No, Don't...
If you are a long-term reader of this blog you may remember that the former MP for Kensington, Lady Borwick, was a great opponent of the Notting Hill Carnival, but did not succeed in her aim to at least re-route it, if not suppress it. This year's Carnival, though, had the strangest build-up in recent years, as there was a real question of whether it was appropriate so soon after the Grenfell Tower disaster. Now anybody I spoke to who was actually from the Latimer Road area seemed clear that the Carnival should certainly go ahead, as an expression of community solidarity and resilience, which is indeed what happened, but it was good to see that outsiders were sensitive to the idea that they might be dancing on people's graves. I didn't envy the police their task, though, because on top of the usual public order issues with a million people on the streets there was talk of some North London gang, one of whose members was shot a few days before, coming down to exact revenge, and then there was the obvious terrorist threat. I'm not sure what the correct name is for the enormous steel obstacles that they put in place at the end of Westbourne Grove, but the journalistic "ring of steel" sums it up. All in all it seems to have gone well, with the best weather for years.
Scaffolding Goes Up
Meanwhile, the scaffolding creeps up around St Mary Mags. Last weekend we found that the nice open area outside the Vestry was now full of scaffold legs, which was a bit intimidating, but we could still reach the door. As I watched it go up along the south side I became increasingly fretful, as I thought we had cut back the scaffolding from what was originally planned, as we had economised on the external brick and stone repairs as we were trying to cut the cost back to fit the budget. The scaffold that was going up looked like the original design, not the cheaper one. When I expressed my anxiety about this, I was told that we had discovered that our conservative costing policy had actually meant that we had the money to do it as originally planned, and so it was going ahead. No mistake. No problem. No word to the client, though!
The Gas Man Cometh
The first works that have to be done are in the school. Obviously they need to be done before the children come back, next week. This has not been going well. Most spectacularly, the gas contractors are giving us real grief. You may not be familiar with Cadent, but they are the gas main bit of National Grid, rebranded, and we have been in contact with them since March because we need to move the gas main and the school's meters. When they came to cut off the old supply they managed to discover that this supply only fed the boilers, and not the kitchen, so at that point they just went away. Our contractors then found the second main, and we got them back. So both were purged and capped. Now they are back on site to do the new connection, at the last possible minute. They have managed to cut through the electricity supply to the school gate, but that's a small matter compared to the slowness of their working. A separate organisation then has to come and install the meters, which no-one told us until three weeks ago. Fortunately we were able to get them to come, but they are booked for tomorrow, and it won't be ready for tomorrow, so now we shall have to book them again, and when will they come? When will the school have its gas supply back? We had a very uncomfortable meeting with the Head Teacher, who was understandably agitated and displeased. It is very unpleasant being responsible for something going wrong that is entirely out of your control.
Thursday, 31 August 2017
Monday, 21 August 2017
ON SITE
Stolen Property
If someone offers you some cheap four-by-two in the pub
tonight, please don’t take him up on it, but pass his name on to your local
police. I had heard mutterings about how big a deal theft from building sites
is, but now I know for myself. I presume someone had been watching as our site
developed, so on Sunday morning I came to church to find a panel of Heras
fencing alarmingly overhanging the steps down to the vestry. On investigating,
I found that several panels of fencing had been lifted from their bases and
heaved up to allow access to the building materials stored behind the fence. A
couple of (vast) sheets of plywood were sitting disconsolately in the grass. A
churchwarden and I manoeuvred the fencing back into position, as best we could,
but one panel was horribly twisted; it had been chained to our railings, and
that fixing had held secure, but then the whole thing had been rotated around
that. I texted the Site Manager to let him know. This morning he told me that
there had been a quantity of timber stored there which had totally vanished.
Ironically, it’s the timber they are using to build the proper hoarding around
the site to make it more secure. You can see through Heras fencing, you see,
and be tempted, whereas a nice old-fashioned solid hoarding doesn’t present the
same temptations.
Budding Banksies
The drawback with a proper hoarding is that it provides a
fine blank canvas for graffiti artists, and indeed our new hoarding acquired
its first graffiti at the weekend. Our strategy there is to fix up on the
hoarding panels that have been painted by local people. At the Westbourne Festival,
at the beginning of July, we had a workshop for local young people, which was
led by a graffiti artist, creating all sorts of strange images to go up on the
hoarding. The artist came back later and finished it all off, and just now the
panels are waiting to be fixed onto the hoarding. It will be a lot more
interesting than a blank hoarding, and the hope is that what is essentially
graffiti art should not attract further graffiti. I hope it works.
Enter the Scaffolders
Today, things are getting very serious. The scaffolders are
on site, starting to erect the exterior scaffolding (which needs to be done
before the hoarding is finished). This is a trivial job compared to the
interior scaffolding, which is going to take weeks to put up. I have to say that
they are very quiet at the moment, certainly compared to other scaffolders of
whom I’ve had experience; everyone involved in the construction industry
regards scaffolders as a breed apart, and they seem to do their best to live up
to expectations.
Organ Builders Too
The organ builders have also turned up to dismantle a few
pipes, take down the ornamental pipes, and seal up the opening of the organ
chamber that contains the main banks of pipes. Getting them here has been a bit
of a pantomime, as they and the contractors exchanged mutually uncomprehending
messages. They seemed very resistant to the idea that they had to have proper
protective clothing since it was now a building site, but they’ve clearly been
allowed on site, so I presume they came with the proper gear after all. I now
need to retrieve from them the three sets of keys to the church that they have
held onto; they like to have their own keys so that they can come and go at
their convenience, but that won’t work in the future. In the short term, we
need to make sure that access to the site is controlled so that we don’t
invalidate our insurance, but when the work is done, the church will be in use
far more, and it won’t be possible for them to turn up to tune the organ when
it suits them, as they have been accustomed to do. They will need to arrange
visits properly with the building manager. Organ tuners get very proprietorial
about the organs that they look after, and I can understand that, but they do
sometimes make you feel that they are doing you a favour by allowing you to use
the organ for something as trivial as accompanying services.
Furniture To The Third World
Meanwhile the school’s dining tables are being removed. We
have had to reconfigure the school kitchen slightly to enable us to build the
new wing, but that has reduced the space in which to store the dining tables.
