A Yorkshireman of a certain age who likes most genres of music and most makes of old car. Travel is a joy, not least to escape the British winter. Travel by bicycle is bliss and if I’m not lost in music then I’m lost in a daydream about a hot day, tens of miles to cover and the promise of a great campsite and a beer. I like to think I’m always learning and becoming wiser. However, on the latter point evidence is in short supply.
View all posts by tonyives →
This troubadour has released 10 songs that burst with tunes, sumptuous vocals and a variety of arrangements that defy them being easily placed in a genre. I’d say it’s a singer songwriter dalliance with lots of bright pop sensibilities. Bluhm says the recording “is a reflection of where I am at now in my life, which is contentment, a really fun place to be.” This assessment comes after many wearying years touring but now, she’s less peripatetic; this was recorded live in five days at her ranch just north of Nashville, hence the album title.
The timeless song selection might have graced a Linda Rondstadt album where a melody and a variety of styles were typical. Bay Laurel Leaves sits on shimmering strings with an earworm of a tune and talks of her current settled blissful state in Tennessee after earlier years in California. Long Time To Make Old Friends, a cover, is a modern upbeat blues redolent of Randy Newman, Cumberland Banks is an easy rolling country song with acoustic instruments inspired by her considerable touring with The Infamous Stringdusters. Falling Out Of Dreams is late period Fleetwood Mac in its bright rhythm and Stevie Nicks vocal with harmonies. Taking Chances is personal: an acoustic rhythm has her relating her time on the road and missing her own bed and friends at home. The melody grabs your attention and the chorus with lush harmonies make this a highlight.
Each song is a delight here and the delivery, arrangements are vibrant and energetic. Bluhm has a siren of a warm pleasing voice that draws you in with its personality, occasional sense of fun and range. Most of the song writes are a collaboration as is the playing throughout. She found the whole recording experience a joy and this vibe spills out into the music. A special mention must go to her partner, producer and bass player Noah Wilson who has done a terrific job.
I write as the weather has turned decidedly wintery in Yorkshire. Snow nearly settled today and temperatures fell to freezing. As a weekly cyclist this is a blow and so I went to the gym to ‘get my fix’. As I usually ride outside in the countryside thinking I’m doing myself good there is, frankly, an absence of science to confirm this. However, the gym static bikes all have metrics to measure your efforts. So after 40 minutes of grinding through Singapore and Sardinia I was told I had burned 285 calories. My relief at learning that after this workout I could now have half a biscuit conscience free was not motivational. I look forward to better weather.
Reminds me of her mother…
In my journey of learning to be a grandparent I need to report on two challenges. The first is the car seat. When our daughters were young there was a lightweight seat that snuggly fitted onto the backseat held in place by a seat belt. No one’s kids, that I know, were jettisoned through the windscreen like an Exocet after sudden braking. However, in the 30 years legislation has moved on such that the child seat has a similarity to a brick sh*thouse in its construction. The fact that it weighs a lot is not the only problem. Its installation in the car has it plugging into two ISOFIX fittings (buried in all modern cars’ rear seats). It is so difficult that a parallel with docking with the Space Station seems apposite. It took me 10 minutes. I had wondered what kept Elon awake at night and now I know.
Instrument of torture and yes it turns on its base!
My other challenge was a defective somersaulting tiger. It should land on it’s feet. After reporting the issue another one followed quickly. Isabella isn’t as excited by the leaping cat, as I am, quelle surprise. The investment was made to hopefully distract her whilst her grandparents have a cup of coffee. I will report back.
Somersaulting perfection
In an earlier blog I advised we had bought a place physically between the two daughters to provide child care. It takes about 100 minutes, by car, to get there from York. So rather than battle through the traffic I thought I’d let ‘the train take the strain’. I also got to the railway station from the bottom of our street by bus. A complete surrender to public transport. The result was that it took 5 hours! Firstly, it is a slow journey but when you add that the train from York was delayed by 37 minutes and then I missed a connecting train in Manchester it became comical. Being of a certain vintage I’d have to admit that with bus passes and concessionary train fares (plus the partial refund over the delay) I got to my destination for diddly squat. However, you couldn’t seriously maintain a job schedule or anything time sensitive with such a tardy operation. I’ll have to ride my bike over there and see if I can beat the train? It’ll be close.
Flooding in the centre of York but we still have a hosepipe ban!
Lastly my brother-in-law, Jeff, invited me to an evening of folk music at one of his local pubs. The two guitarists were Mark Radcliffe and David Boardman. They worked their way through some engaging tunes over the night but the between songs banter was epic. Radciffe had, and still has, a radio presence presenting many shows for the BBC; with this came a wealth of stories about his life. He’s a cheeky chap with a ready wit. So it was sobering when he recounted the recent funeral of his mother. She was an old lady and whilst sad her death wasn’t unexpected. Afterwards he was approached by the vicar who observed that he was now the head of the family. Radcliffe hadn’t realised that and was a little surprised. The vicar noting that he was taken aback volunteered some help and said did he have any questions? Radcliffe momentarily pondered this and asked ‘Do you have the wi-fi password?” The vicar was appalled at this and blurted out “Your mother has just died!” Radcliffe absorbed the blow and then clarified “Is that upper or lower case?”
I was listening to a podcast about football when in the introduction the presenters were asking each other about their week so far? One mused that on a walk he’d seen a selection of conkers (brown seeds of the horse chestnut tree) lying on the ground.
This pile filled him with some boyish glee and transported him back a few decades to when finding them would have enabled him to play ‘conkers’. You drill a hole through the centre, thread string through and in alternate swings/shots you and your opponent attempt to demolish the conker. The most intact conker wins. He concluded that this was surely more interesting than today’s boys holding a game console? This year I was too tempted to walk past them on the ground, collected a few and deposited them on window sills. Anna is now surreptitiously disposing of them!
An envelope was unearthed by Anna’s sister, Cath, that was used by my father-in-law, Eric, to write his wedding speech for our nuptuals in September 1987. In fairness, he was not a man given to talking unnecessarily but this was admirably on the brief side. As I wrote recently weddings are now packed with various participants making dreary orations. Maybe the issue of white envelopes to those inclined to talk might shorten matters?
