It was D-Day yesterday

but it went almost unmentioned here. The Prime Minister went off to France along with the last few survivors of that day. There was a little news footage of them and of a 93yr old American who parachuted in again seventy years later. That was about it.
Locally, most of the schools do not appear to have mentioned the occasion - or, if they have, they have done it only in passing. The Whirlwind's school had assembly and it was mentioned there. One of the former students was a nurse in the army at the time. She was working in France but not in Normandy. The Whirlwind came home for the weekend in a very sombre mood after listening to "this really old lady who still went on being alive after the most awful horrible things happened".
My father did not go to war. He would have enlisted but his eyesight was so bad they refused to take him. He was never sorry about that. He had no desire to go to war. He is, at heart, a pacifist but says he would protect his family.
I often wonder what sort of person he would be now if he had been to war. He is a very gentle person. It takes a great deal for him to express anger even though he may feel it. His GP recently said to me, "He's the sort of person I want to take home with me he so lovely." War would have changed him. He would not be the person he is now.
War changed many men. They came back different men. Many of them never talked about it. Some of them seemed unchanged but, underneath it all, there must have been - and must still be - the most appalling memories. There would be - and no doubt are - the really dark moments that come up behind you and grab you unexpectedly. They would perhaps come at what should be the happiest moments. They would come with a fragment of a song, seeing a young man in uniform walk along the street.
Years ago I knew a farmer who had been to war. It was a hot day. We were waiting for my father and someone else in the main street of a tiny country community when an air force jet flew over head. He looked up at it and then saw that I had shivered slightly. He put his hand briefly on my shoulder and said,
"It's all right - but you never forget."
He didn't say any more. I never said anything. I was about twelve at the time and I never mentioned his words to anyone - but I have never forgotten.

It is sad that learning a

second language at any age can help to keep our brains active and ward off dementia.
I suspect that more research is needed to actually back this statement because I do know older and once bilingual people who now have severe dementia. I also came across two more at the hospital yesterday. They were new patients in the psychiatric ward my friend is in.
One patient was an elderly Greek woman who was clearly confused. She had Greek visitors, one of whom is friendly with another elderly Greek woman I know. The visitor recognised me and, before I could go any further, started to ask me questions in a mixture of Greek and English. I took a wild guess at what she was asking and explained as best I could in simple English. At least she did not, like some older Greeks I have met, believe you can catch dementia in the way you can catch cold. The nurses looked on bemused and then relieved.
Then, while waiting for the nurses to finish "a procedure" to my friend, the new patient from the room next door came out. He looked at me in a puzzled sort of way and said,
"H-ello."
It was clear that getting the word out was an effort. I returned his greeting and smiled at him. He smiled back and wandered off down the corridor. The "tea lady" asked him if he wanted a drink. He heard her but he didn't seem to understand her at all. He stood there for a few minutes and then wandered back again. The door next to his was open. He stared in obviously confused about where he was. I also know enough to know that the occupant of that room would cause a serious disturbance if he entered her space.
So, there being no staff in the immediate vicinity, I said "No, R.... "
He looked at me. I suspect people have been saying "No, R..." for long enough that he does still understand that. I pointed to his door. He smiled and put both thumbs up and went into the room. After a while he came out and just stood in the doorway.  He seemed completely confused again. I suspect he has Alzheimer's and he may be there to be assessed for a nursing home. His name is also one which suggests English is not his first language.
Older speakers of English as second language who have dementia are a growing problem here. Even those with excellent English tend to revert to their first language. My sister's mother-in-law never had good English and, by the time she died, all she spoke was Greek. Others find English confusing and no longer follow questions or instructions well. Speak to them in their own language and they may do considerably better.
I just wonder at how confusing and frightening the world must be if you are losing your capacity to communicate. That would be frightening in itself but to have everyone around you speaking a language which is not your language would be far worse.
I was able to go in and see my friend at last. We can communicate in the same language. She is still rational and able to understand and make herself understood. That is something to be thankful for - even though she might not realise it now.
On my way out I see R... again. He smiles at me and says "H-ello."
And I smile and say "Hello" back because at least I can do that much for him.