After struggling with various expensive options, our architect, with a
brilliant piece of lateral thinking, discovered that more efficient tables were
available. So now the new tables have arrived, and the old tables (with
integral seating) are going to be shipped to Africa by a charity that
specialises in this sort of thing. With them are going a load of church chairs,
not nice enough for any congregation here, but still functional. I had hoped
they would go to Jamaica (as we have a number of Jamaicans living locally) but
it seems they’ve finished that project, and so they will be going somewhere in
Africa. We are desperate to know where.
Thursday, 3 August 2017
WORK IN PROGRESS
Men At Work
First, a mountain of chipboard was delivered. Some of this was then put down on the nave floor, which, as things were progressively removed, gradually got covered. I came in and saw a small golden arch leaning against a pillar, and wondered excitedly what it could be; it was only when I saw it from another angle that I realised that it was the frame of a grand piano, now completely destroyed. The labourers seem to be quite efficient at smashing things up. Then the carpenters moved in and started constructing boxes, so the marble balustrade (Martin Travers, 1923) got boxed in, along with the chancel steps. At this point, all the furniture marked for storage had been moved downstairs into the Comper Chapel, awaiting the arrival of the container in which it is to be stored.
Then, on Tuesday, the containers arrived. I don't think I had been conscious of how many there were to be, or how much space they would really occupy. I had looked at the plans of the site compound, but somehow never really put it together in my head. So, they came at a nice quiet time of day, and just two parking suspensions did the job to enable the lorries to get access. That all happened smoothly, and quietly. We are undeniably occupying quite a big portion of the park, though a portion that no-one actually uses for anything. We have had to be terribly careful about the trees, despite the fact that the trees are a public nuisance, and ought to be cut down and replaced. They are black poplars, which are notorious for dropping boughs without warning, which in my view makes them unsuitable to line a path through a park. As a cyclist on that cycle path you really feel threatened whenever the wind blows, but the alarming thing is the way that boughs drop off without warning when it isn't windy. I have a particular dislike of the one tree which is out of alignment with the others (which are along the path) because it deposits lots of leaves in our gutters, and until it was pruned recently had a branch which threatened our north wall. I can't prove that it was this tree's roots that were found in our old drains, blocking them, but I am morally certain of it.
The last couple of days have become noisy, though. Pneumatic drills and Kango hammers have appeared now, as the steps down into the school yard have been deconstructed, and the hideous wall closing in the north porch has been demolished. This is undeniably noisy, and it is good to get it done during the holiday. Last week the surface of the school yard was taken up, and a climbing frame taken down, to be relocated, but those weren't particularly noisy
Welcome Visitors
Oddly, this week we have had a couple of last-minute visitors wanting to see the church. One was a charming man in publishing, who lives locally, and I don't entirely understand how he had missed all the public open days and events which we've put on, let alone the simple method of asking me for a visit. Anyway, he came via PDT, and Toby and I had a pleasant time showing him round despite the onward march of the chipboard. He very kindly gave us macaroons as a thank you. Then, out of the blue, Fr Graeme Rowlands, from St Silas, Kentish Town, called to ask whether he could bring a server and show him the church. They had a whole day of visiting great Anglo-Catholic churches, of which we were the last (I scheduled them for after the builders would have gone home). It was good to see the lad's enthusiasm. Fr Rowlands told me that he had first sought the church out after seeing photos of it in a book called "This Our Sacrifice", illustrating how Low Mass was celebrated using the old ritual. The book title rang bells for me, and I went home and duly found it in my study. Clearly I had not looked at it in more than ten years, as I had no idea the pictures were of us. The photos illustrate the sanctuary in 1949, which is fascinating to see (contemporary with "The Blue Lamp" being filmed outside). We still use the chasuble that is being used, and I have just found the altar cards (though they are much decayed). It was pleasing to see the tabernacle unveiled, so my leaving the veils off has good precedent.
Visitors
Some of my regular callers have reappeared rather surprisingly.The Man With A Stab Wound has tracked me down, whereas he only used to come to the Office. This is not helpful. Vouchers and Foodbank referrals are kept at the Office, not at home. He is unable to accept the answer "No". The Pakistani Christian has also reappeared, making a speciality of Sunday evening, when I expect a ring on the doorbell to be the tenant church. It seems he is being housed, which is very good news. He still wants me to pay for an Oyster card. I don't query the logic of asking me when he is supposed to be in Hounslow. The Small Irishman has also reappeared, and says he is being housed in Enfield; it is reassuring to see him, as he had disappeared for a couple of years, and I thought he might be dead. He insists that I take his cashcard to reimburse what I lend him. When I try to do so the PIN doesn't work. And then there is The Small Angry Woman With Dog, who has kept clear of us for a couple of years, since we had to get the police to remove her from a PCC meeting. Suddenly she has reappeared, spectacularly at the end of the Mass on St Mary Magdalene's Day, complete with what appears to be a Rhodesian Ridgeback puppy, which she cannot control. Her problems have not changed. Sometimes one has to accept that there are situations which one cannot solve. Offering a bit of care is about the best we can do, and pray.
First, a mountain of chipboard was delivered. Some of this was then put down on the nave floor, which, as things were progressively removed, gradually got covered. I came in and saw a small golden arch leaning against a pillar, and wondered excitedly what it could be; it was only when I saw it from another angle that I realised that it was the frame of a grand piano, now completely destroyed. The labourers seem to be quite efficient at smashing things up. Then the carpenters moved in and started constructing boxes, so the marble balustrade (Martin Travers, 1923) got boxed in, along with the chancel steps. At this point, all the furniture marked for storage had been moved downstairs into the Comper Chapel, awaiting the arrival of the container in which it is to be stored.
Then, on Tuesday, the containers arrived. I don't think I had been conscious of how many there were to be, or how much space they would really occupy. I had looked at the plans of the site compound, but somehow never really put it together in my head. So, they came at a nice quiet time of day, and just two parking suspensions did the job to enable the lorries to get access. That all happened smoothly, and quietly. We are undeniably occupying quite a big portion of the park, though a portion that no-one actually uses for anything. We have had to be terribly careful about the trees, despite the fact that the trees are a public nuisance, and ought to be cut down and replaced. They are black poplars, which are notorious for dropping boughs without warning, which in my view makes them unsuitable to line a path through a park. As a cyclist on that cycle path you really feel threatened whenever the wind blows, but the alarming thing is the way that boughs drop off without warning when it isn't windy. I have a particular dislike of the one tree which is out of alignment with the others (which are along the path) because it deposits lots of leaves in our gutters, and until it was pruned recently had a branch which threatened our north wall. I can't prove that it was this tree's roots that were found in our old drains, blocking them, but I am morally certain of it.
