The Diary

15 August 2006: What We Did On Our Hols Part Two.

With our goal-drought currently proving about as serious as the watery one affecting most of the country?s south-eastern region right now, perhaps the above insert in some newspaper Lonely Hearts column might do the trick, n?est ce pas? Let?s face it, what with Albion?s more orthodox methods of strengthening our player ranks currently drawing a complete blank, what is there to lose, I ask myself?

That?s the conclusion I reached this very morning, after perusal of my Mirror newspaper revealed that once more, we?d blown out yet another prospective striking ?bride-to-be?, viz: Togo international Adekambi Olufade, who, by signing for Belgium?s Genk yesterday instead, signified a ?thanks, but no thanks?.? complete and utter rebuttal of our manager?s previous amorous intentions, despite having had a Hawthorns trial. The same applies to another possibility, Clinton Morrison, who is reported to have sought a star-billing elsewhere. Sure, we did get a brace of youngsters from Fergie in permanent exchange for The Pole In Goal, who signed a four year deal for the Old Trafford mob the other day, one on loan, and the rest permanently ? Paul McShane and Luke Steel, one a centre-half, the other a keeper himself ? but that?s not exactly what we need so badly at this precise moment, is it? Personally, I?d have been much happier had we been given the lad Rossi in part-exchange, and not two more flaming defensive players!

After St. Mary?s, on Saturday, when injury to Duke Ellington around 25 minutes into the first half meant John Hartson had little alternative but to plough a lonely furrow upfront for the rest of the game, the quest for a suitable boon companion for the lad has now become even more urgent than it ever was before. The countless dispiriting messages now emanating from the Zoltan Gera camp, to the effect that he wants a return to the Premiership sooner rather than later ? personally, I feel it?s the same old story: the agent making waves, and not the player ? also make it imperative we strengthen, and quickly, as he?s sometimes used as a stop-gap measure in the striking department. We?ll probably hold on to him for the remainder of the current transfer window, sure, but I wouldn?t like to stand in a witness box in a court of law and swear an oath to that effect. Chances are, if not now, we?re sure to lose him come the dawning of the New Year. Message to Jeremy Peace? PLANET EARTH CALLING CHAIRMAN - WE NEED A BLOODY STRIKER, AND QUICK ? SORT IT!

On the surface, I?m still having great difficulty seeing in what direction the problem lies. Surely there must be someone out there idly kicking their heels (and not the match- ball!) who would positively relish the chance of furthering their career by regular exposure to all the advantageous publicity ? and money! - thrown up by repeated inclusion in a successful Championship side? After all, what with what has been a marked downturn in finances for clubs hovering lower down the pecking-order over the course of the past few seasons, and such clubs being forced to give players they would normally have retained a reluctant P45 as a result of the attendant cash-flow difficulties thus generated, isn?t it supposed to be very much a ?buyers? market? out there these days? Or is there something we don?t know about queering the pitch badly prior to any sales-talk pitched at prospective Baggies?

It isn?t all gloom and doom, though. Robson is reportedly wanting to get someone on board before the Colchester home game this Saturday, so the search goes on. According to the Evening Mail?s Chris Lepkowski, we?ve recently been bending Fulham?s ears back with a view to grabbing striker Tomasz Radzinski sometime this week. Yet another candidate halfway towards his weekly OAP pay-out ? he?s 32, apparently ? he does have considerable experience, though, having previously played for both Everton and Anderlecht, but is reported as not figuring prominently in the West London club?s plans for this season. The ideal outcome would have been for us to take him on a permanent basis, but it?s reported that Fulham, perhaps wanting to cover all their Premiership bases as a precautionary measure, may only release him on loan. And other reports strongly suggest we might well blow out completely in any case. There is life out there after the flesh-pots of the Metropolis ? honest, lads!

There is one other possibility. The Arse were reported to be willing to talk turkey over their lad Lupoli, a striker, age 19, and on loan ? in fact, The Fart reckoned rumours to the effect we?d actually signed him were sweeping the Albion end prior to the Southampton game - but it would now seem we?re actually in competition with Derby County over this one. Despite the move being mooted as a loan deal, I would also expect that any agreement reached would mean the eventual departure of Curtis Davis for more opulent North London climes: Arsene Wenger?s a great fan, apparently, and I?m sure Mister Davis would jump as quick as anything at the further opportunity for Premiership football the move would undoubtedly entail.