On June 30 2021 I pedalled through Lockerbie as I was completing the bike ride from Lands End, Cornwall to John O’Groats, Scottish Highlands over a couple of weeks. It was a sunny day and the ride since crossing the Scottish border had been quite easy bar the very rough road surfaces. Lockerbie was a distant memory as a disaster as it had happened 32 years earlier and this small town seemed unremarkable except for a large Tesco supermarket in the centre. However the scale and audacity of the atrocity hung over me and I cycled a little way out of town to the memorial.
With these memories I embarked on watching Sky TV’s Lockerbie: A Search For Truth that follows the tragedy from before the flight until the conviction of the Libyan, Abdelbaset al-Megrahi for the death of 270 people. The story unfolds following one of the parent’s children boarding the flight to his pursuit for the truth including meeting Colonel Gadaffi, British Cabinet members and attending the trial in The Netherlands. The acting with Colin Firth is breathtaking and the story is not as straightforward as you might expect. Brilliant television.
Climbing out of Thixendale in my beloved Yorkshire Wolds
Since I last wrote quite a bit of time has been spent in Greater Manchester with my daughters and their offspring. Anna has a weekly schedule but due to my lack of child care skills I’m in attendance less frequently. There is considerable cost running two properties but that nice man, the Manchester Mayor, Andy Burnham, has tried to alleviate some of the strain. As a Council Tax payer I can get a free travel card for the buses and if I pay £10/year it can be extended to trams and local trains for all of Greater Manchester.
My resemblance to a Nazi who escaped to Argentina in 1945 is as coincidental as it is unfortunate.
However, whilst a bargain it does require Andy to ensure that they don’t cancel the trains at the last minute, as they did on our last trip. Clearly ensuring that they’re manned must be part of his Phase Two plan.
Alison Brown and Steve Martin – Safe, Sensible and Sane
Banjo players, Brown and Martin, were enjoying playing and composing some songs and eventually had enough to make an album. They’d earlier worked together and had success with a couple of singles. The album’s an uplifting and tuneful affair expertly played and bursting with guest artists including Jackson Browne, Vince Gill, The Indigo Girls, Jason Mraz and Tim O’Brien. If the guest list is impressive then the backing musicians are top drawer; Stuart Duncan on fiddle lights up all the tracks as the rhythm thumps along underpinned by Todd Phillips’ bass.
Bluegrass is pure folk in its origins and there’s plenty of that here but Michael is pop with vocals from Aiofe O’Donovan and Sara Jarosz delivering a sweet and weaving duet. A video of the Brown and Martin playing at the famous Los Angeles Troubadour venue with Jackson Browne starts with an exchange that plays on their ages. Martin on entry turns to Browne and says “We have memories here, don’t we Jackson?”, Jackson, nonplussed replies “I don’t remember anything”. Turning to go Martin responds “Neither do I”. Martin, probably more widely known as a comedy actor, is 80 years old and Browne’s 77! Browne takes the vocal and sings of his life and his collection of a ‘box of memories’. A charming tale as Duncan’s wistful fiddle adds melancholy.
The single Bluegrass Radio sets off at a breathless lick and Martin humorously advises the incredulous listener about his improbable chart success in various States. Another single, 5 Days Out, 2 Days Back, with Tim O’Brien tells of life on the road as a musician where a young daughter waits patiently for his return. There’s also some near straight country on Wall Guitar (Since You said Goodbye), here Vince Gill wistfully sings of a departing lover and his solace with a guitar (off the wall.) The fiddle weaves some traditional country patterns if you had any doubts about the genre. Throughout the lyrics are contemporary with an absence the usual bluegrass ingredients; witches, murders and bodies dropped into deep wells. Nonetheless ancient celtic roots are never far away and the sweetest instrumental jam is between the ensemble and our own McGoldrick, McDrever and Doyle captivate with Evening Star.
I just felt an uncomplicated joy listening to this as it’s a consistent and beautiful excursion with bright fireworks of melodies all infused with a generally upbeat and affectionate vibe.
So, to paraphrase Margaret Thatcher “we are a grandfather” (again). Katrina delivered a very beautiful daughter on September 13, Elodie Mabel in Manchester. Everyone’s healthy and occasionally sleeping!
I suspect I would be banned from posting a photo of Elodie and so this is her cousin on a trip to a petting zoo in York with very greedy sheep.
Since I last blogged, we’ve bought and moved into a flat in Bramhall, which for those not familiar is in south east Greater Manchester. (This is not our main residence as our home is still in York.) It’s a smart suburb with a nearby railway station and some nearby nice amenities such as a park with several vital ingredients including ‘quack quacks’, a cafe and playground. As you can see, we hopefully have found a convenient spot for seeing and supporting both families.
We’re the ‘A’
To buy this we sold a rental property in York in August 2024. It took until January 2025 to complete the transaction: simply a function of the buyer selecting a useless solicitor to convey the sale. At this point we handed the Chancellor £60,000 (18%) for the Capital Gains tax. It was so high because we bought this property in 1997 and after so many years it had appreciated substantially. After a poor property search in winter the selection of properties, to buy, in south Manchester improved and we found a flat. This wasn’t straightforward as we offered and were accepted on another property but the vendor made no progress on their purchase of another property in a month; so, we looked elsewhere. We found somewhere (at a price a lot lower than we’d sold for in York.) However, we were initially passed over by the vendor for the sale. Luckily for us the original winning buyer dropped out. At this point we gave the Chancellor, again, just over £16,000 in Stamp Duty tax. This was such a large amount because of the Stamp Duty ‘premium’ on second properties.
If anyone wants to engage with me in a debate on whether we should tax the wealthy more heavily then you have my email address.
Barratt, the house builder, put telephone boxes in a couple of houses’ gardens on the estate. Periodically it needs painting. Not a quick or easy job. Fortunately the weather just about held for me to get it completed.
It’s been such a long time since I blogged that I must rewind to mention a couple of memorable events. The first was a visit to the WW2 Air Raid shelter in the centre of Stockport. Still brilliantly preserved; it was very evocative and a reminder of sacrifice, danger and spirit deep in our communities then.
On our Norwegian trip I possibly finished it one blog short. I say this because we went back to Oslo before flying out and I didn’t publish anything about finding Anna’s grandparents graves in a large public cemetery at Frogner Park. The site was massive and so we knocked on the door of the maintenance department and asked for help. The supervisor went onto his data base and we were able to easily find it. Needless to say everyone who helped us spoke perfect English.