The last couple of days have become noisy, though. Pneumatic drills and Kango hammers have appeared now, as the steps down into the school yard have been deconstructed, and the hideous wall closing in the north porch has been demolished. This is undeniably noisy, and it is good to get it done during the holiday. Last week the surface of the school yard was taken up, and a climbing frame taken down, to be relocated, but those weren't particularly noisy
Welcome Visitors
Oddly, this week we have had a couple of last-minute visitors wanting to see the church. One was a charming man in publishing, who lives locally, and I don't entirely understand how he had missed all the public open days and events which we've put on, let alone the simple method of asking me for a visit. Anyway, he came via PDT, and Toby and I had a pleasant time showing him round despite the onward march of the chipboard. He very kindly gave us macaroons as a thank you. Then, out of the blue, Fr Graeme Rowlands, from St Silas, Kentish Town, called to ask whether he could bring a server and show him the church. They had a whole day of visiting great Anglo-Catholic churches, of which we were the last (I scheduled them for after the builders would have gone home). It was good to see the lad's enthusiasm. Fr Rowlands told me that he had first sought the church out after seeing photos of it in a book called "This Our Sacrifice", illustrating how Low Mass was celebrated using the old ritual. The book title rang bells for me, and I went home and duly found it in my study. Clearly I had not looked at it in more than ten years, as I had no idea the pictures were of us. The photos illustrate the sanctuary in 1949, which is fascinating to see (contemporary with "The Blue Lamp" being filmed outside). We still use the chasuble that is being used, and I have just found the altar cards (though they are much decayed). It was pleasing to see the tabernacle unveiled, so my leaving the veils off has good precedent.
Visitors
Some of my regular callers have reappeared rather surprisingly.The Man With A Stab Wound has tracked me down, whereas he only used to come to the Office. This is not helpful. Vouchers and Foodbank referrals are kept at the Office, not at home. He is unable to accept the answer "No". The Pakistani Christian has also reappeared, making a speciality of Sunday evening, when I expect a ring on the doorbell to be the tenant church. It seems he is being housed, which is very good news. He still wants me to pay for an Oyster card. I don't query the logic of asking me when he is supposed to be in Hounslow. The Small Irishman has also reappeared, and says he is being housed in Enfield; it is reassuring to see him, as he had disappeared for a couple of years, and I thought he might be dead. He insists that I take his cashcard to reimburse what I lend him. When I try to do so the PIN doesn't work. And then there is The Small Angry Woman With Dog, who has kept clear of us for a couple of years, since we had to get the police to remove her from a PCC meeting. Suddenly she has reappeared, spectacularly at the end of the Mass on St Mary Magdalene's Day, complete with what appears to be a Rhodesian Ridgeback puppy, which she cannot control. Her problems have not changed. Sometimes one has to accept that there are situations which one cannot solve. Offering a bit of care is about the best we can do, and pray.
Monday, 31 July 2017
FLAMING JULY
Where Did July Go?
I feel guilty not having posted for a month, but in truth it's not so surprising. I was, after all, away for the first twelve days of July, enjoying my friends' hospitality in Provence. I had pulled a muscle in my back, and so swimming in their pool helped, as did just lying down on the bed. I got out and cycled a couple of times, which was delightful (or would have been on my own bike). I saw a short-toed eagle while I was out, and was frequently hit while cycling along by large flying insects (mostly cicadas, I suppose). It was jolly hot. We had an excellent lunch one day at the hotel in Crillon-le-Brave, which is just two villages away (and has been fearfully poshed-up).
We went to a lovely concert as part of the choral festival at Orange, which took place in the eighteenth century courtyard of the music conservatoire. The courtyard was dominated by two large plane trees, and so as the wind blew leaves gently fell into the open piano. The apparently large population of cicadas in the trees also meant that total silence was never obtained; which the soloist Florian Sempey, accepted with a wry smile. He turned out to be a very fine singer (totally unknown to us, even to an opera-loving friend) with a wide repertoire.
I was there for the local Fete de la Figue, which was a good laugh. There are confraternities of fig producers as there are of wine growers, and they all paraded in their faux-medieval finery through the streets of the village, the fig producers being distinguished by their purple livery in general. The most entertaining, though, was the guild of strawberry growers of Carpentras, some of whose uniforms seemed designed to imitate strawberries.
Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch
A certain amount of frantic contract-signing happened immediately before my departure. Foolishly, I had supposed we would have sorted it all out before then, but we seem to be making a speciality of taking things to the wire with the St Mary Mags Project. The execution of all the necessary legal documents finally happened last week, for which, God be thanked. Everywhere we went we found new things that required legal input, some quite unexpected.
I had intended that we should plan for an orderly packing-up, following a special service on 18th June, when we had invited a visiting preacher (the Chaplain of Keble College, Oxford) and singers to give us a good send-off, and celebrate the 150th anniversary of the start of building work. So I made those arrangements, but then our colleagues in PDT wanted to hold a concert on 21st July, and it seemed that there was no urgency to vacate the church after all. As their concert would have wanted all our chairs we could hardly empty the church, quite apart from it being bizarre to vacate the nave for worship, but still have a concert there, so it was agreed that we would stay until St Mary Magdalene's Day, which we kept on 23rd July. Since the builders were due to start work in the school on 24th July, and in church a week later, this didn't leave us much time. In the event, the concert did not happen, which was a bit frustrating. So we spent Saturday 22nd moving precious, fragile or valuable things to the Vicarage, which was very tiring, and then I spent much of last week sticking coloured labels on things.
Now I have statues in my sitting room, big oil paintings in my dining room, and a meeting room that is full of vestments, crucifixes and candlesticks.