Oh, dear ? the plot thickens regarding Jason Koumas, and the prodigal?s attempts to emulate the firm non-co-operational stance taken by Conscientious Objectors when conscripted into the Army during the last couple of years of the 1914-1918 conflict. Because of the distinct dearth of match practice caused by this repeatedly-intransigent stance of his ? not turning up for training, then continually refusing to do so on subsequent occasions, is neither big nor clever, and he?s only hurting his own finances by doing so anyway, so why bother? ? he?s now been dropped from the Welsh side. Talk about cutting your nose off to spite your own face? I?d long known some players to be a little short in the ?brains? department, but with such antics, Our Jase has certainly written a whole new chapter!

Cardiff City, where the lad dearly would like to be, and certainly not the Black Country club, have reportedly ceased their efforts to get Jason back, so, unless this is part of normal transfer-wheelings and dealings, insofar as a ?no? is usually considered to be a ?maybe? in these circles, there may still be more convolutions in prospect As a peace-offering (no Chairman-puns intended, honest!), Albion have now offered an olive branch in the form of an offer to wipe the slate clean, provided Our Jase stops throwing a strop every five minutes, and ? er ? grows up a little. I await future developments with great interest!

Now, as promised, a little more about what we got up to last week. The morning following ?Im Indoors? Hereford perambulations, in complete contrast, we decided to shift our carcasses to Hay On Wye, which just happens to be the biggest second-hand book outlet in the entire British Isles. Not one massive shop, mind ? just loads of smaller ones, varying hugely in terms of both size and stock: many have now discovered the joys of email, and by logging on, it?s quite easy to check upon what they have in stock, or not. No worries if you can?t find what you?re looking for ? hell, where did that particular U2 touch come from, I wonder? ? it?s a nailed-on certainty one of the other shops will be able to cater to your needs. A dozen or so titles later, we were out of there, but it was what we got up to the following day that proved even more remarkable.

It was the leaflet about the ? old, now decommissioned - Littledean jail situated deep in the Forest Of Dean that first caught our eye. About a couple of miles out of Cinderford, and not too far from that bit of the River Severn where it widens enormously to give everyone the Bristol Channel, in fact; as we motored down the steep hill leading to the jail, it was dead easy to discern that the tide was well and truly in out there (aw, you know what I mean!). Moments later, were at our destination, which certainly did what it said on the tin ? looked very much like a jail. Closed for business early in the 20th century, it was then used as a cop shop and local lock-up, until closure proper early in the 1970?s. The present owner bought it for a song around 23 years ago, and once the place was his, the guy then set out to turn it into, well?..

Words really do fail me when I try to pin an exact definition upon the stuff displayed within its doughty walls. Imagine, if you will, a cross between another venture with similar ideas about bringing back to life certain aspects of the last century, The Land Of Lost Content, in Craven Arms, just up the dual carriageway from where we base ourselves when in the area, and The Chamber Of Horrors. The publicity leaflet warned prospective visitors to ?come with an open mind? ?and, believe you me, they weren?t kidding. ?Open frame of mind?? In my view, even with one the size of the Grand Canyon, you?d still have difficulty coming to terms with some of the stuff they had on display there!

The overall theme, we quickly discovered, was ?Crime Over The Centuries?; the blurb about the jail was more a means of getting visitors to come in the first place, rather than a proper ?highlight?. Having paid to get in, the first thing to confront us as we penetrated the relative gloom was the biggest collection of Oswald Moseley memorabilia I?ve ever seen in my entire life. For the benefit of those young upstarts among my readership not familiar with the name ? so existing Old Farts, please bear with me for a moment! - Oswald Moseley was a former Labour MP, who, having grown disillusioned with their policies during the late 20?s, decided to form a political party of his own instead. The trouble was, though, his organisation, the British Union of Fascists, took its cue directly from a certain Adolf Hitler, who?d set up the original franchise back in Germany not all that long before.

