Here his brother, Alan, talks succinctly and movingly about the horrifying tragedy that has blighted so many lives, just like his
How a barber’s shop conversation about the loss of Keith helped lift brother’s battered spirits …
They say that on the streets of Manchester you are never more than six feet away from a rat … well, Brady and Hindley weren’t rats, they were pure evil. And even now, dead as they are they still send a shiver down the spine of this city.
Brady and Hindley took to their graves the moorland location of Keith Bennett’s body. He may never be found.
In
a moving piece written by Keith’s brother, Alan, he reveals his
feelings and he has given the Preservation Society the right to
reproduce it:
Alan writes: “I
have been going to the same barber for many years now and I went
again yesterday. It was very quiet, just one man already on one of
the chairs and I sat down on the one next to him.
All normal so far
and I expected the usual conversation about football, the weather,
politics, health etc. The bloke that was already there left so there
was just me and the two barbers.
“Alan, after all
these years I had no idea until I saw an article in the media the
other day.” I was taken by surprise a little bit, ”m so sorry
about Keith and my condolences to you, those evil bastards should
never have been allowed to live.”
I knew I had some
explaining to do, “That David Smith was some character as well.”
The next 10 minutes
were spent in a sort of question and answer session. Along the
lines of answering to the questions he asked: if they had been hanged
we would never have known where to search for Keith, although I
understand your reaction; a detailed description of where and when
Keith was taken; my age and Keith’s age at the time; the horror of
realising Keith had not turned up at my gran’s house and the
aftermath; the barber having met mam in the past when there used to
be a ladies hairdressers there; the fact D Smith never socialised
with Brady and Hindley until after Keith was taken and the way he was
led to witness the death of Edward Evans; where mam had last seen
Keith after crossing Stockport road at the zebra crossing; where
Hindley could have been parked as Keith crossed their path; the
actions of Brady’s inhumane solicitor and the locked cases; the
search of the moor and anything else the barber could think of before
the next customer entered the shop and things returned to normal…
Time for me to go
but not before getting a man-hug on the way out and another, ‘I’m so
sorry about what happened, take care and see you again soon,’ from
the barber.
The other customer
sat on the chair, looking on through the refection in the mirror,
must have been wondering what was going on.
I know things will
never be quite the anonymous same for me next time I go there but,
once again, I had seen the care and compassion for Keith and his
family and I felt my spirits lifted once again by that.
However, I was also
left wondering how too many people with the power and clout to do
something more for Keith failed him time after time when we really
needed them and we still do.
The passing years
have been a mixture of emotions, frustrations, disbelief, witnessing
so much pain and tears, anger and so many other bad things.
The thing that keeps
us going is the care, love, compassion and genuine feelings for Keith
shown by so many of the ‘average’ people over the years.
I’m not sure if I
have expressed my thoughts as I meant to here but I’m hoping anybody
reading this will understand how much more those ‘average’ people
mean to me as compared to the faceless people in power that need
constantly reminding of the ongoing struggle we face and the need we
have for their help and not just their ‘Understanding.’
Sorry for rambling but I had to try to express the feelings I was left with after just a normal and regular visit to the barbers.”
The Warsaw Pact invasion of Czechoslovakia was led by the Soviet Union.
On the night of 20–21 August 1968, under a waning Moon, Poland, Bulgaria and Hungry followed the snarling Great Red Bear in to Czechoslovakia.
The Soviet circus of sour and blood had begun.
The intention was to stop Alexander Dubceck’s dream of Socialism with a Human Face … he wanted to permanently remove state control of the economy. And he also wanted to allow free speech in the Press.
The pact’s invasion cost at least 17 civilians lives and 500 were wounded. The occupation had come out of the darkness and for lifetimes left veils of history, despair, fear and fury across these beleaguered lands.
The occupation was of course tribal – poor countries devouring poor countries, the madness of the power-hungry crashing steel wheels and metal bombs through the lives and souls of folk who knew nothing …
These folk simply battened down the thatches and barns, fled to the mountains or dug holes in the ground to disappear down.
Others though remained to fight in the streets and squares and back alleys of their home towns.
I lived and worked for many years in a small Slovak city under the shark’s teeth of the High Tatras mountains. It is close to the Polish border and Hungary is a short drive away. Bulgaria is close too, as far as the golden eagle flies.