I spent this Saturday going to Homebase to buy pond netting and then fixing it to the open balustrade down the outside stairs which lead to the Vestry, so as to make it more difficult for small children to fall through and dash themselves on the pavement below. I had pointed out the need for something like this to the architect, and then to the site manager, but nothing was done, so I did it. No doubt something better could have been done, but not by me.
We have set up the Vestry for Sunday worship, and people seem to have enjoyed it yesterday. The novel experience of being close together may be a bit disconcerting for some, but others may like it. You can actually hear them sing, which is interesting for me, and will probably result in everyone singing better. We shall perfect the choreography in time, but it all looks very decent, and we are able to have the Reserved Sacrament in a built-in safe behind the altar, so the presence of Our Lord makes it rather special. The room is vaulted and light, and now we have set it up looks genuinely churchy, which is reassuring.
Today the builders started to box up things in the church, which is very final.
Use the Facilities
For quite a while now I have had two portaloos on my front yard. The church portaloo used to be in the pigeon-infested north porch, but was then moved a few years ago to outside the vestry, as a healthier place, but also easier to clean. It did, however, attract the notice of locals, who availed themselves of it regularly. It was once pushed over, but we finally removed it when we found people using it to shoot up. By that stage we had installed one on my yard for some event, and so we had the vestry one craned out again, and a second installed on my yard, as two seemed good. They aren't particularly obvious so they don't seem to get too much "public" use, but I really don't mind. In the past I have seen a mother tell her child to squat down and urinate in my yard at school home time, which I'd rather not have. Last weekend a man walking his dog late at night proceeded to urinate against the outside of my fence right beside the portaloo, which seemed an odd decision.
I feel guilty not having posted for a month, but in truth it's not so surprising. I was, after all, away for the first twelve days of July, enjoying my friends' hospitality in Provence. I had pulled a muscle in my back, and so swimming in their pool helped, as did just lying down on the bed. I got out and cycled a couple of times, which was delightful (or would have been on my own bike). I saw a short-toed eagle while I was out, and was frequently hit while cycling along by large flying insects (mostly cicadas, I suppose). It was jolly hot. We had an excellent lunch one day at the hotel in Crillon-le-Brave, which is just two villages away (and has been fearfully poshed-up).
We went to a lovely concert as part of the choral festival at Orange, which took place in the eighteenth century courtyard of the music conservatoire. The courtyard was dominated by two large plane trees, and so as the wind blew leaves gently fell into the open piano. The apparently large population of cicadas in the trees also meant that total silence was never obtained; which the soloist Florian Sempey, accepted with a wry smile. He turned out to be a very fine singer (totally unknown to us, even to an opera-loving friend) with a wide repertoire.
I was there for the local Fete de la Figue, which was a good laugh. There are confraternities of fig producers as there are of wine growers, and they all paraded in their faux-medieval finery through the streets of the village, the fig producers being distinguished by their purple livery in general. The most entertaining, though, was the guild of strawberry growers of Carpentras, some of whose uniforms seemed designed to imitate strawberries.
Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch
A certain amount of frantic contract-signing happened immediately before my departure. Foolishly, I had supposed we would have sorted it all out before then, but we seem to be making a speciality of taking things to the wire with the St Mary Mags Project. The execution of all the necessary legal documents finally happened last week, for which, God be thanked. Everywhere we went we found new things that required legal input, some quite unexpected.
I had intended that we should plan for an orderly packing-up, following a special service on 18th June, when we had invited a visiting preacher (the Chaplain of Keble College, Oxford) and singers to give us a good send-off, and celebrate the 150th anniversary of the start of building work. So I made those arrangements, but then our colleagues in PDT wanted to hold a concert on 21st July, and it seemed that there was no urgency to vacate the church after all. As their concert would have wanted all our chairs we could hardly empty the church, quite apart from it being bizarre to vacate the nave for worship, but still have a concert there, so it was agreed that we would stay until St Mary Magdalene's Day, which we kept on 23rd July. Since the builders were due to start work in the school on 24th July, and in church a week later, this didn't leave us much time. In the event, the concert did not happen, which was a bit frustrating. So we spent Saturday 22nd moving precious, fragile or valuable things to the Vicarage, which was very tiring, and then I spent much of last week sticking coloured labels on things.
Now I have statues in my sitting room, big oil paintings in my dining room, and a meeting room that is full of vestments, crucifixes and candlesticks.
I spent this Saturday going to Homebase to buy pond netting and then fixing it to the open balustrade down the outside stairs which lead to the Vestry, so as to make it more difficult for small children to fall through and dash themselves on the pavement below. I had pointed out the need for something like this to the architect, and then to the site manager, but nothing was done, so I did it. No doubt something better could have been done, but not by me.
We have set up the Vestry for Sunday worship, and people seem to have enjoyed it yesterday. The novel experience of being close together may be a bit disconcerting for some, but others may like it. You can actually hear them sing, which is interesting for me, and will probably result in everyone singing better. We shall perfect the choreography in time, but it all looks very decent, and we are able to have the Reserved Sacrament in a built-in safe behind the altar, so the presence of Our Lord makes it rather special. The room is vaulted and light, and now we have set it up looks genuinely churchy, which is reassuring.
Today the builders started to box up things in the church, which is very final.
Use the Facilities
For quite a while now I have had two portaloos on my front yard. The church portaloo used to be in the pigeon-infested north porch, but was then moved a few years ago to outside the vestry, as a healthier place, but also easier to clean. It did, however, attract the notice of locals, who availed themselves of it regularly. It was once pushed over, but we finally removed it when we found people using it to shoot up. By that stage we had installed one on my yard for some event, and so we had the vestry one craned out again, and a second installed on my yard, as two seemed good. They aren't particularly obvious so they don't seem to get too much "public" use, but I really don't mind. In the past I have seen a mother tell her child to squat down and urinate in my yard at school home time, which I'd rather not have. Last weekend a man walking his dog late at night proceeded to urinate against the outside of my fence right beside the portaloo, which seemed an odd decision.