The collection was quite remarkable: classic Blackshirt uniforms, several of them, and all in pristine condition, too. Someone had gone to a good deal of trouble to keep them in good nick, that was for sure: additionally, there were posters advertising forthcoming rallies; BUF handbooks; election manifestos; badges; a brace of drums, complete with delicate and intricate decorations ? Moseley?s rallies followed closely the format first devised by their toothbrush-moustachio?d and barking-mad German role-model: for more specific details, please refer to the 1936 Lene Refenstahl documentary ?The Triumph Of The Will? ? plus the inevitable flag or three. There was even the original ?Daily Mail? feature, now notorious, and acutely-embarrassing for that organ, even now, headed: ?HOORAY FOR THE BLACKSHIRTS!? Popular perception these days might class Moseley and his ilk to be a complete and utter joke, albeit one in awfully bad taste, but it has to be borne in mind that Moseley did have lots of sympathisers in high places at that time ? including, arguably, Royalty, in the form of the then-Duke Of Windsor (King Edward VIII, had he not abdicated and voluntarily exiled over the Wallace Simpson affair) during the mid-to-late thirties. Had Hitler invaded in 1940 ? and succeeded ? it?s not too hard to work out who the first Prime Minister of a puppet government might have been.

As the blurb stated, quite rightly, the entire organisation was made illegal on the outbreak of World War 2, the Moseleys, both of them, interned for the duration, ?wifey? ? one of the notorious Mitford clan, if I remember my history correctly - in Holloway, her other half in, I believe, The Scrubs. All alone she was at first, to be joined by ?hubby? later in the war, thereby making them the first ever ?banged-up? married couple! (Uniquely for Holloway, they were even allowed to engage serving female convicts as servants). After their internment, most remaining BUF supporters, plus artefacts, scattered to the four winds, hence their genuine scarcity value these days, assuming a mainstream auctioneer would ever consider touching such contentious stuff, of course. Mind you, stuff of even dodgier provenance has been known to go under the auctioneer?s hammer, so why not neo-Nazi memorabilia?

I do strongly suspect that by that time, the party was very much a political spent force anyway: what really did for their credibility-factor, though, were the great gobbets of embarrassing publicity generated by virtue of the rough-house tactics employed by their goons when chucking out hecklers at major BUF functions. (To give you some idea of the numbers involved, on one occasion in the mid-thirties, when the BUF was at the very peak of its popularity, Moseley actually held a full-blown rally in London?s Olympia, all lit torches, flags, drums, banners, rabid-sounding speeches from foam-flecked lips, and everything. Just like the Real Thing, in Germany, to put a not- too-fine point upon it, as were those awful ?stewards?, not at all averse to breaking an Anti-Fascist limb or three along the way. Who needs the SA or the SS anyway when you?ve got this home-grown lot performing nightly for you?)

That, plus the increasingly-foreboding news about Germany?s Jewish population emanating from that country, and what later came to be known as The Battle Of Cable Street, when Moseley and his lot tried to march through the East End of London, then populated by an enormous number of Jews, finally put the mockers upon Moseley?s political aspirations. Think ?Orange Lodge March?, ?The Reverend Ian Paisley?, ?provocation? and ?Londonderry?, and you?ve got it in one. Moseley thought that the inhabitants, suitably cowed, wouldn?t put up much of a fight, and the fascists would then be able to strut their Docklands stuff virtually unopposed. Wrong! Not only did they ?get their retaliation in first?, with around 4,000 of Moses?s lot out on the streets, and with large number of left-wingers and Communist Party people declaring themselves all-too willing to assist, between them, they managed to send Moseley and his thuggish lackeys well and truly packing, with his tail well-stuck between his jackbooted legs, no doubt.

So much for Oswald Moseley, then, what else was on display? Lots of police uniform items, going back to the force?s earliest days under Sir Robert Peel: helmets, truncheons ? ?proper? name ?staves?, if you please ? alarm-rattles, not unlike the old-fashioned football version, and used to signify imminent air-raids during both world wars - badges, that sort of thing. Plus, believe it or not, a plethora of old Ku Klux Klan robes, regalia, and associated race-hate literature, all in the same company as various literary publications long since proscribed on account of them not being considered ?politically correct? these days ? Enid Blyton?s ?Noddy?, which gave prominence to the Golliwogs is one such example, of course, as is that less well-known, but unlovely bete noir of the race-relations industry, ?Little Black Sambo?.