The city where I am still resident – Poprad in the Spis region – is a place with an eye firmly fixed on the future’s horizon. It is becoming chic – cafe society, tourism, nature and business. Its people are sophisticated and go-ahead.
But today towns and cities like Poprad, dotted across Central and Eastern Europe, are visited by the spectres from the dark side of their memories.
The grizzliness of the Great Red Bear is back in their lives, The Bear is eating off the heads of innocents a few hundred miles down the road.
Worryingly, most people in this part of Europe remember how quickly the bear can turn, how quickly a madman can change his unfettered mind and how quickly the future can become the new Dark Age.
Here we retell the story of Joseph Bonk, a man who learned to repair washing machines as part of his living. He was innocent and walked into the Soviet death machine on the streets of Poprad.
Joseph was holed by a burning-hot spinning shell. He died alone in the cellar of a small hospital in Spiska Sabota up the winding hill from Poprad.
Tragically similar stories to Joseph’s are happening right now on the white-hot streets of Kyiv in the Ukraine.
People are dying, families are crying…
Joseph Bonk in 1968 became the pointless – and for many hours – the abandoned victim of a war that for centuries has, in one way or the other, raised its ugly head across these beautiful parts of Europe.
But today many see Joseph Bonk as a major symbol in the battle for freedom and the right to speak your mind out.
Let us support his memory and in doing so support the Ukraine in its days of horror.
One dark day in 1968 Jozef Bonk stepped off a train in Poprad ready to make a surprise visit to his family.
Instead his liver was splattered by a bullet.
Jozef was a student at the Apprenticeship School in Veľká, Slovakia when Warsaw Pact troops invaded Czechoslovakia.
He had been repairing machinery somewhere near Kosice and had decided to come home early.
But he got caught up in a crowd of protesters in Dukla Heroes Square. He was ten minutes from his home.
Jozef was 19 and the invasion of the small down-trodden city of Poprad was a shock.
But it beat looking down at your boots to avoid the eyes of the secret police and the tenement snitches. 3000 people in the square at that moment had a sense of pride for the first time in their lives.
Jozef too was proud. But he was far from being a revolutionary, an anarchist.
And he was certainly no freedom fighter.
Like so many back then, he didn’t really understand the politics behind the fact that troops from five socialist countries had invaded Czechoslovakia because they feared the likes of Alexander Dubček, a major reformist.
Now the invaders were all over his community.
But Jozef was just drawn by the monstrousness of the invading armies and their war machines.
***
It was noon when he arrived at the square.
The square in Poprad
Minutes later Soviet shots rang out, boomed across the roof tops and echoed round the High Tatras.
Fifteen people were injured.
But Jozef was the one who died.
And nobody bothered to tell his family he had been shot.
“He was on a week-long furlough repairing machines, we didn’t know he was home,” his sister Anna Malá Krajňák said.
It was only when a porter at Spišská Sobota hospital found his ID card in his blood-stained jacket that somebody ran to tell them.
Jozef’s body was lying in the basement of the hospital. His liver had been ruptured.
He was quickly buried in the family home-town of Hôrka less than 10km, away.
Anna Mala said: “A lot of people came to the funeral, but it was terrible because a helicopter was flying over us. The whole thing went very quickly, because everyone was afraid.”
Anna Malá eulogised her brother as a passionate football player who lived with his parents and was helping his brother build a new home.
But after his death Jozef became, in the eyes of the authorities, became something he simply wasn’t … he was officially condemned as a dissident and a counter-revolutionary.
The authorities had blamed him for his own death and his family were ordered not to talk about him or tell how he died.
For decades Anna Malá tried to put flowers on his grave but State Security stopped her.
She was even threatened with prison.
***
Now the square where he died is named after St Egidius and there is a small memorial and plaque to Josef Bonk and others on a shelf in a wall. There are plastic religious figures and a few cheap candle lights. Sometimes there is a picture of Jozef. Sometimes there isn’t.
But every year now people gather to remember him.
František Bednár from the World Association of former Czechoslovak political prisoners, who curates the small commemoration says: “It is sad that this is the only monument in Slovakia with the names of the victims of the crimes of the time.
We also regret that August 21 is not even a memorial day in Slovakia.” .
The monument has also become a tribute to journalist Ján Kuciak and his fiance Martina Kušnírová. They were shot dead in 2018 at their home in Veľká Mača in the Galanta district.
So, after 50 years Josef has actually become the thing he never was in his life … a figurehead against corruption, suppression and dishonesty.