With a family friend, Steve, we went up to Grosmont near Whitby to the Engine Shed of the North Yorkshire Railways. This facility keeps the steam and diesel engines running on this heritage line. The line has been featured on national TV but unfortunately Piglet wasn’t in on the day we visited! It was interesting to be amongst so many pieces of heavy metal!
The next day we took his Jaguar F Type to the Harewood Hill Climb at a Jaguar Owners meeting. Some the cars were to die for. When you are amongst such design beauty you have to scratch your head how Jaguar has got so ‘lost’ as to its way forward and how in the pursuit of a different type of customer the ‘baby gets thrown out with the bathwater’. Back in the day I had a couple of XJ6’s.
I looked at the total cycling mileage I’d done since 1994. It’s over 105,000 in just under 32 years. The least miles I ever did in a year was 2,031 and the most 4,294. I suspect getting to 200,000 is very unlikely but I’m working on it.
Funnily enough this parking by the present Mrs Ives (the smaller silver car) demonstrates an occupation of my space and is eerily similar to our sharing of the marital bed
Fred Davies passed away in early August at the age of 84 after a long battle with illness. Fred led Moores for the majority of my time at the company.
I was recruited in 1985 and reported to him for the next 16 years until, in a surprising turn of events, in 2001, he called the directors to the boardroom to advise he was leaving immediately. He said it was always his plan and the two senior Masco staff, who flanked him, nodded sagely. Masco were the American holding company who’d bought Moores in 1996. Up until that point the company had been a 1987 management buy out from George Moore. (George had pocketed about £87m from this disposal.)
Frankly, Fred was as shocked as the rest of us at his departure. Masco had decided to replace him well in advance and his replacement had had time to buy a house in Harrogate and move in. The new man turned up the next day fully briefed and ingratiating himself with the shocked directors. Fred’s brutal axing was not a complete surprise, if you analysed his relationship with Masco. However, it was very much the beginning of the end of the company as an industry leader and benchmark for UK furniture manufacturing and distribution profitability.
The company I joined was formal and a little eccentric to the point of extremes. In internal meetings staff addressed each other as ‘Mr’ so and so. You never addressed directors by their first names and initials became the norm for each of us. Secretaries took minutes of the most senior meetings, there was an exclusive director’s dining room with a Cordon bleu cook and Saturday morning attendance and working was expected by senior employees. The corridor that accommodated Mr Moore, until he departed, had radios playing at low volume outside each office to prevent any eavesdropping. What you may have learned that needed such secrecy I can’t imagine. Secretaries luxuriated in the status of their director and seemed gatekeepers who maintained the mysticism of their bosses.
Not all this was Fred’s creation but it persisted for some years and was quite restrictive. Fred himself maintained his distance and authority. In work he was serious and spent no time on social niceties. I know outside of Moores a different personality was evident. One former employee recounted his first encounter as a new recruit in the office of his boss when Fred walked in and declared “I didn’t pick you” and walked out again. I also recollect asking Fred after a few weeks, after my joining, if I was doing alright? I was quite an insecure yet ambitious new manager. Fred put me at ease (not) by reflecting on the question and affirming that my performance was ‘broadly acceptable’!
The background needs to be set but his talent and gift was a sharp commercial mind, a quite indomitable personality, complete authority and a good judge of people if not sensitive to their feelings! His directors were industry leading and happy to be left to get on with the job with minimal coaching or oversight. The structure of the company was also clear sighted: he shut the retail division factory up in Newton Aycliffe not long after it became his responsibility. Its competitors were larger, had more volume and had better customers. Insuperable advantages. There would be no retrieval so he shut the business and we pursued retail from Wetherby. Commercially he made his mark in the company with a clear and unemotional understanding of the customers and market place.
For example, the customer often wasn’t the company who bought the furniture. It was, in the case of Local Authorities, the architect. Moores was a strict adherent to British Standards and our furniture was the best design for any social housing application. However, the order and payment was with a contractor who wanted the product for a low price, delivered on short lead times and discounts for paying promptly. They spent literally £millions with Moores, however, the actual specifier was an architect who simply wanted our product and wouldn’t brook the contractor buying an alternative despite their energetic trying. Hence in many instances the contractor had to accept high prices, fixed delivery timescales and if he wanted a payment settlement discount we’d add 5% to the quotation so he could have it back when he paid his bill! Most of our competition coveted contractors and danced to their tune. To maintain our discipline through a large sales force who interfaced with the contractors required, on occasion, an iron will. Fred was unbending, as were his anointed disciples such as myself.
Over his years as the Managing Director and then Chief Executive Officer the profits and gross margin were exemplary. Of course his team delivered the targets and worked hard but ultimately he oversaw this financial performance. Talking of team the fact that Moores developed so many people who went elsewhere in the industry to attain riches or success was a function of what a good academy Moores was with its structure and professional management. I personally had the ride of my life. In 1987 I became a ‘founder’ as I joined the management buy out team; one of two non-directors.
Philip Turnpenny, Steven Wicks, Tony Ives, Peter Thorndyke, Fred Davies, Geoff Potts, Richard Bown, Derek Frost & Clive Walley – the management buyout team
I then was invited to join the board a couple of years later. I was nicely on the path to a Jaguar XJ6! All corporations have their stresses and I can think of some politics and inter personal problems that were part of the 16 years where Fred was viewed badly by some of his senior reports. It’s indisputable though that the money they earned was exceptional and ultimately set them up for life after their exit. Which brings us back to Fred’s departure.
Masco bought Moores with the improbable declaration that they’d be hands off. After all why buy an industry leading company to interfere with it? However, we were a wholly owned subsidiary and some senior European Masco management wanted to leverage what they saw as ‘synergies’ across the group or have us inter trade etc. Fred was less than enthusiastic, on occasion, about these supernumeraries to the point of rudeness and certainly didn’t feel he was a subordinate to this band of European Masco employees even if they did. It maybe didn’t help that Fred had many outside interests/projects that considerably reduced his time in the office. We’d grown used to his absences but Masco must have noticed his time away.
For all this disdain he did ‘dip in’ to other Masco company ideas and the whole move from assembling our private housing cabinets with screws to glue and dowel started life with a visit to a Masco factory in Spain that inspired him. Not only this he was still taking dramatic operational decisions such as changing leadership of the manufacturing function allowing the whole activity of many departments and hundreds of employees to be reorganised and a new culture implemented. The improvement was stunning when it bedded in. However, one day the axe fell and Fred was gone. No doubt they thought a new more open and Masco friendly leader would be the way forward.