That shared ?house-room? with numerous military items culled from the Nazi era, including stuff taken from various concentration camps either on liberation, or shortly thereafter. I?m not too sure as to why such awful artefacts featured so strongly in the first place; in fact I do now get the distinct impression that the owner?s intentions weren?t necessarily those of an ?educational? nature. All that nestling alongside stuff of Hammer Horror vintage, posters, displays, etc. and, for some reason not known to Man, props taken from the Franc Roddams movie ?Quadrophenia?, starring Roger Daltrey. Oh ? and a genuine Dalek! See, I told you the contents, not to mention their arrangement for display purposes, were a tad eclectic!

As we penetrated ever deeper into the place, it quickly became apparent that the owner had encountered considerable difficulty with the local council, owing to the highly-contentious nature of his ?collection? no doubt. Certainly, various newspaper cuttings seemed to suggest that was indeed the case ? which was presumably why all current promotional leaflets etc. carry such a strongly-worded ?health warning?, plus a statement to the effect that the owner had absolutely no connections at all with any extremist organisations, which, considering the potentially-offensive nature of some items, I find very difficult to believe. Oh ? and the guy had it in for Tony Blair, for some obscure reason: then again, who hasn?t, these days?

It would seem that those behind the venture had kept some pretty unsavoury company in the dim and distant past, for elsewhere, one could readily peruse a considerable amount of stuff donated by some pretty notorious East London villains, the Krays and Richardsons featuring prominently, of course. And Gary Glitter. And Charles Bronson, too. No, not the film star, just the serially-violent criminal nutter, the only bloke I ever came across during my 17 years working in the prison system with the unique ability to turn a fairly short sentence (for robbery, I think) into a full-blown life-stretch, and mostly served in ?solitary?, too.

Not just the bog-standard punishment-block ?chokey?, either: this guy is genuinely deemed so dangerous by the Home Office, he lives in a ?cell within a cell?, and no staff whatsoever allowed to unlock him alone, either. Yes ? he?s been at Winson Green; in fact, he?s rotated throughout the entire English prison system at regular intervals, so as not to get his ? erm ? ?feet under the table?, so to speak. How come this Home Office-inspired ?Grand Tour?? Easy: his predilection for mindless, unpredictable violence: all the additional time served came about purely because of the danger he represents to both inmates and staff. The irony is that had he chosen to be a good boy instead, he would have been out a long time ago! Amazing, because in his letters and drawings, of which there are several examples on display at the museum, he genuinely comes across as someone relatively bright, albeit with a mindset so utterly warped, it completely defies description.

Elsewhere, in what were the original cells, one could find exhibits concerning Arthur Scargill and the miners strike; Earl Mountbatten; punk rock (it would seem that the owner was one of the first on that particular scene, and does possess some quite rare memorabilia, including T-shirts, all emanating from that era), plus varying instruments of torture ? I wasn?t about to ?road-test? them, believe you me, although George Bush?s goons in Guantanamo Bay or elsewhere might have earned some useful mileage out of ?em had they asked nicely ? and some quite fascinating stuff culled from records held by both Gloucester Prison and those of the present-day museum.

Back in the mid 1800?s, it was quite normal for boys aged nine or ten to be given ?proper? jail sentences; not only that, but given quite a whipping, too, then chucked in to serve their time with already-hardened villiains. God alone knows how they were expected to become reformed characters after that little lot, but that was the fond expectation, apparently. One memorable photograph taken at the time shows a prison officer (from nearby Gloucester Jail, presumably) standing in between two of his juvenile charges, both of them attired in the famous Victorian ?broad-arrow? convict uniform, complete with arrowed forage cap, juvenile size ? and, most certainly out-size! - and the officer in charge holding both by either hand, paterfamilias-style: incredibly, neither of those two lads stood more than waist-high to their jailer, a fact that turns the entire scene into something of a cruel travesty of the carefully-posed ?decent? family groups one tends to find in books about that era these days.