For there is no such thing as political murder or collateral loss, there is only murder.
Jozef Bonk was the victim of murder just as Ján Kuciak and Martina Kušnírová were.
Each of them are heroes because they were painted as villains by those who held power.
We must never forget these victims or turn our backs on their memories
Fifty eight years ago John Kilbride lost his life at the evil hands of Ian Brady and Myra Hindley. He was 12 years old.
John was the eldest child of Sheila and Patrick … can never imagine the horror that John went through at the hands of those twisted evil perverts who out-lived him by decades and earned the notoriety of shame.
John was buried beneath the howling winds and curtains of rain which dominate Saddleworth Moor, on the outskirts of Greater Manchester.
John had been sexually abused and strangled by Britain’s most reviled child killers, Brady and Hindley, forever known as the Moors Murderers..
John Kilbride
He now rests in Hurst Cemetery, Ashton-under-Lyne, less than ten miles away from the isolated spot where he died. Many times his surviving family, Patrick, Terry, Sheila and Maria, visited his grave.
On November 23, 1963, John, who was 12, was earning pocket money packing up stalls at Ashton market.
He was approached by Hindley who persuaded him to put boxes into her car and offered him a lift home. Brady was driving.
They asked the child if he would help them find a lost glove on the Moors.
A photograph Brady took of Hindley and her pet dog at John’s grave led police to the spot two years later.
Today we remember his body being brought down from his lonely howling grave.
Alan Bennett, the brother of victim Keith Bennett said: “Remembering John Kilbride today. John’s body was recovered from Saddleworth Moor on this date in 1965. Also sending love to all of John’s family.”
The evil couple’s other victims are Pauline Reade, John Kilbride, Keith Bennett, Lesley Ann Downey and Edward Evans.
When I first heard about the plight of Joe ‘Hurricane’ Dore, the bisexual hero and storekeeper of a little Texas alligator town, I was fascinated.
After all Texas is ranked as one of the worst US states for LGBTQ equality.
And Joe’s story had come to light just a few weeks after Donald Trump had moved to roll back government-funded health and welfare protection for lesbians, gays, bisexuals and transgender people.
In the Lone Star State, where he has massive support, laws are described as barely meeting basic standards of equality.
So, Joe’s tale – extraordinary in so many ways – was obviously one worth telling. The Big Guys are standing up for the little guy.
It was a timely and positive story.
Its tabloid bones were simple too: The men and women of a town so tough they take hurricanes on the chin and turn alligators into sausages, were standing up for a store keeper who is glad to be gay.
But it didn’t go down that way all over town…
This is what my original story said: “People in an old Texas railway town claim their local ‘dollar’ store manager – a hurricane hero – has lost his job because of a candy bar competition.
Affable Joe Dore, a diminutive man in his early 60s, who spends his free time rescuing animals from the side of the old state Highway 24, lives with his pet cat, Dash, 30 miles away.
But he has worked at what used to be described as the old ‘five and dime’ for more than three decades.
And the store is still a five and dime in everything but name, selling just about anything you might need at a knock-down price.
Despite being bisexual – a life-style many of the Trump voters in the Lone Star State disagree with – Joe has won massive respect from them and other residents of Winnie.”
And that’s when certain member of the community of Winnie and its environs turned on me. The emails came flooding in, including this one saying: “u a very low person to turn this into something its not. u using joe’s story to cause more hate to Trump supporters. and that sir makes u worst then family dollar.that sir make u only using joe for ur on benifit.”
Those fifty miss-spelt and inarticulate words seemed to confirm my idea about the red-neck state where the women look like men except for their hair curlers and the men are all crocodile wrestlers who drive camo-ed Chevy Suburbans with Trump bumper stickers and Ted Nugent blaring through their open sun roofs.
But my impression was wrong.
A few days ago I was told that the battle for Joe to be treated fairly by his former employer is still going on with passion and heart.
In fact locals claim they are still boycotting the Dollar Tree store … and say ‘by taking Mr. Joe away from us, they took the heart of the Winnie community away too’.
One Winnian wrote to The Society saying: “They can fire someone like Mr Joe who always helped the community and it will not make any difference to them because they don’t live in Winnie.”
Despite this, Joe has told people his new job is much less stressful and that he’s happy. But he still wants to be a part of the Winnie community, even though lives 30 miles away.
Winnie is a small township which had high hopes when it was created by the railways way back in 1895.