Wednesday, 28 June 2017
THE HECATOMB
An Obscenity
As you go west down Westbourne Park Road there comes a point, as you descend the slope towards Portobello Road, where you suddenly see Grenfell Tower looming up above the houses. I certainly wouldn't have known before the fire that you could see it from there, as one tower-block looks much like another (with the exception of Erno Goldfinger's Trellick Tower, which is very distinctive), but now there can be no mistake. That obscene, charred skeleton is instantly recognisable. I was struck by how utterly matt black it was; it had never occurred to me that soot is so totally matt. You can't help but look up at it, even though you feel guilty doing so, and you come away feeling slightly grubby for having done so, because you know, instinctively, that this thing is obscene.
I was dumbfounded, when I was down there, to find people taking selfies in front of the Tower. It was obvious to me that this was inappropriate behaviour, but I find it hard to articulate why exactly. I have a general prejudice against selfies, so I'm not a good witness, but what is it I'm accusing them of? Lack of respect? Yes, possibly, but why is it not possible to take a respectful selfie? I'm not sure, but I think it's that the picture is essentially of yourself, so you are putting yourself at the centre of the universe, in a way that leaves little room for the proper respect for the dead. This vast disaster becomes wallpaper behind your head in a selfie, and that seems a wrong sense of priorities. Also, it's just very poor taste. Scores of people died there; when I was there many of their remains must still have been in the Tower, so photographing it is just in bad taste.
It seems that the Hammersmith and City Line remains closed precisely because the best view of Grenfell Tower is to be had from the platform (eastbound, I think I was told). The line was reopened on (I think) the day after the fire, but the platform filled up with people gawping and taking photos, and TFL took the decision to close it. Inconveniently the line remains closed "until further notice", which doesn't sound hopeful. No doubt safety was one concern, since they get very jumpy about crowds on their platforms, but I suspect there was also a feeling that these sightseers were intruding on the community's grief, and that someone with a telephoto lens could have a horribly intimate view into some of the flats where the recovery operation was taking place.
Meanwhile on the Warwick
Local residents were summoned to a meeting with the Leader of Westminster City Council yesterday evening on the Warwick Estate, which was meant to be reassuring. I couldn't be there. Apparently it was hard for Cllr Nicky Aiken, the Leader, Cllr Rachel Robathan, the Cabinet Member for Housing, and Karen Buck MP to make themselves heard, and there was a lot of anxiety. They had the Fire Brigade commander who had been at Grenfell, and he was stressing differences. Our blocks do apparently have the necessary fire-stopping, made of appropriate materials, and the insulation material is inert rockwool. WCC do seem to want to be open about this, and they did use Wates, a reputable contractor, to do the work. Nevertheless, this afternoon, people were up a crane at the side of Wilmcote House, removing portions of cladding, presumably for testing, which is not a cheerful sight.
A Complaint
Reactions to this all do vary. On Sunday afternoon our tenant church (the Eternal Sacred Order of the Morning Star) had a barbecue after their service, as they do annually, and I got a complaint as a result. A tower-block resident was very agitated and demanded to know whether I had given permission for this to happen, as it was really insensitive, when people in the tower blocks were "terrified" of being evacuated. I did not respond that I would have thought there were several things more terrifying than the prospect of evacuation, but I did point out that I was the person being most inconvenienced and disturbed by this barbecue, and that in any case my permission was not required, because they were on the Green and the public highway. Disturbance and inconvenience didn't really seem to be the point; this was just "insensitive" I'm not quite sure whether it was having a barbecue in particular that was insensitive, or just lots of people obviously enjoying themselves, but I was completely taken aback. The complaint was heartfelt, but I couldn't work it out. My caller thought I should have had such consideration for the feelings of tower-block residents that I should have forbidden Morning Star (who mostly don't live locally) from having a barbecue. Perhaps I have not been listening enough to what Warwick residents are saying, but I don't think I could reasonably have guessed that a barbecue would have been thought insensitive. We are two miles from Grenfell, the barbecue was two hundred yards from the nearest tower-block, and this was eleven days after the fire. But it seems that some people have an instinct for public mourning, and that's rather interesting. I note that Portugal declared three days of national mourning after the terrible forest fire that killed 145 people last week; we don't seem to do that sort of thing. What does "national mourning " consist of? I have an idea that it might be something that lots of people locally might think was really appropriate.
As you go west down Westbourne Park Road there comes a point, as you descend the slope towards Portobello Road, where you suddenly see Grenfell Tower looming up above the houses. I certainly wouldn't have known before the fire that you could see it from there, as one tower-block looks much like another (with the exception of Erno Goldfinger's Trellick Tower, which is very distinctive), but now there can be no mistake. That obscene, charred skeleton is instantly recognisable. I was struck by how utterly matt black it was; it had never occurred to me that soot is so totally matt. You can't help but look up at it, even though you feel guilty doing so, and you come away feeling slightly grubby for having done so, because you know, instinctively, that this thing is obscene.
I was dumbfounded, when I was down there, to find people taking selfies in front of the Tower. It was obvious to me that this was inappropriate behaviour, but I find it hard to articulate why exactly. I have a general prejudice against selfies, so I'm not a good witness, but what is it I'm accusing them of? Lack of respect? Yes, possibly, but why is it not possible to take a respectful selfie? I'm not sure, but I think it's that the picture is essentially of yourself, so you are putting yourself at the centre of the universe, in a way that leaves little room for the proper respect for the dead. This vast disaster becomes wallpaper behind your head in a selfie, and that seems a wrong sense of priorities. Also, it's just very poor taste. Scores of people died there; when I was there many of their remains must still have been in the Tower, so photographing it is just in bad taste.
It seems that the Hammersmith and City Line remains closed precisely because the best view of Grenfell Tower is to be had from the platform (eastbound, I think I was told). The line was reopened on (I think) the day after the fire, but the platform filled up with people gawping and taking photos, and TFL took the decision to close it. Inconveniently the line remains closed "until further notice", which doesn't sound hopeful. No doubt safety was one concern, since they get very jumpy about crowds on their platforms, but I suspect there was also a feeling that these sightseers were intruding on the community's grief, and that someone with a telephoto lens could have a horribly intimate view into some of the flats where the recovery operation was taking place.