I was helping someone make an FOI

request yesterday. The information he wants is not unreasonable and it would not be in the least bit time consuming to give it to him but I doubt his request will succeed.
Why? Government departments do not like giving out information, any sort of information. This information relates to someone else, his father. His father now has Alzheimer's and cannot request the information himself. If the government can go on denying the request then they will also save money - which would then be used to care for this man's father.
I suspect there is absolutely nothing new in this story. It is the sort of thing which happens all the time. It is not the first time I have tried to help someone in a similar situation and it probably won't be the last.
I once tried accessing some information about myself - and I couldn't get it. There was absolutely nothing difficult about it and I would not have thought there was anything secret about it but I could not obtain it. What did I want? The exact dates of my employment with a government department. What was so secret about that? I was told that the request would be "too time consuming" and that it could not be justified. It was a matter of looking up my file - still there - and sending me the information in an e-mail. I needed the information to prove I had been employed by them for a certain length of time. No, nothing doing - even if I paid for it. (You can pay to obtain information under some circumstances.)
It was the sort of response which made me think that most "freedom of information" requests are routinely turned down. If you go back a second or third time then you might get a response. And then, curiously, there is an article in this morning's paper about an inquiry into FOI requests which suggests just that. Requests are routinely turned down.
I am sure there are people who have abused the FOI request system. They ask for all sorts of information which would be time consuming to access and pass on. They don't need that information or they intend to abuse it when they get it. They are litigious and make a nuisance of themselves in a myriad of ways. That sort of behaviour makes it much more difficult for everyone.
But I also think there are public servants who find pleasure in the power they have to deny information. There are also governments who are paranoid about the public having information, any information - even the most innocuous information. What might someone do with the knowledge that the government employed me between certain dates? Is it just possible I might get a job somewhere else if that information is supplied? Are they afraid I might take state secrets with me? (Yes, I know a few but I am not in the least bit interested in divulging them to anyone. The information is actually pretty dull.)
I went to the doctor on the day before yesterday. She cheerfully showed me the computer screen with all my information on it. I know she would not do that to everyone but she knows my father, she knows my sister and she knows me. Her attitude is, "You're an intelligent person. You should be informed." My medical issues are my concern and she knows it. Much the same could be said for other information, especially if it relates to the ability to be responsible for oneself.
I am wondering what the point of our FOI legislation is if you can't actually get the information. The man I was helping knows it may take more than the FOI request. We actually discussed how he might proceed when the request is turned down.
The problem is that we know that, by the time he gets the information he needs, it may be too late. And that is of course precisely what the government is hoping.

MIlk causes autism?

Give me a break! Please!
I have just caught up with this piece of nonsense from PETA - People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals - and I feel more than a little angry with them.
I do not condone animal cruelty but PETA goes too far in demanding that everyone turns to a vegan diet and ceases using all animal products or clothing. Their zeal is akin to the zeal of religious fundamentalists.
PETA has done great harm to the lives of many of the poorest people in the world who depend on animals for their livelihood. Alternatives to animal dependent living do not come as easily as PETA would have people to believe.
But PETA has gone too far now - much too far. We had, indeed still have, the nonsense from those who would have us believe that vaccination causes autism. All that was based on one discredited study but it still gets repeated and repeated. There are people, many otherwise well educated and intelligent people, who believe it. Even after they have been shown further evidence to discredit their belief they go on believing it. Like a belief in a "flat earth" nothing is going to change their beliefs. They will put the lives of their children - and others - at risk by failing to vaccinate their children.
Now it is likely that people will deny their children dairy products in the belief that they are "saving them from getting autism". They will not be concerned that they may be subjecting their children to other health issues.
It is entirely understandable that the parents of a child with autism will look for an external reason for their child's behaviour. If they can lay the blame for the child's problems somewhere else their own feelings of guilt will be lessened. They can join the club of parents who were not informed or were ill-advised. It will, so they think, "not be (their) fault". That it is not their fault anyway is something they can ignore because they have something else to blame, something else at which to direct their anger and frustration and disappointment.
But the problem is that doing this causes problems for other people. It allows organisations like PETA to do great harm. The idea that milk causes autism makes no logical sense at all - we might as well say that autism causes milk. The two ideas are equally ridiculous.

I am tired of hearing about Rolf Harris

and I wish the media would concentrate on more important people - like the woman at risk of being hung for her religious beliefs.
Now please don't misunderstand me. I think it is important that the allegations of sexual misconduct being made against Mr Harris are investigated. They are very serious and, if true, they are to be condemned in the strongest possible way.
Mr Harris was an entertainer with a big following and a great deal of influence. I could never understand this. I always looked on him as a "smart-alec" and a show off. His style of "entertaining" never did anything for me. It was too slick and reminded me of commercials on television - something else which irritate me.
His trial however should not be made into a media circus. It is serious court business, not entertainment of any sort. Given his past influence it is proper that the outcome is known but we do not need the salacious details the media appears to be intent on giving us.
The case of Meriam Ibrahim is an entirely different thing. We know very little about her or her husband. There has been some interest in the media - but far less than there has been in the Harris trial. Why?
I suspect it is because, despite the moves by human rights organisations and the condemnation by some Prime Ministers and Presidents, people are fearful of upsetting powerful political interests. There will be Islamic countries where the sentence will be approved of by radicals and by religious leaders. Condemning someone to death for their religious beliefs would come easily to some of these people. There will be terrorist groups such as Boko Haram who will strongly support such a sentence.
And people will say, "We have to move carefully. We have to be careful not to upset these groups or they will do even more harm than they are already doing. We mustn't negotiate with them but..."
Oh yes it is always that "but..."
I recently read the autobiography of Malala Yousafzai. It is not a particularly well written book but what comes through strongly is her passion for learning and ensuring others also have the right to learn - and her homesickness for her own valley in her own country. At the moment she is someone who is off centre stage - and that is probably a good thing for someone so young - but it would be better for all of us if we could concentrate on her story, on Meriam Ibrahim's story, and on the story of hundreds of thousands of people like them.
We don't need to know the sordid details of alleged sexual promiscuity by an ageing entertainer. It is just taking attention from the important things in life - education, dignity, compassion, freedom to believe and a belief in life itself.