Sadly it failed as a railway town and fell victim for decades to floods and hurricanes. And alligators in the marshes.
And it was here in this woebegone by-water that Joe took on the mantel of a super-hero.
Hurricane Joe.
It was well-deserved … for decades, come hell and high water, as the winds howled and the rains whipped, homes were trashed and crops decimated, Joe often single-handedly kept the dollar store open day and night.
People in boats and canoes trusted he would be there so they could collect everything from bottled water to life-saving equipment while hurricanes like Imelda and Ike ripped through the township.
Alligator farms suffered too. Marshes that held tens of thousands of alligators have at times been left all but devoid of them.
Hurricane Ike, for instance, pushed a 20 feet deep wall of saltwater 15 miles inland killing thousands of alligators that lived there.
Despite all this elemental horror though, Winnie still today keeps a semblance of small town dignity, hosting the Texas Rice Festival every first weekend in October. And there is a local beauty pageant too.
And the Dollar stores had retained their own quaint ways. One of them still is the Candy Bar Competition, a store-to-store ‘war’ to see who can sell most candy bars. Joe’s store had won the promotion a number of times over the years.
But it is claimed by locals there was some misunderstanding about it a few weeks ago and ultimately that’s why Joe no longer works in the job he loved.
Dollartree bosses have refused to comment on the situation, saying they are protecting Joe’s privacy.
But, despite the attitude adopted by Dollar Tree, the story is anything but private. Locals say they will continue to boycott the store until Joe gets ‘justice’..
And with that same true grit that keeps them living in this alligator-ridden area they have been getting together to hold regular protests outside the ‘dollar’ store in the horse-shoe like commercial centre of town.
Recently local writer SC Bryson wrote about what she believes has happened exclusively for The Society.
We also have recordings of Joe telling his own story which we hope to publish next week…
Sue tells the story: “The sixth day of June is a significant World War 11 anniversary. This significant day reminds us of once-in-a-lifetime sacrifice!
Southeast Texas seems to have no connection to that era, those brave people on their noble yet doomed missions. But there certainly is a vital connection…
Service and Sacrifice.
Joe Doré received a termination notice after a stellar career with this retail establishment. Many days have passed since this unexpected and unwelcome event. Winnie, Texas, was the location of this unfathomable occurrence for Joe Doré was, is, and always will be a real hero of this little town.
This is Hurricane Joe’s heroic tale.
Joe Doré was born in August, 1957. He looks like an ordinary discount store manager but no one can see his invisible Superman attire beneath his work clothes. His apartment is his sanctuary from the hard work that occurs everyday at Family Dollar/Dollar Tree.
He is modest, intelligent, hard-working, compassionate, knowledgeable, honest and friendly. He knows every local customer’s name, and often, those of their family members. He has worked for this company for nearly thirty years.
The store is a success because of him, and the employees that he trained, guided and nurtured. He created a loyal base of dedicated customers too.
We all love him.
His customers call him Mr. Joe or Uncle Joe. People could buy necessary items from other establishments, and from online stores, but they would not receive genuine Texas hospitality and concern.
Joe also rescues turtles and wild birds from impending death, and he would do so much more.
But he is totally dedicated to the Winnie and Stowell customers who regularly shop at his store.
He continued serving these small communities while he battled cancer and diabetes.
Hurricanes are devastating natural disasters. Residents stay glued to their television sets, computer screens and smartphones as they try to forecast which direction, and what dot on the map, the swirling white mass, on millions of screens around Southeast Texas, has decided to plunder.
Mandatory evacuations are issued after the professional prognosticators have all come to agreement. People hastily gather necessary provisions and lots of money, and then they flee.
But some brave souls steadfastly guard their plots of Texas soil, and everything on it. Joe Doré is one of those individuals who choose to face Death, without blinking. And he has done it many times in recent years.
He smiles as he provides the local citizenry with bottled water, canned goods, cleaning supplies and other commodities that are crucial hurricane survival tools. His heroic presence is quite calming. This store manager is not a newbie. He has been an outstanding leader for nearly thirty years.
This remarkable manager guided his store through very unsettling times. Family Dollar was open during multiple hurricanes and tropical storms that caused as much devastation as a hurricane would have meted out. This venerable store manager carried on with routine business, in the dark, while the store utilized generators. The competitors were closed up, and their employees had evacuated.