Meanwhile on the Warwick
Local residents were summoned to a meeting with the Leader of Westminster City Council yesterday evening on the Warwick Estate, which was meant to be reassuring. I couldn't be there. Apparently it was hard for Cllr Nicky Aiken, the Leader, Cllr Rachel Robathan, the Cabinet Member for Housing, and Karen Buck MP to make themselves heard, and there was a lot of anxiety. They had the Fire Brigade commander who had been at Grenfell, and he was stressing differences. Our blocks do apparently have the necessary fire-stopping, made of appropriate materials, and the insulation material is inert rockwool. WCC do seem to want to be open about this, and they did use Wates, a reputable contractor, to do the work. Nevertheless, this afternoon, people were up a crane at the side of Wilmcote House, removing portions of cladding, presumably for testing, which is not a cheerful sight.
A Complaint
Reactions to this all do vary. On Sunday afternoon our tenant church (the Eternal Sacred Order of the Morning Star) had a barbecue after their service, as they do annually, and I got a complaint as a result. A tower-block resident was very agitated and demanded to know whether I had given permission for this to happen, as it was really insensitive, when people in the tower blocks were "terrified" of being evacuated. I did not respond that I would have thought there were several things more terrifying than the prospect of evacuation, but I did point out that I was the person being most inconvenienced and disturbed by this barbecue, and that in any case my permission was not required, because they were on the Green and the public highway. Disturbance and inconvenience didn't really seem to be the point; this was just "insensitive" I'm not quite sure whether it was having a barbecue in particular that was insensitive, or just lots of people obviously enjoying themselves, but I was completely taken aback. The complaint was heartfelt, but I couldn't work it out. My caller thought I should have had such consideration for the feelings of tower-block residents that I should have forbidden Morning Star (who mostly don't live locally) from having a barbecue. Perhaps I have not been listening enough to what Warwick residents are saying, but I don't think I could reasonably have guessed that a barbecue would have been thought insensitive. We are two miles from Grenfell, the barbecue was two hundred yards from the nearest tower-block, and this was eleven days after the fire. But it seems that some people have an instinct for public mourning, and that's rather interesting. I note that Portugal declared three days of national mourning after the terrible forest fire that killed 145 people last week; we don't seem to do that sort of thing. What does "national mourning " consist of? I have an idea that it might be something that lots of people locally might think was really appropriate.
Friday, 16 June 2017
HORROR IN NORTH KENSINGTON
Our Neighbours on Lancaster West
One of my churchwardens lives on the Lancaster West Estate, in the low-rise flats at the foot of Grenfell Tower. In the early hours of Wednesday morning she saw terrible things, and it was obvious from the start that the number of deaths was going to be horrifyingly large. It happened at 1am, when the building will have been full, and really very few people were being treated in hospital. It is inconceivable that a blaze on that scale could not have resulted in scores of casualties, so the small numbers being treated in hospital was always a bad sign. Anyone could see from the television pictures that this was a horrific disaster.
Someone was speaking to me yesterday as though it were my parish, and I realised why that was: the Vicar of St Clement's, Notting Dale, (which is the parish church) is Fr Alan Everett. As far as we know, we are not related. Obviously, he and his people are in my prayers. Curiously, though, there is usually a sort of rivalry between our two neighbourhoods, "Ladbroke Grove" and "Harrow Road", and most local incidents of knife or gun crime are bad boys from one neighbourhood attacking bad boys from the other. People sometimes say this thing is on postcodes, but it's not quite as simple as that, because W10, the Ladbroke Grove postcode, extends way over into Queen's Park, across the canal and the Harrow Road, and the boys from the Mozart Estate in Queen's Park are always fighting the Ladbroke Grove boys. This postcode thing also means that things happening in "our" bit of W10 get described on the BBC as happening in North Kensington or Ladbroke Grove, which is always irritating. No thoughts of rivalry now, though, because people are united in grief and horror. This is a very transient neighbourhood, but nevertheless most people will know someone affected in some way, and the extraordinary and inspiring thing has been how vast and immediate the local response has been. People here really do care about what is happening to their neighbours, and you could see on Wednesday that this was making a real impression on the journalists covering the disaster. I was at a governors' meeting on Wednesday evening, and school parents had already begun bringing stuff to school, but then one of my fellow governors who works closely with one of the evangelical churches in Latimer Road reported that they were already snowed under with donations of stuff, which was remarkable to hear. The response from ordinary people has been magnificent.
K & C, and the TMO
The response from the Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea has not been so magnificent, though. My churchwarden phoned the TMO as the fire was happening to get them to open up the estate's community hall, but after stalling, they said they couldn't locate anyone with the key. Not good. Cllr Nick Paget-Brown, the leader of K & C Council appeared on the "Today" programme at breakfast time on Wednesday and gave a deeply unimpressive performance, not even knowing how many flats were in the block, and seeming disengaged from the whole event. By yesterday K & C had put reception centres in place, but what was totally missing was any sense of co-ordination or leadership.
Cllr Paget-Brown has every reason to be worried, though, and I can understand it if his lawyers have told him to be very careful what he says, because this has happened on his watch, and he and Cllr Rock Feilding-Mellen, who is in charge of regeneration and housing and who (presumably) signed off personally on the plans for the refurbishment of Grenfell Tower, and its satisfactory completion, are potentially in a very sticky situation. K & C continue to say that it would be premature to talk about the cladding, but anyone with eyes to see could interpret those television pictures. It is clear that the exterior cladding burnt. It seems very likely that the cladding was responsible for the horrifying speed of the progress of the fire, and the observable "torch" effect. They decided to put the cladding onto the building (yes, in pursuit of energy efficiency, which was a government policy, and to make flats warmer, which is a good thing) and they, crucially, chose which cladding to use and how to do it.
K & C will probably try to deflect attention on to the TMO, since that is the whole purpose of the TMO (and its sister organisations here in Westminster and in other boroughs), to insulate the Council from responsibility and unpopularity. I think they will find that it doesn't work, though, because residents certainly hate the TMO (and CityWest Homes here) but they hate the Council as well. These arm's-length organisations are a product of the (Conservative) ideological hatred of local government,and the belief that local authorities are automatically bad at running things, and a desire to take housing out of the reach of direct local democracy. For the resident, the TMO is just another layer of bureaucracy, and a device for evading responsibility. K & C will undoubtedly say that it was the TMO that made all the decisions, but the TMO is a wholly-owned subsidiary of K & C, which operates under K & C's policy guidelines, so that really won't wash. It is perhaps worth pointing out that building control and inspection is carried out by the local authority, so a K & C official will have certified the safety of this K & C building work; it would not be surprising if K & C tried to push responsibility down to this official, along with the contractor and the suppliers, but that really won't do. It is the contempt in which local people feel that they are held by K & C which leads them to conclude that responsibility rests high up in the chain of command. Local residents have got used to being neglected, and being regarded as troublemakers if they complain or question, and they feel that they are simply not valued because they are poor. People feel neglected and ignored, and they believe the reason is simply because they are not wealthy. If this is a crime, it has got K & C's fingerprints all over it. Now, perhaps, it becomes clear why Kensington elected a Labour MP last week.