Moores from here continued to grow and for a few years made good profits and there remained talent in the top team with new members. However, an overly complicated business that grew too fast, completely out of control in certain areas, led to operational crises. Better leadership at Wetherby or from Masco USA and Europe wouldn’t have led us into this chaos. The upshot ultimately, not too many years down the line, was a halved turnover, halved workforce, growing year on year losses, customers enthusiastically shed(!) and, predictably at Moores’ expense, flourishing competitors. Today the company seems ‘right sized’ and has a plan but it comes from a difficult place to make the progress we all desire.
Moores today is under different ownership. Masco disposed of Moores elegantly and generously as they completely withdrew from the cabinet business in Europe and the USA. Their stewardship at Moores was ultimately unsuccessful bordering on disastrous and fearfully expensive as they had to latterly continually pump £millions into an unprofitable business. For what it’s worth many of the directors, who didn’t voluntarily leave, perished through their iterations and strategies.
Fred grew a great business. I think his departure, which would have happened sooner rather than later as he approached retirement in 2001, would have been less damaging to the business had he not left overnight and enabled Masco to accelerate their interference and mismanagement. I also think we also would have been more cautious about the growth that eventually undid the company.
Fred, after leaving, hosted a dinner for his directors but then had no contact with the organisation or colleagues. I only know one former director he occasionally met or corresponded with. He spent his time between Yorkshire and South Africa and no doubt improved his golf handicap before ill health struck.
He will remain one of the most influential people in my life.
Legacy artists obviously still release records but, notably, Yearwood and her record label have invested an immense amount of effort into promotion, a tour, a torrent of social media and wider outlet coverage. This, I think, is due to her ambition and pride with this release. It’s a ‘record of letters to her former self’ and she’s co-written all the songs and joined in with the production. This is the first time she’s been actively involved as a songwriter. That change is due in part to her later life confidence and reassessment of her capability to write music.
After bestriding the 1990s as one of the major female country artists with a string of hit singles and chart topping albums then inevitably, despite continuing releases, her importance and profile waned as the sound moved on. Nevertheless, her importance has barely dimmed for many of her fanbase and her catalogue of timeless songs endures. To return with such an album of self penned creations was a risky affair compared to hiring the best songwriters in town and chucking in a duet with Shaboozey or Jelly Roll. There are some duets here but they complement rather than act as a crass promotional instrument.
Lyrically it’s familiar territory: the duet with Jim Lauderdale, The Shovel, is advice to a husband who misread his wife’s question for an opinion rather than just affirmation or dwelling too long on the tanned legs of a rival. The digging tool should be dropped rather than used for a deeper hole! With similar humour Hailey Whitters joins for Drunk Works to share the joy of imbibing despite the hangover. Both sounds are timeless and redolent of the 90s. This will delight the many who still reach for her CDs. A familiar theme of more mature female country artists is the promotion of a steely resolve that they’ve developed after years of marginalisation. Fearless These Days asserts her now loud and confident point of view where once it was hidden. Bringing The Angels is another declaration of assertion – “You’d better roll up your sleeves / ‘Cause you ‘bout to see the fighting side of me”. It comes with a full rock band and full throttle vocals. In fact the voice is still an instrument of power, beauty and expression.
After the adrenaline there’s a few songs where she turns down the volume and slows the pace. The Mirror shows the beauty of her voice with harmonies and a sing-along melody (it could be 1991…) and So Many Summers and Goodbye Cruel World go acoustic and she captivates and draws you in. Again the lyrics tell stories of a character’s life journey and their growing wisdom.
We hanker for a return to form for our favourite artists and want respect for the traditions of the genre. If you can allow the 90s to count as a golden age of country, as I can, then you’ll love this release.
After beautifully clear weather Tromsø was grey with intermittent drizzle. It’s the largest Norwegian town above the Artic Circle and looks business like.
Tromsø skies and our little boat on the right
However the centre had the port and it’s here we disembarked. Around the port, catered for tourism in that I have never seen so many tourist gift shops in my life.
Swag Central
It’s in these shops that I found out what was Norway’s third biggest export after oil and fish. It was key fobs and fridge magnets. There are tons of them retailed up the coast and sadly all of this tat is made in China.
However despite this depressing vista we did find our way to the Artic Cathedral and had a look. After the sumptuous surroundings of Trondheim Cathedral this was classically Norwegian: unfussy, modest and light.
Always interested in a unique fact we walked past the most northerly located McDonalds in the world.
Original imageImage after our Chinese dinner companion ‘cleaned up’ the beggar!
We found the other local cafes, we tried, didn’t have decaffeinated coffee and so after a cup of tea there was nothing else to detain us and we stepped back onto the ship.
The delightful strolls on the deck were now less attractive as a heavy mist or rain fell on the shore and we slowly sailed up the coast toward the top and arrived at Honningsvåg. Most of the ship disembarked to get a bus to the Northern Cape. This is the most northerly point in Europe, that isn’t. It’s actually somewhere else but this is the most visited and seems to be happily accepted by all and sundry as the place to go. We didn’t but looked around the town instead.
Misty monument at North Cape. Kindly WhatsApp’d to me.Honningsvåg harbour. Fishing and tourism are the economic life lines
What becomes clear is that the destruction of towns and infrastructure of WW2 by the Germans is something that is still remembered and recorded. This part of Norway is called Finnmark and the role this part of the world played in the war was considerable due to it’s location. When the Germans started to lose the war, and retreated south, they implemented a scorched earth policy. Locals were displaced and their communities wrecked.
Listening to live cricket commentary at the top of Europe
I know I write a lot about WW2 but you don’t have to dig deep to understand occupation and destruction, have left a deep gratitude to the Allies and determination to stop other peoples experiencing this hell in the future.
Cycling to the Cape and then south. They’d been on the ship. Guess what I fancied doing?
The European Norwegians were not the first here and the Sami people were. They are herdsmen by vocation and they breed, manage and live off reindeers, whether subsisting off the animal itself or selling its meat. The culture and independence of the Sami people has been attacked by the Europeans over the centuries as they attempted to pursue assimilation.
We went on an excursion to meet a Sami couple who told us about their life and traditions. It was interesting and they were passionate about holding onto their way of life and traditions. Memorably we were asked how many words in the Sami language existed for snow? That’s correct, 300. These two were serious people and mixed the cultural with the political.