Mr. Joe did not leave his customers in dire straits. Autumn of 2019 brought national attention to Winnie, Texas. 80% of this town flooded, but people could still purchase their necessary supplies although their means of transportation changed from cars and trucks to boats and speed boats.
Joe Doré won two very significant awards during his long tenure. He received the Store Manager of the Year award for Region One which represents approximately 800 stores. He also received The Chairman’s Award from Mr. Howard Levine, the owner of the Family Dollar stores.
He spent nearly every waking moment…building this Family Dollar store into a genuine small town success story.
Why did he have to move on?
This Hurricane Hero now needs his own hero!! Well, lots of them.”
And his has them in the often water-logged town of Winnie and maybe what has happened there is something which other people in the America can take on board to unite the States.
Ricardo Martinez, CEO of Equality Texas, said: “Texas has a way to go to secure basic equality for LGBTQ+ people. Although 70 percent of Texans believe that discrimination against LGBTQ+ people is wrong, many are not aware that their LGBTQ+ neighbours can be refused housing or denied public accommodation simply because of who we are.”
Let’s take a lead from an unknown alligator town where the winds blow high and help us all to become equal.
Thank you Sue and also Gracie who helped us research some of the issues in the story.
If you see him don’t be a stranger – he’s not behind the door at coming forward himself.
And in fact he was part of the world’s first cyber Covid-lockdown band just over six months ago!
Now everybody, including Dylan, is following him – and the other Pauls!
Yep, four strangers named Paul O’Sullivan from across the world are now rocking all over the internet.
And this year Paul and his mates released their first album.
Not in any particular order, one Paul O’Sullivan is from Baltimore (USA), a second is from Pennsylvania (US) and another Paul is from Rotterdam (Netherlands).
And then of course there’s our Paul!
Recognise him yet?
This group of Paul O’Sullivans ended up becoming best mates after meeting on Facebook.
Paul from Baltimore said: “One night, I was kind of just indiscriminately adding Paul O’Sullivans on Facebook and a good amount of them accepted my friend requests. Eventually, their stuff started showing up in my news feed. And I was like, ‘Wait a minute, we’re all musicians.’ ”
Eventually the Pauls decided to form a group and called it ‘The Paul O’Sullivan Band’.
Pennsylvania Paul is on drums etc, Baltimore Paul and Rotterdam Paul are on guitar and vocals.
And our Paul is on bass.
He has said: “In this world, sometimes you think everything’s been done. Particularly with the internet, everything’s been covered, everything’s been done. Well actually, this felt like a first. And it still feels like a first.”
Last year they put out a single and when the world went on into lockdown becauser of COVID-19 they to record a remote album.
If you see Paul say hello and tell him to get in touch with Leigh at the leighgbankspreservationsociety.blog, we’d like to chat with him!
Arms wrapped tightly around my driver as he weaves our moped through cars to an orchestra of horns.
The wind whips through my hair and the smells that fill it are heady, awakening my senses with sweet perfumes and spices that quickly flit to a stomach-turning sewer and rot.
The roads are unfinished but the buildings beautiful; brightly decorated with paints of burnt orange and turmeric yellows.
It is Diwali and the country seems to be draped in chains of flowers. Smiles light up the faces of everyone I see.
The days are long and warm – cows, men and dogs alike seek shelter under beautiful sweeping trees that remind me of ones I knew from books as a child: Jungle Book or Pocahontas.
I smile.
I get the feeling that if I’d visited 50 years ago, the view would be the same. I feel refreshed seeing the respect paid to the land they live on and the animals they share it with.
There is no abundance so things are cherished.
As I whip through these scenes on my humble moped people stop and stare. Other times as I walk by they are frozen in the presence of this white female.
This is not something I haven’t experienced before. I am no stranger to the predatory leers from the men not acclimatised to the scantily clad Western woman. I ease my discomfort by likening their glances to that of a teenage boy – and in India it is no different.
Other places I have visited the women stare too, but with open disgust and disgrace at my little bikini or summer dress.
But here it is not the case. Here something has changed. As I pass the ladies in their brightly coloured saris, a smile creases their cheeks and a glint appears in their eyes. I see hope appear as they take in my appearance, I smile back…I think I know.
Every time I pass I know I am inspiring, affirming. Please do not assume at this point that these women aspire to a bikini (although I think this isn’t necessarily untrue) but it is more what it stands for, it is more the freedom of choice and ownership of her own identity.