Thoughts? Well, the place was certainly different, but I do have to suspect the motivation of the person who set it up in the first place. To my mind, there was an unhealthy preponderance of items that some would find extremely offensive, hence all the warnings. You really had to approach the subject-matter contained within the place in the same way you would a multi-car pile-up on the opposite side of the motorway to the direction you were travelling ? in other words, with fascinated horror, not wanting to look, really, but looking all the same.

And there you have it. Back on Friday: by then, I would hope we?d have resolved our striker-shortage to everyone?s satisfaction. You can have the best midfielders in the game?s entire history in your side, but without the means of turning slim or half-chances into goals, you?re stuffed before you start. Fingers crossed? Too bloody right, mate!

And Finally??. ?BLOODY HELL ? I KNOW HIM!??? That was my cry the other teatime when I happened to tune in on BBC?s Midlands Today local news programme. The person in question bemoaning his luck on the box? None other than Cyril Randle, a regular email correspondent regarding subject-matter discussed within this column, and now his name?s been bandied about on the airwaves anyway, I?m sure he won?t mind me mentioning this at all.

The news item that really had my mind boggling fit to bust? Apparently, Cyril?s been involved in a bit of an altercation with Walsall Council of late. To cut a long story short, one of their employees allegedly saw Cyril chuck chewing-gum onto the road whist driving somewhere in town. They must have then chased him via his car registration number, because it wasn?t all that long afterwards poor Cyril received a letter from said guardians of civic cleanliness threatening court proceedings! Normally, I would have said ?serve him right!? as I can?t stand chewing-gum at all, and people who deposit the stuff on streets even less, but there?s just one thing bugging me. Cyril, bless his Old Fart season-ticket and bus-pass, just happens to be 74 years of age, and, having met him ?in the flesh?, so to speak, a more unlikely dropper of litter I can?t imagine.

It?s a bit like hearing that The Fart ? who is also of ultra-fastidious personal habits ? had been done for similar, in other words, one of life?s complete impossibilities, like the Israeli Defence Force putting flowers in their rifle-barrels instead of bullets, all of a sudden, then declaring to the media their undying love for the Islamic race! Having been away from the area, I haven?t heard any more about the problem ? remarkably, the nationals didn?t pick up on the story ? but I?m sure that once he reads my words tonight, Cyril will update me in his own inimitable style!

Two?. Thought For The Day. Now that ?Deadly? has finally sold Villa, does this mean that henceforth, what was formerly known as the ?Doug Ellis Stand? will become ?The Randy Stand? instead?

Three?.. A non-football poser for you all. By the time you start eating your cornflakes tomorrow, it could well be that the Planet Pluto has been be relegated to the astronomical equivalent of the Conference. The International Astronomical Union ? I mention that so as not to put the blame on Tony Blair! ? met today to discuss this vexing question, which has come to the fore in the wake of more recent, arguably stronger, claims to planetary status from other distant astronomical bodies discovered since the turn of the current century.

Examples? Sedna, much bigger than poor ole Plute, and named after an Inuit female sea-god, and Xena, which has to be an astronomical first, as it?s named after a US children?s TV fantasy programme, featuring a ?warrior race?, apparently. What happened to the normal use of Greek and Roman mythological names in this context? The boffins are running short, apparently, which means they?re now having to dip into and out of other religions? pantheons instead. Each of these heavenly bodies, and more besides, live in what?s known as the Kuyper Belt, situated well beyond Neptune?s orbit ? that?s the next one nearest the sun, and current ranking eighth in the Solar System, of course ? and most of them are bigger than the endangered ninth anyway, so unless there?s a last-minute compromise, involving some planets being termed ?major? and the tiddlers ?minor?, perhaps, then poor Pluto will be no more.

But it?s not only the astronomers that will be badly affected by this. Ever since Pluto?s discovery, back in the thirties, astrologers the world over have happily incorporated its heavenly wanderings into their predictions, so if it does lose its ?League status?, it isn?t half going to muck them up ? but being astrologers, and into the prediction business in a very big way indeed anyway, you really do have to ask yourselves why they didn?t see this coming in the first place!

 - Glynis Wright

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