It’s now in the last few decades that the rights and resources of these people have been respected and partly restored. (This is the story of several indigenous peoples around the globe, isn’t it.)
Before this as we disembarked a number cowboys got on board. At Kjøllefjord about 150 locals swapped with this us to sail around the peninsula to Mehamn where they got off ‘more oiled than a diesel train’ to borrow a phrase from Bernie Taupin. This festival of cowboys, cowgirls (and cowgrannies) do this annually and drink themselves near stupid in the two hours on board. Our guide (for the Sami meet and greet) told us that their record for expenditure whilst on board is 250,000 Kroner (£18,500). The main activity on the peninsula is fishing. Clearly there is money in the seas!
Apparently they were noisy on the ship!Yi-ha!
This was our last night on the ship but when we left we still had more sightseeing to do. We loved the ship, staff, route and fellow passengers. Compared to a major cruise company it was relatively low key but perfect.
After leaving our first tour was a history lesson and a trip to the Russian border. The history lesson was that the town was the second most bombed city in WW2 (after Valletta). At its height there were 100,000 Germans posted here. The Nazis’ focus was extracting iron ore and nickel from the local mines for the war effort and then, secondly, to stop the Allies reaching the USSR’s only open port, Murmansk. It was from here that supplies from the Allies were sent down to Moscow by rail to fight the Nazis.
Video in an air raid shelter
The Germans failed in their attempt to take Murmansk and stop the supply line: they simply underestimated the impassible nature of the route between Norway and Murmansk expecting better roads and less mud. Their progress was pitifully slow. The Red Army repelled the expedition and bombed the hell out of Kirkenes. The guide said that had Murmansk been taken it would have prolonged the war. In the end 12,000 Germans died and 70,000 Soviets. The guide also added that this is the Russian way to advance by expending their own soldiers with little regard and he suggested also in Ukraine this was a Russian tactic.
Monument to a Soviet soldier
The sacrifice of the Red Army cannot be understated throughout WW2. I’m slow to praise after their advancement to Berlin seemed to be a long campaign of rape and looting but the casualty figures were horrendous and their sacrifice brought an end to Hitler with the Allies. Many Soviet families lost so many sons you can imagine their devastation. Their monuments should be respected and honoured. Clearly some of the locals find it hard to overlook Putin’s current brutal colonial ambitions.
Which brought us on to the present day. Kirkenes had a flourishing tourist trade with the Russians over the border up until the Ukrainian War. Up to 1,000 visitors came every week to buy at the Norwegian shops and stay or eat at the hotels and restaurants. The Russians bought electronics, food, nappies (!) and chocolate. Norwegians would go east for cheap petrol! Norway stopped the issue of visas. The economic implications for the town are profound.
Nicely wedged between Finland and Russia with Sweden nearby
This has killed a very lucrative trade. Similarly as troublesome was when the Russians passed through 5,500 migrants from the Middle East over the border. For a town with a population of 3,000 you can imagine the problems. This flow has now stopped but this was another Putin tactic, with human life, to cause havoc.
The border with RussiaMany signs in Kirkenes are in Russian to help the, now departed, tourists
Later that day we met some reindeers, husky dogs and entered an ice hotel. The reindeers were friendly and interesting and the dogs were hardy and in residence for the winter to pull sledges for the tourists.
New friend. Note the ice hotel in the background: white moundRudolph, Prancer, Donner & BlitzenCupid
The ice hotel was part of a larger complex of cabins. It was unique but had no appeal to Anna and myself, unsurprisingly. We had an excellent guide who amongst much information asked us not to lick the ice. You can imagine my disappointment. The temperature, outside, had got up to 22°C in the afternoon. The summer average here should be between 10° and 15°C. The game’s over for global warming. It seems we just have to learn how to live with it?
The only time I got to wear a coat and hat!
The guide commented that the threat of Russia didn’t worry the town now. A local military college in Murmansk used to have 2,000 trainees in it. That’s now empty as no doubt the soldiers are deployed in Ukraine. On this border the Russians have around 500 soldiers in residence and the Norwegians have 200. Much of the monitoring is done remotely by electronic surveillance.
Back in Kirkenes wandering round this empty town we found a pizza in the late afternoon. Then we flew out of Kirkenes, to Oslo, on a late flight. Waiting in Departures enabled the travellers to watch the Women’s Euro Football Final. Well done girls!
Quiet Sunday night at the end of the world
Lastly, I’m grateful that the world has chosen to learn English, to make my life easier, but there comes a time when the umpteenth incorrect pronunciation of salmon leads me to have violent thoughts. The Norwegians cannot say it properly. It’s not ‘sallmon’ it’s ‘sammon’. Pick up your game Norway.
PS. Just to confirm the good news that the Guinness World Record organisation has acknowledged Bob Sanders’ ride across the USA as the oldest male and it’s now confirmed. Take a look below. Fantastic.
On a smaller cruise you inevitably get to know your fellow passengers better and as everyone is usually over 50 or 60 they like to chat. On our first night we were paired up with young honeymooners. She was six month pregnant and given her condition they picked this cruise as something she could easily cope with. Imagine in all those years to come when they’re reminiscing about their first night away and the time they spent talking with me…
Sunrise
They were English. She was an English Rose, with a bump, who spoke like someone from the Home Counties but was part Norwegian and conversed with the waitress like a native. Hubby was more Essex estuary but had married in a kilt. We saw the photos. Further questioning revealed he had heritage north of the border hence the McLean tartan.
The backdrop at breakfast
As she told us about the wedding in Oslo it transpired they lived in Zurich as income tax was c11%. They’d abandoned London. He was in biotech (no, me neither) and she in shipping insurance. On the Scottish connection she chirped that she’d “flown in a piper from Copenhagen” to play at the Reception. After all this I started to feel very poor in comparison.
They only enjoyed us for one night only before we were paired at dinner with a Belgium couple. They were only on for two nights and he was, I extracted, going through a late middle age crisis. He was an editor of a Sub-Saharan agricultural journal. (I know, you think I make this up.) Quite an intense chap redeemed for me by his love of Frank Zappa and Rochdale (his grandfather had worked there.). His forbearing wife was a teacher of young children. Both spoke Arabic, as you do.