In fact, for some I believe it is the identity of her own and not just sharing that of the man stood beside her. I ponder this idea my whole journey, I reflect on my own rights and that of the women of my country … our triumphs and our downfalls.
And I compare it to those that I see around me here, in India.
As my brain chews over this thought I see a billboard ‘educate the girl child to better your country’ and to the side of this two girls in school uniforms stand in a bus shelter laughing.
It is then that I know I am witnessing the beginning of a revolution, I am riding along the wind of change that is propelling India into an equal future.
There is a long way to go but at least the ball is beginning to roll.
THE GOOD, THE BAD AND THE UGLY – WHY DO WE STILL HATE PEOPLE FOR THE WAY THEY LOOK?
And why have I had to disguise certain words in this article to avoid the robots of social media taking it down because their AI brains just didn’t understand it?
George Floyd wasn’t a good man, no doubt. And on that particular night Marcus Rashford wasn’t the best footballer.
But why are they attacked for their skin?
They came from worlds thousands of miles apart … one from the back streets of Manchester’s notorious Wythenshawe estate. The other from the rough St. Louis Park in Minneapolis.
Marcus became a star and a campaigner … George became a truck driver and bouncer.
Horrifically, as we all know, George died under the knee of a vicious man of authority, a man granted a gun to protect himself and others.
The City of Minneapolis settled a wrongful death case with George’s family for $27 million. They can now be considered rich.
Marcus Rashford is rich by any definition. He is said to earn $13 million (£10m) in a year.
The picture (above) of George Floyd was sent to The Society by the family of Karin, aged 13, who lives in Stropkov, Slovakia.
Karin was watching TV when a news broadcast high-lighted what had happened to George. “It made her very sad,” a family member said.
And a few days ago, a young boy wrote to Marcus. He said: “I hope you won’t be sad for too long because you are such a good person. Last year you inspired me to help people less fortunate. “I’m proud of you. You will always be a hero.”
Out of the minds of babes eh?
And yet still the scoffing laughing hyenas of hatred stalk our streets.
Normally, these people preface their mindless grievances by saying: “I’m not a r*c*st but…” and then go on to explain exactly why they are.
Jadon Sancho, aged 20, and Bukayo Saka, aged 19, also received vile online abuse after missing penalties in the Euro final shoot-out.
But, why does kicking a ball badly deserve a kicking of your psyche and dignity and your human rights too? And why does passing a bad banknote deserve having your life crushed out of you by a man in big boots and a uniform?
Boris Johnson has told the trolls hounding the three young England players to “crawl back under your rock”. He said: “To those who have been directing racist abuse at some of the players, I say shame on you.”
The Met Police have vowed to go after the trolls. Deputy Assistant Commissioner Laurence Taylor said: “We’ve launched a post-event investigation and will actively pursue and investigate offenders and criminal offences.”
Let’s hope that they find them and prosecute them for hating people for nothing other than hatred itself.
This hatred has nothing to do with jobs, patriotism, housing, benefits or crime. It is to do with the pack mentality of vicious animals who attack for pleasure, not survival. And claim they are doing it for Britain.
No they are not.
#patriotism #housing #blm #marucsrashford #georgefloyd #Jadon Sancho #Bukayo Saka #Eurofinal
Is justice finally just around the corner for Keith? His brother’s thoughts…
Alan Bennett, the brother of Keith – victim of Hindley and Brady – has shared these thoughts.
All we can say at The Society is well done Alan and as always we are right behind you.
Alan wrote: “I received an email from the Home Office with an update on the progression of the Police, Crime, Sentencing and Courts Bill. In particular the part that is of main interest to us as Keith’s family and, hopefully, for other families in the future that are in a similar position to us regarding missing loved ones. The main part was as follows: The Bill has passed through the House of Commons and the process will now start again through the House of Lords, expected to take place between September and December with the hope that initial stages may be completed before.
When the Bill was in Committee stage, the Minister for Safeguarding and the opposition’s shadow Policing Minister noted their support for the measures intended to help the police find human remains and expressed their hope that those measures would be able to provide some support for Keith’s family.
So, things are moving along although frustratingly slowly, but still moving along. That can only be a good thing.
Once again, thank you all for your care and support for Keith and his family over all those years and continuing to the present day. It is always very much appreciated and makes the fight for justice that much easier to endure and gives us the boost to keep going.”
I’LL SAY it again: if the Tower of London had been built in Manchester it would have been demolished by now – probably to make way for flats.