Back Home
Meanwhile, on the Warwick Estate, we look up at our tower blocks, which were refurbished (by Wates) a few years ago and wonder. Flats got new balconies and kitchens, and there was cladding. Each block has just one staircase. My brother (who is a surveyor) tells me that the question to ask is whether there are fire stops through the cladding at each compartment separation, and what that fire stopping consists of. I expect that we shall be asking exactly that, loudly and often.
One of my churchwardens lives on the Lancaster West Estate, in the low-rise flats at the foot of Grenfell Tower. In the early hours of Wednesday morning she saw terrible things, and it was obvious from the start that the number of deaths was going to be horrifyingly large. It happened at 1am, when the building will have been full, and really very few people were being treated in hospital. It is inconceivable that a blaze on that scale could not have resulted in scores of casualties, so the small numbers being treated in hospital was always a bad sign. Anyone could see from the television pictures that this was a horrific disaster.
Someone was speaking to me yesterday as though it were my parish, and I realised why that was: the Vicar of St Clement's, Notting Dale, (which is the parish church) is Fr Alan Everett. As far as we know, we are not related. Obviously, he and his people are in my prayers. Curiously, though, there is usually a sort of rivalry between our two neighbourhoods, "Ladbroke Grove" and "Harrow Road", and most local incidents of knife or gun crime are bad boys from one neighbourhood attacking bad boys from the other. People sometimes say this thing is on postcodes, but it's not quite as simple as that, because W10, the Ladbroke Grove postcode, extends way over into Queen's Park, across the canal and the Harrow Road, and the boys from the Mozart Estate in Queen's Park are always fighting the Ladbroke Grove boys. This postcode thing also means that things happening in "our" bit of W10 get described on the BBC as happening in North Kensington or Ladbroke Grove, which is always irritating. No thoughts of rivalry now, though, because people are united in grief and horror. This is a very transient neighbourhood, but nevertheless most people will know someone affected in some way, and the extraordinary and inspiring thing has been how vast and immediate the local response has been. People here really do care about what is happening to their neighbours, and you could see on Wednesday that this was making a real impression on the journalists covering the disaster. I was at a governors' meeting on Wednesday evening, and school parents had already begun bringing stuff to school, but then one of my fellow governors who works closely with one of the evangelical churches in Latimer Road reported that they were already snowed under with donations of stuff, which was remarkable to hear. The response from ordinary people has been magnificent.
K & C, and the TMO
The response from the Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea has not been so magnificent, though. My churchwarden phoned the TMO as the fire was happening to get them to open up the estate's community hall, but after stalling, they said they couldn't locate anyone with the key. Not good. Cllr Nick Paget-Brown, the leader of K & C Council appeared on the "Today" programme at breakfast time on Wednesday and gave a deeply unimpressive performance, not even knowing how many flats were in the block, and seeming disengaged from the whole event. By yesterday K & C had put reception centres in place, but what was totally missing was any sense of co-ordination or leadership.
Cllr Paget-Brown has every reason to be worried, though, and I can understand it if his lawyers have told him to be very careful what he says, because this has happened on his watch, and he and Cllr Rock Feilding-Mellen, who is in charge of regeneration and housing and who (presumably) signed off personally on the plans for the refurbishment of Grenfell Tower, and its satisfactory completion, are potentially in a very sticky situation. K & C continue to say that it would be premature to talk about the cladding, but anyone with eyes to see could interpret those television pictures. It is clear that the exterior cladding burnt. It seems very likely that the cladding was responsible for the horrifying speed of the progress of the fire, and the observable "torch" effect. They decided to put the cladding onto the building (yes, in pursuit of energy efficiency, which was a government policy, and to make flats warmer, which is a good thing) and they, crucially, chose which cladding to use and how to do it.
K & C will probably try to deflect attention on to the TMO, since that is the whole purpose of the TMO (and its sister organisations here in Westminster and in other boroughs), to insulate the Council from responsibility and unpopularity. I think they will find that it doesn't work, though, because residents certainly hate the TMO (and CityWest Homes here) but they hate the Council as well. These arm's-length organisations are a product of the (Conservative) ideological hatred of local government,and the belief that local authorities are automatically bad at running things, and a desire to take housing out of the reach of direct local democracy. For the resident, the TMO is just another layer of bureaucracy, and a device for evading responsibility. K & C will undoubtedly say that it was the TMO that made all the decisions, but the TMO is a wholly-owned subsidiary of K & C, which operates under K & C's policy guidelines, so that really won't wash. It is perhaps worth pointing out that building control and inspection is carried out by the local authority, so a K & C official will have certified the safety of this K & C building work; it would not be surprising if K & C tried to push responsibility down to this official, along with the contractor and the suppliers, but that really won't do. It is the contempt in which local people feel that they are held by K & C which leads them to conclude that responsibility rests high up in the chain of command. Local residents have got used to being neglected, and being regarded as troublemakers if they complain or question, and they feel that they are simply not valued because they are poor. People feel neglected and ignored, and they believe the reason is simply because they are not wealthy. If this is a crime, it has got K & C's fingerprints all over it. Now, perhaps, it becomes clear why Kensington elected a Labour MP last week.
Back Home
Meanwhile, on the Warwick Estate, we look up at our tower blocks, which were refurbished (by Wates) a few years ago and wonder. Flats got new balconies and kitchens, and there was cladding. Each block has just one staircase. My brother (who is a surveyor) tells me that the question to ask is whether there are fire stops through the cladding at each compartment separation, and what that fire stopping consists of. I expect that we shall be asking exactly that, loudly and often.