As mentioned earlier – handling freight
Next came our more permanent dining companions. One was an initially quiet German lady, in her late 50s, who also had good English and was also a teacher. As our dialogue developed it transpired she was an angry Remainer. Oh good I thought as I waded into my tiramisu thinking it was 2016 again. She explained to me that because of this the end of world was, yet again, nigh. Her outrage centred on freedom of movement and the necessity for members of the EU to now shell out £16 to alight on our blessed isle. After her diatribe I felt it should be at least tripled.
The sea was often calm as a mill pond
Then came a Chinese couple from Shanghai, with British passports, who also lived in Switzerland. She was a teacher and his last declared profession was as an acupuncturist. (I do think he did something else before doing this.) They were truly delightful and echoed my thoughts exactly as regards modern day China, which suggests they’re not moving back any time soon. They volunteered this without any of my prompting although I was very interested but hadn’t wanted to ask. Less agreeable was his donning an Arsenal away shirt in the dining room: I expressed disappointment and volunteered that a quick audit of his wardrobe, by myself, might avoid any future unpleasantness (from me.) He never came back to me on this.
I know it’ll come as no shock to find that we were sought out. Sat in a cafe in Tromsø an Irish couple asked me to shuffle up as they wanted to sit on the same bench. Anna had met the wife on the ship and bonded. I enquired, as a conversation starter, “Have you visited the Cathedral and the Polar Museum?” “No, we’ve been for a swim?” “What!?” The husband had, prior to leaving the Emerald Isle, worked out the nearest bus stop in Tromsø, to the ship when it docked, to take them to a suitable local beach for a dip in the sea.
Presents for Isabella and Katrina & Matt’s imminent arrival
To set the scene, it was 17°C, grey with intermittent drizzle, there’s snow on the top of local mountains, the sea may be a tad nippy and we’re close to a city centre. Not an obvious pursuit. My first thought was they must know I write a blog! However, lovely people with lots of joie de vivre and a terrific sense of fun, but mad.
Other conversations with had with all sorts of folk usually from Scandinavia or North America. Most seem well travelled and easy to engage. There is also a transitory population who might hop on for one stop only. This included cycle tourers. Now there’s an idea?
Chilling. (I’ll get a reprimand for using this photo. Please note she was eating.)
Still the scenery is amazing and the other day the Captain slowed to let us watch some Minke whales (who I note also made an appearance in Tromsø on a restaurant menu.) The other excitement is when we passed another Havila ship heading in the opposite direction. This led to much flag waving, hosing the the other ship with water and long blasts on the ship’s horn. This assault on the senses is a deep long bellow that’s virtually bowel emptying in it’s volume and vibration if you happened to be on the open top deck when they tooted.
Escaping the heat of Bergen was a ‘win’ as we boarded the ship with over 300 guests. Eleven ships (seven with the Hurtigruten line and four with Havila) ply the coastline operating as something between a cruise and ferry. So some freight is carried and you can get on or off the ship permanently depending on where it stops. The ships have destinations where the passengers can disembark for sightseeing and excursions and there are other stops that may occur in the night for freight purposes. Our ship was modern and beautifully appointed. Not too big yet not too small. The staffing was high, well trained and the food was fabulous. The main draw is of course to look at the dramatic Norwegian coast line with its rocky profile, waterfalls and quaint mountain side farms.
Polaris
The progress up north is slow and on the second day we went a considerable distance up a fjord to view some waterfalls.
The beauty and serenity is complete as you quietly sail. The weather has remained unseasonably hot and if you subscribe to global warming then the Norwegians have a lot to answer for. Over half of their exports are oil and gas and 24% of GDP is based on this drilling. The Norwegian government is a part owner of the sector and enjoys returns from the industry as well as tax. Rather impressively much of this money, over the last 25 years, has gone into a Sovereign Wealth Fund that stands at $1.5 trillion. Norwegians, per capita, are the second wealthiest people on the planet. There is some angst, politically and socially here, about continuing to extract fossil fuels but I rather prefer their model of coping with a guilty conscience rather than penury. Whilst major industrialised nations, outside Europe, continue to copiously burn fossil fuels our dash for net zero will have no measurable improvement in containing temperature levels.
There are several excursions on each stop. They’re fabulously expensive at between £100 to £170/person per trip. The one we booked got cancelled due to a low subscription! We have others planned, fingers crossed. There is always the alternative of getting off the ship and doing your own thing.
This we did at Trondheim and looked around the city centre and stunning Lutheran cathedral.
Here is where they coronate their Kings. I asked one of the Cathedral guides if there was much affection for the monarchy and she said there was ambivalence. She went on to outline that the Crown Princess’ son was under investigation for several rapes and assault. This man is the Crown Prince’s step son.
All in all it was an interesting stop and enabled some walking steps to be done. The food is regular and delicious on the ship and exercise is needed to cope with the calorie flow.
After our long but scenic train ride from Oslo we pulled into Bergen, the second largest city in Norway with a population of around 500,000. Our friend Google Maps suggested we could easily tow our suitcases to the nearby harbour and our hotel. Its assessment was correct but failed to advise that a lot of Bergen is cobbled, which is not a wheelie case’s friend.
Choo choo puffa from Oslo
Check in at the hotel was routine enough but in the Reception we queued with American and Chinese guests. Clearly jostling with these two superpowers did make me reflect on their potential hostilities. In this case the Americans were older but bigger and may have seemed favourites in a skirmish but the smaller Chinese had bigger suitcases (containing who knows what?) and may be better prepared? After all Chinese tourists always come on group tours with a Chinese guide and they may have been drilled, like in the film Zulu, to fall quickly into a formation to see off the Americans. I need not have worried as the buffet breakfast reaffirmed American superiority. After all who could stop a 17 stone Senior (from Des Moines) armed with a plate groaning with everything cooked in one outstretched hand and in the other hand a plate loaded with fruit and pastries advancing toward you at 15 mph with no desire (or ability) to stop even if he wanted to.
On entry our room’s thermometer advised we were enjoying 26.5°C! I fiddled with the device on the wall that seemed like an air conditioning control. Nothing happened. At Reception I reported the issue for the assistant to confirm that it was in fact a heating unit only and there was no air con. “We are experiencing a heat wave. Our hotel doesn’t usually need air con.” Further discussion helpfully (not) suggested opening the windows in the room. That would let in more heat we thought! Sadly our two nights were terribly hot and uncomfortable.