There were no plain sultanas

in the little snack packs in the supermarket.
          "They have to have them somewhere!" the man next to me said frantically, "I don't like the cranberry sort."
I didn't even know there was a cranberry sort.
I told him I was sorry I could not help.
He looked helplessly at me.
         "I don't buy sultanas like that," I told him, "If I want sultanas I buy them like this - or this."
I indicated the larger packets.
         "They're too big."
         "Yes, but if I wanted a take along snack like that I would put them into a small container. You can buy containers about that size. It's a lot cheaper."
He stared at me as if I was speaking a foreign language.
The only other things in his trolley were packets of oats, two boxes of long life milk (twenty litres in all) and two boxes of 100 tea bags.
And then I remembered him. We had met, briefly, at the checkout some years ago.
"You're the man who lives alone and comes shopping twice a year - for your breakfast."
He looked startled.
"How did you know that?"
I explained.
"You have a good memory."
Perhaps. Now that I was sure he lived alone I said,
"Wait a moment."
I went around into the next aisle and came back with a pack of four tiny containers - intended for snacks like sultanas.
"This is what you need," I told him.
He stared at them as if they were completely foreign to him.
I did some quick mental arithmetic and told him that, if he chose the option of filling the containers he would save a certain amount - rather a lot in fact. That did interest him.
He took the containers and then said, "If I had two lots then I would only need to do it once a week."
"True."
He put the sultanas in the trolley and went around to get another lot of containers.
And then he stood there in front of me again and asked,
"But these are a different size from the packets. How do I know how many to put in?"
He was quite serious.
"Have you still got a small packet at home?" I asked him.
He nodded and, looking very pleased with himself, said "You mean I can use that to measure these?"
"That's the idea," I said and I went on my way.
What I did not tell him was that I doubt a larger packet of sultanas is going to be enough for six months. He can find that out for himself.
And yes, this is absolutely true. It would be impossible to live with him.

"I'm frightened of people"

my elderly friend told me.
It was an admission that did not surprise me but it did sadden me.
I had, despite the rain, gone to see an elderly friend in a nursing home yesterday. It was not what I wanted to spend a wet Saturday afternoon doing. I would have preferred to be sitting at the computer doing the rewrite of the book - something I have not had a chance to touch in the past eleven days.
I did not want to spend another afternoon visiting anyone in a close to hospital type environment. There has been too much going to and from a hospital recently - and I have to go again today.
But, I had promised something. I promised I would go to see her. It was not because she expected to see met that I went. I had made that promise to the young man who is living in her house and getting it ready for sale. I try not to break promises and I did not know if he had told her when he went to see her earlier in the week. As it was I was feeling guilty. My friend and her husband had been moved very suddenly. The move had not surprised me. He has Alzheimer's and she had a stroke at the beginning of the year. She has made a remarkable recovery from the stroke but looking after him was too much. They struggled on for a few months until places became available.
My friend has always seemed to lack confidence. I met her about twenty years ago - when she and her husband moved in to a house not far from here. She asked me where the closest pillar box was and I showed her. After that we talked when I saw her. I taught her how to use their computer because her husband was writing a book and she was doing the work of typing it up. Back then he was still teaching a course at the university.
I sensed then that he was a bully. She never seemed quite relaxed, even when he was out of the house. "R....won't like it," was something she told me often.
She is however the generation which has remained with their husbands because divorce was not to be considered, especially if you did not go back to work after the birth of the children. Even if it had been my place to say something it would have done no good.
But now they have been separated. He is in one nursing home and she is in another.
Despite the admission that she is frightened of people I sensed relief. She looked much more relaxed after just three weeks. While she had not wanted to go to the "rock-n-roll" concert that afternoon ("not my sort of music as you know") and she is not interested in football ("never have been") she spoke about going on an outing.
What did she do all day? She reads. She does crosswords and she is thinking about joining one of the groups in the wider complex.
"And I am going to watch some television in the evenings. R...would never let me watch television. He said it was all rubbish  but there are some good documentaries. I always wanted to watch some of those."
And, suddenly, more came tumbling out. The man had clearly tried to control every aspect of her life. What I had always suspected was correct. He was never physically abusive but he was an emotional bully. It is scarcely surprising that it left her frightened of people.
My friend is in her late eighties now. I don't know how much longer she has to live but I hope that the time she does have will be very different. I hope she sees all those nature and travel documentaries, that she sees all the places she never had a chance to see, that she can read all the non-fiction she wants without being told "you won't understand that" and that she finds some companionship in her new home.
I won't bother to go and see her husband. He would not remember I had been and - I really don't want to visit a bully. Is that wrong of me?