom of the cave and sure enough they stumbled on large charred metal sections of one of the lost Dorniers.

Like most things in France, it took months of haggling and bureaucratic paperwork to get the official permission they needed to start retrieving the wreckage - it proved a complex affair requiring makeshift cranes, harnesses and muscle power.
Many of the parts weigh more than 50kg each and pulling them up a narrow 100m shaft was far from easy.

Out in the open much of the wreckage looks like mundane scrap metal, but some pieces bring the history back to life.
These include the wing sections, remains of an oxygen tank, ammunition and one cockpit part with German instructions still intact.
The team say that what they have found is relatively well preserved.

There is not enough to consider rebuilding the plane, so it will all end up in museums in Berlin and southern France.
In fact, one reason why there are no complete Dorniers today is because after the war, their metal fuselages were recycled for other industrial needs.

This team celebrated its success with a makeshift lunch provided by the owner of an aviation-themed restaurant near the airport control tower in Toulouse.
He is an amateur pilot but too old to go down a cave on ropes.
Instead he rustled up a beef stew with mustard sauce followed by chocolate brownies, all washed down with local strong red wine.

Yet not everyone is happy to see this history brought to light.
In the nearby village of Sacoue is the mayor, Yvette Campan, who has lived there all her life. She remembers her grandparents talking about how scared they were when the two bombers crashed and seeing the crews' bodies scattered over a wide area.
The last thing they wanted was to attract attention.

And even now, there was no local ceremony to mark the recovery of the wreckage - in her words the Germans were the enemy after all. She said if it had been a British plane that was being salvaged it would be a different story.

The local hunters out searching for wild boar also seemed uncomfortable at the sight of these outsiders digging up the past.
But one of the elderly plane hunters, Georges Jauzion, a former pilot in the French air force and test pilot for Airbus, sees it differently.
He says he wants to put himself in the place of the German pilots and to understand what really happened in the skies over this mountain range nearly 70 years ago.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/magazine-24159975
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PostPosted: 24-09-2013 00:46    Post subject: Reply with quote

stuneville wrote:
In fairness, it's been discussed a fair bit locally for years. Bristol went through a protracted phase of contrition a few years ago about the slave trade, etc, and the bus boycott, subsequent abolition of the colour bar, and the St Pauls Riots of the early 80s are seen as the "end" of institutional racism here (discuss.) I do have to say racial tensions in Bristol today are, compared to many cities, minimal.

The M Shed museum on the Harbourside has an entire area dedicated to a comprehensive and permanent exhibition about racial prejudice in the city (so much so that upon opening some wag dubbed it the "We're Very Sorry Warehouse".) There's a multimedia display about the boycott included, and it pulls no punches.


Interesting to hear this. In the way back when, racism was the number one reason I chose not to live in the UK (and I'm a white Californian, although with Welsh great-grans on both sides of the family). Life in the UK then was way too much like living in the Deep South (USA), which I'd done and didn't ever want to repeat. Ever.
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