Something strange has been going on within the city’s planning authority. Quite recently – I reported it at the time – the authority refused permission to demolish 250-year old derelict weavers cottages in the city’s Northern Quarter to make way for flats.
Conservationists applauded the decision.
But it seems the same application – totally unchanged – went back before the authority this week and members, or a majority, changed their minds, this time approving the demolition.
Three city centre councillors who objected to the original application claim they were kept in the dark over the authority’s decision to reconsider it.
One of them, Sam Wheeler, says the new decision to demolish what he described as “monuments to the working class history of Manchester” is “a cowardly and unconscionable surrender.”
Quite what has happened in the interim to make them approve an application that only weeks ago they rejected remains a mystery.
Perhaps whatever is now built on the site …should contain a fish stall!
~~~~~
HAVE you seen the state of Moston’s Hough Hall recently? Utterly shameful!
The council approved the demolition of part of the Grade II listed building dating back 500 years because it was unsafe.
Well if it was or wasn’t unsafe at that time the decision was made … it sure as hell is now.
Nevertheless, I think it should remain as it is – it could serve as a legacy to the philistines who claim to represent us in the town hall.
~~~~~
THE M.E.N. reports that “a tsunami of opposition” greeted plans to build what it described as “a tombstone skyscraper” on the site of an old car park in the city centre.
The 53-storey tower – designed like so many of Manchester’s tall buildings by someone one with a Lego fetish – will house 850 students flats: 750 letters were received objecting to the plans.
… the planning authority gave it the go ahead!
Diana wasn’t the colour of a frog or a broad bean, for God-sake Wills and Harry!
The Dukes of Cambridge and Sussex united to unveil the official statue of Diana, Princess of Wales, saying “every day we wish she were still with us”.
William and Harry were at Kensington Palace’s Sunken Garden, on what would have been their mother’s 60th birthday.
But did they really like the statue? After all they ‘stumped up’ for a least part of it?
They were spotted guffawing at one point … but it was a more-or-less private ceremony, so a private joke perhaps?
However, the statue, by British sculptor Ian Rank-Broadley, is yet another green one for God-sake!
And nobody should be laughing at that!
Now this is only my own opinion – but it is a bit rank Ian. And it does make me want to ask, why does the middle-crass world of sculpting think the woman who was thought of as one of the most beautiful in the world by so many, looks pretty in green?
When I met Diana, very, very briefly and so many moons ago, she wasn’t the colour of a frog, or a broad bean or a bit of mildewed bronze.
She was a natural beauty, vibrant and, yes, alluring and mysterious.
This new statue – partly paid for by the princes of dysfunctionality apparently – is reminiscent of that very strange tribute which has graced the former mining town of Bloxwich in the West Midlands for the last two decades.
It stood alone by the side of a busy road an outlandish and often neglected relic mawkishly parked outside a funeral directors.
The granite statue was supposed to have been the centrepiece of an exhibition of burial art in May 2000.
But algae turned it green, a far cry from its first look when Black Country stonemason Andrew Walsh carved it in black granite.
At the time, the plan for the the Indian granite statue was to make it the centrepiece of the burial art exhibition. It was scrapped apparently after complaints by Earl Spencer, the younger brother of Princess Diana.
And when Bloxwich and Walsall residents called for the statue to go on display at the New Art Gallery in Walsall, the idea was rejected by councillors along with a local MP, saying – tastelessly – that the statue “looked more like Diana Ross”.
The statue was dealt another blow when the Queen expressed her displeasure about a plan to display it at Walsall bus station.
Finally this particular Diana found a resting place outside the funeral director’s shop.
However, in recent years the statue has started to age.
The weathered figure had green moss over the hair and neckline. Bosses at the firm responded to feedback and cleaned the princess.
Jacky Campbell of Strongs Memorials, which is apparently incorporated into Andrew Walsh Funerals, was quoted as saying: “Moss build up will always be an issue with natural carved granite stone but we always endeavour to clean it off as often as we can.
“We hope that nobody has felt she has been neglected as we receive only positive feedback about her.”
Walsall councillor Richard Worrall has called for a new home for the statue. He said: “I think it deserves prominence somewhere in the borough, it’s a bit of okay public art and we don’t do too well on public art in Walsall. I think it deserves display.”
Recently, members of Facebook group Walsall in Pictures complained over its appearance.
And now we have another mildewy-looking memory of one of the most beautiful women in the world.