However, in the meanwhile Bergen, despite high heat and sunshine, was a delight. We found sanctuary in another Irish bar for refreshment, one of four Irish bars in the harbour area!
Cadillac Eldorado
The harbour area was very attractive with shops, bars and restaurants all in an easy walking distance from our accommodation. We investigated the surrounding streets and they were also vibrant and attractive.
After an evening of orientation the next day we eventually took in the funicular rail ride up the mountain overlooking the harbour. It gave a spectacular sight overlooking the fjords and surrounding parts of the city.
Anna, at long last, finding someone/thing to have a sensible conversation with
The gift shops were numerous and eventually we succumbed to a couple of purchases although we gave the trolls a miss.
Norwegian towns are laid out on a grid system and easy to navigate. We were here in peak season and many overseas nationalities were evident. I found a couple of record shops to visit and was also able to sneak back to our inferno (hotel) to get live coverage of the Tour de France.
The local Fortress Museum was interesting in covering the Nazi occupation and Bergen’s military history as a settlement. Norway was part of Sweden, but autonomous, until 1905 and was neutral in both world wars. Clearly Hitler overlooked that it 1940.
This museum had an exhibition dedicated to Ukraine. Norway’s worry is evident.
Photos of Ukrainian sufferingA caption from one of the images
It made me reflect on the surprisingly strong commitment to Ukraine by the EU countries and their neighbours. After Europe’s decades of scant interest in anything warlike or an effective military deterrent there now seems to be a resilience and inclination to spend on their militaries. I’m sceptical that this expenditure will result in a cohesive and effective military force but it may be the only way to go. The threat of Russia must seem very real if part of your country currently borders with it or has been occupied by it (or the USSR) in the last 80 years. Of course your awakening is accelerated if the USA indicates Europe’s defence isn’t a priority and after decades of free loading you can sort it out yourselves.
Braving the cobbles again we wheeled our cases to the docks to board the Polaris, part of the Havila line. Ambling up the coast we’d go north eventually beyond the Artic Circle.
…..please behave like Norway and be cold. After all I have a suitcase full of hats, gloves, coats and pullovers.
Now if I’m being frank when I last visited Norway, over 20 years ago, I thought it was nice, but not for a whole weekend. The weather had been grey and plodding around Oslo hadn’t thrown up anything very memorable apart from the eye watering prices. We’d visited with our in-laws who had great affection for the ‘old’ country. My father-in-law’s parents were Norwegian and my father-in-law, Eric, had grown up speaking Norwegian and immersed in its traditions and cuisine during the time his parents had temporarily settled in Kingston-upon-Hull before returning home. Needless to say my first wife feels a great affinity for this part of her heritage (and no doubt our children will too.)
My bucket list didn’t have an entry for The Kingdom of Norway again but the fjords and the north of the country still did appeal. Anna, keen to return, curated a complete tour of what the country had to offer and we flew into a seriously sweltering Oslo to start the expedition. This is the capital of said Kingdom i.e. has a monarchy. Out of a total population of c5.5 million here contained 1 million people. If the last trip had been grey with drizzle then 28° C and sunny was our greeting as we navigated the streets in the centre in pursuit of our hotel. If this was a surprise then so were the people. Of course, as in all large European cities, the indigenous white population is in the vast majority but as is becoming increasingly the case multiculturalism and diversity was clear to see here. People of African, Indian sub continent and Middle Eastern descent were significant in number as were the high number of Muslim women in headscarves and flowing robes as we lugged our wheelie cases to Reception. I can imagine the surprise of this to my in-laws and Eric’s forebears if they’d been strolling around with us.
After a bag drop we took in the sights and found another import, an Irish bar and partook of a foreign beverage. Less foreign was the £22 it cost although in London it’d probably cost £15.
The city, bathed in warm sunshine was a joy to stroll around. We walked up to the relatively new opera house:
When we return later in the trip we may get inside. The marble roof and surround is sumptuous. As a building, whilst dominating the harbour front, it is ultimately a large chunk of rock with glass awkwardly, yet deliberately, plonked in a vista grabbing location. A further preamble toward the Parliament building and its attendant park was delightful and I rewarded my bride with some shared pizza with no expense spared (£29 + tip). Both of us couldn’t demolish all of this and so some of it accompanied us west on our train ride to Bergen. That was our destination the following day. After a day or two there we’d sail up the coast to the very top, Kirkenes, and fly back to Oslo. Here we’d have a proper look before heading back to Blighty.
Parliament
The train departed at 8:12am (or as my body clock on UK time would have it, 7:12am.) As breakfast on the Saturday didn’t start at the hotel until 7:30am we were tight for time. You’ll be heartened to know that I still managed to demolish a little fruit, scrambled eggs and bacon and make two sandwiches before making it to Platform 10 of Oslo Central Station along with tourists from every nation to take the train. This is a much travelled route, and mode, for international visitors.
The ride lasts seven hours! However, that isn’t too long as the scenery can be jaw dropping. Woods, lakes, rivers, precipitous rock faces and millions of coniferous trees.
On the voluminous tree cover my wife commented “you could hide a body out there”. Clearly too many Scandi-Noir nights in front of the TV? Aside from thoughts of murder I thought it was ravishing.
Bergen awaited and I looked out of the window and listened variously to music or the BBC Sounds App. I was hoping Bergen might be cooler.
I’ve visited the Musée National d’Automobile before but was pleased to note they’ve shuffled much of the collection. I love all these European cars that are well presented in these well lit and easy to amble around Halls. It is the best car museum I’ve been to and I’ve been to tens.
From here it was overnight in Bar-le-Duc. The first time I stayed here, 2018, I was unlucky to be pitched in an empty field bar one caravan. This was occupied by two French lads who into the early hours were playing music (French!) and having a barbecue. At about 2am I ambled across to express a contrary point of view to their anti-social behaviour. Needless to say after little sleep I was less than sparkling the next day. I always suspected they were taking drugs and were away with the fairies (and saucisses.) In 2020 I was here when Huddersfield Town beat West Bromwich Albion and ensured that Leeds United were promoted to the Premier league after 16 years in the lower leagues. This time was less euphoric or sleep deprived.
The praise for the car continued with passers by, outside the camp, leaning across the railings to express their admirationI always try and operate within Anna’s budgetary constraints
The next day was a country lane amble up the Meus to an overnight stop in Givet before my final drive to Europoort (Rotterdam) to catch the overnight ferry across the North sea home. After all the driving it was a bonus to get home from the ferry in just over an hour. By the time I pulled into the drive in York I’d driven 1,600 miles.