Tuesday, 13 June 2017
RAMADAN IN NORTH KENSINGTON
Breaking the Fast
Last night I was at Al-Manaar, the Muslim Cultural Heritage Centre, in North Kensington, sharing their iftar meal. I'd been invited, along with Toby, my PDT colleague in the Project, by the Chief Executive of Al-Manaar, to whom we've been talking about possible future collaboration. Toby couldn't come, but I flew the flag. I checked with BBC Weather, which said sunset in Maida Hill was 9.18pm, so I didn't need to turn up too early, but was still there before 9pm. It turned out that 9.21pm was going to be the moment when the call to prayer was recited and the fast could be broken, which was an intriguing difference. Whose sunset? Or sunset where exactly? While we awaited the crucial moment two men were press-ganged into telling us what Ramadan meant to them, which was not as helpful as it might have been, but very well-intentioned.Tables were set with bottles of water and plates of dates, which is the traditional first thing you take, and then there was a lavish buffet waiting at the end of the room. The mosque chairman insisted that you didn't need to be invited, and the iftar meal is there to be shared by anyone who turns up, any night during Ramadan, but that's one of those invitations you can issue without fear, knowing that the reticent English will never take you up on it. One mosque member did tell me, though, that he made a point of bringing people in, including a couple of homeless people, which is great. So the call to prayer came, and we ate our dates and drank our water. I was frankly astonished at the restraint of my Muslim neighbour, who only had two dates and a few sips of water; I could have stuffed myself with those dates, and my last meal hadn't been at 4am.
Among the Faithful
I was not surprised to see the Mayor of Kensington and Chelsea there, rather more surprised to see the Deputy Mayor as well (who turns out to be a churchwarden from Notting Hill), but I found myself sitting with a bunch of other guests who had all been invited by a member of the mosque who is also a councillor. They had been invited because of their activity in the Labour cause last week, which made me a bit self-conscious to be sitting with them, but then amusingly another guest asked me whether they were all members of my church! They reacted with great delight when Emma Dent Coad, the newly-elected MP, (who is also councillor for Golborne ward, in which the mosque is situated) walked in, and then got embarrassed in case they'd behaved inappropriately by cheering and clapping. I don't think anyone was offended, as we weren't doing anything particularly pious at that point, but it was a moment when cultural incomprehension was palpable. The really interesting thing for me was to meet some of Jeremy's Army, because as well as the recognisable Labour Party stalwarts there were the fabled young people, in this case smart, posh, well-educated women in their twenties, for whom the manifesto had really made sense, and who had been prepared to go and stand outside polling stations or run around knocking up last Thursday. This is genuinely a new phenomenon, and a refreshing change from the prevailing cynicism which has characterised political debate for ages. And that's why Kensington has the unthinkable, a Labour MP. There are still people going around with silly grins all the time, because they never believed it would happen.
Posh Enough For Poussin
We all duly queued up for the very generous buffet, and of course had to guess what everything was. There were two adjoining trays full of chicken, but quite different; one looked much more insipid than the other. So, my smart young neighbour and I both went for the more colourful dish. I extracted some chicken and exclaimed, "Goodness, it's a whole little bird!" to which my neighbour responded, "Oh my God, it's poussin!"
That's what they were like!
Last night I was at Al-Manaar, the Muslim Cultural Heritage Centre, in North Kensington, sharing their iftar meal. I'd been invited, along with Toby, my PDT colleague in the Project, by the Chief Executive of Al-Manaar, to whom we've been talking about possible future collaboration. Toby couldn't come, but I flew the flag. I checked with BBC Weather, which said sunset in Maida Hill was 9.18pm, so I didn't need to turn up too early, but was still there before 9pm. It turned out that 9.21pm was going to be the moment when the call to prayer was recited and the fast could be broken, which was an intriguing difference. Whose sunset? Or sunset where exactly? While we awaited the crucial moment two men were press-ganged into telling us what Ramadan meant to them, which was not as helpful as it might have been, but very well-intentioned.Tables were set with bottles of water and plates of dates, which is the traditional first thing you take, and then there was a lavish buffet waiting at the end of the room. The mosque chairman insisted that you didn't need to be invited, and the iftar meal is there to be shared by anyone who turns up, any night during Ramadan, but that's one of those invitations you can issue without fear, knowing that the reticent English will never take you up on it. One mosque member did tell me, though, that he made a point of bringing people in, including a couple of homeless people, which is great. So the call to prayer came, and we ate our dates and drank our water. I was frankly astonished at the restraint of my Muslim neighbour, who only had two dates and a few sips of water; I could have stuffed myself with those dates, and my last meal hadn't been at 4am.
Among the Faithful
I was not surprised to see the Mayor of Kensington and Chelsea there, rather more surprised to see the Deputy Mayor as well (who turns out to be a churchwarden from Notting Hill), but I found myself sitting with a bunch of other guests who had all been invited by a member of the mosque who is also a councillor. They had been invited because of their activity in the Labour cause last week, which made me a bit self-conscious to be sitting with them, but then amusingly another guest asked me whether they were all members of my church! They reacted with great delight when Emma Dent Coad, the newly-elected MP, (who is also councillor for Golborne ward, in which the mosque is situated) walked in, and then got embarrassed in case they'd behaved inappropriately by cheering and clapping. I don't think anyone was offended, as we weren't doing anything particularly pious at that point, but it was a moment when cultural incomprehension was palpable. The really interesting thing for me was to meet some of Jeremy's Army, because as well as the recognisable Labour Party stalwarts there were the fabled young people, in this case smart, posh, well-educated women in their twenties, for whom the manifesto had really made sense, and who had been prepared to go and stand outside polling stations or run around knocking up last Thursday. This is genuinely a new phenomenon, and a refreshing change from the prevailing cynicism which has characterised political debate for ages. And that's why Kensington has the unthinkable, a Labour MP. There are still people going around with silly grins all the time, because they never believed it would happen.
Posh Enough For Poussin
We all duly queued up for the very generous buffet, and of course had to guess what everything was. There were two adjoining trays full of chicken, but quite different; one looked much more insipid than the other. So, my smart young neighbour and I both went for the more colourful dish. I extracted some chicken and exclaimed, "Goodness, it's a whole little bird!" to which my neighbour responded, "Oh my God, it's poussin!"
That's what they were like!
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