Overnight thunder and lightning came with a major dunk. Quite a contrast to the eartler heatwave!Nelly after her departure from the circus..It’s not much, but I called it home for the night
Thoughts were turning toward home for Anna as she was scheduled to fly out of Luxembourg in mid afternoon. Before that a visit to the Pompidou Centre in Metz was slated. I’ve visited a few places with modern art such as the Guggenheim in Bilbao and the our own Tate Modern and always felt I was being duped or impressed. This fell into the same pattern. There were the usual piles of bricks or bananas stuck to walls.
Sponsored by JewsonWonder if it’ll eventually peel off the wall?
Yet there were interesting things such as the table football or the lady in the fridge. Weird but thought provoking. I thought I wrote some tosh in my record reviews but some of the explanations of the art were as creative as the exhibits! It’s worth a visit if you’re going this way.
Picasso, during his ‘welding years’
Afterwards we leapt into Samantha and headed north. Anna was dropped at the airport and subsequently experienced delays. (Frankly, Ryanair offer such low fares that folk just suck it up.)
Dinner rather than an exhibit. (Made the school boy error of declining the chilli sauce.)Pforzheim
I’d hoped post-Anna to camp and chill beside the Moselle but with these high temperatures it was very uncomfortable. So as opposed to chilling I decided to head over to Stuttgart to buy some vinyl? The motorway link was easy if hot and long but I’d decided to stay just short of Stuttgart at Pforzheim. A strange sight are all the trucks parked up at Service Stations: German law requires large trucks to be off the road on the sabbath (until 22:00 hours). Frankly the Germans can roll as they please but if one objective was to help save the planet then thousands of trucks sat with diesel engines idling whilst drivers sit in their air conditioned cabs for several hours in 33°C heat isn’t a great idea.
I’d not planned to come into Germany this far and had not obtained an emission sticker for my windscreen. All vehicles need these of various hues. Samantha’s being yellow for a Euro 4 emission level engine. Getting one at short notice wasn’t possible and so I hoped for the best and drove on. If the ‘check’ is by registration plate camera recognition then Fritz may be in touch I fear. Going back to saving the planet again then how does buying a €5 car windscreen sticker help?
I got to Stuttgart and Second Hand Records and bought 14 LP’s. The selection is nearly as good as the condition and an hour flicking through the racks is a happy place to be. I had a few things on a list and some were there and others not. I’ve listed the records I bought below with an apology to Mark Sutcliffe.
That done I was back on the motorway heading for Mulhouse, France. The location of another Tony Ives ‘Happy Place’. I was still fretting over the fuel levels and reflected that the problem may be the gauge itself. Now that is expensive to sort! Anyway the hood release fitting also had a failure. However there was a Plan B that meant removing the spare wheel to access the release cable. Deep joy in the heat. I’ve camped in Mulhouse before but again the heat made this impossible. A fairly sweaty Yorkshireman checked in and headed for the shower. (The Ibis hotels I stayed in were £58 + parking. Clearly tough times being a hotelier?)
Plan B. I think the 33°C heat didn’t help as cables stretched/expanded etc.
I chose Mulhouse because of the fabulous French National car museum. It would be my third visit. It has amongst many gems the largest collection of Bugattis in the world.
The French government bought the original collection off the administrator of the Schlumpf Brothers failed textile business. As the textile business failed it seemed one of the brothers, Fritz, had been buying up old cars and restoring them in part of the mill. He had hundreds of cars. The textile workers were deeply unhappy at losing their jobs and discovering where a lot of the money had gone. However, the car collection was too impressive, historic and valuable to let it be neglected or broken up. Today it sits in a beautiful bespoke building. Photos to follow.
Records…
Mark, this list probably includes German pressings and mostly re-releases. Catalogue numbers can be supplied but I will require shelter under the Geneva Convention. I’m aware there’s not a lot of value here but I can’t wait to play them all. Message ends.
Our Booking.com apartment was, frankly, fairly mediocre for the money with amongst other things an air conditioning machine that didn’t work and where you’d have beaten the brains out of a cat with the first swing in the bathroom. However the landlady, Ingrid seemed to do it because she was lonely. At 85 she’d lost her husband 8 years ago missed some company. It wasn’t surprising that she preferred cash to credit cards. This came as a shock to us but we rummaged around and handed her €100. She counted this and thought it came to €85! Anyway rather than argue we took it back and agreed we’d pay her in the morning after a trip to a cash point. Handing her the same money again this time it added up!
Ingrid had some English she’d learned abroad. She’d spent two stints here, one in Garstang (near Preston) in 1959 and then she returned to work in Newquay. Given the era this was quite an adventure we thought.
The drive to Metz, on the country lanes, was delightful. The banks of the Moselle were steep but densely planted with vines all nicely ripening in the heat. Those narrow specialist tractors were trundling along the roads. As is the way then bystanders were taking photos of the car as we passed by. It never failed to delight. Anna had booked a hotel in the centre of Metz. However, the approaching street to the hotel garage was shut. The very reliable Google Maps had failed to notice this. So round and round we drove in the burning heat attempting to get to their underground garage. Tempers were frayed on arrival.
Comfy berth
However, enough of that as there was the town to investigate.
The Moselle (again)
Around we strolled to learn that later there was to be a city centre music festival. Amateur groups or DJ’s would be occupying street corners bashing out various sounds. Before adjourning to the cool of our room we investigated the magnificent Cathedral.
The internals were less awesome but I did note there were five confessionals: clearly the locals had a lot to own up to. In addition there were some helpful graphics relating the bible’s inclusion of various beasts. I suppose you all know that there are 15 separate mentions of frogs in the book.
Poor little chaps. Still popular here for their legs…
When we later went out the streets were heaving. As was a very discreet but heavy police presence: recent car crash atrocities were on their mind and access was strictly on foot. Unlike our own police the French are heavily armed.
Enjoyed their blues rockJazz‘Except for bicycles’
The music was surprising and entertaining. One of the great pleasures was the absolute joy of all the teenagers milling about. It really does help to have temperatures in the late 20s.
On returning to the hotel we sat outside with a glass of chilled rosé listening to some reggae. It was fab until some parked cars sought to join the rumbling bass lines with their car horns. Time for bed we thought.
Tony Ives’ Blog 