Whatever Happened to MagBaz?
Barry and Margaret Williamson
Locked Down in the Fylde
20th April 2020
We circulated the following on comment when the pandemic first struck and the lockdown began to take its toll. The response from Martin Jeffes (see below) both surprised and delighted us!
Locked Down in the Fylde
20th April 2020
We circulated the following on comment when the pandemic first struck and the lockdown began to take its toll. The response from Martin Jeffes (see below) both surprised and delighted us!
In no more than 600 words we gave some idea of where we were and what we were doing when lockdown struck. It wouldn’t be us unless we also commented on Brexit which, in conjunction with the pandemic, the climate crisis and the coming financial crash, makes one wonder if capitalism was such a good idea after all.
We gave it the title ‘On the Last of the Land’ which is from the Runrig ballad ‘This Beautiful Pain’ in their 1991 album ‘The Big Wheel’. All three of these phrases fit well into our present situation, as do the later lines: ‘Now all that I have is rushing right through my hands’ and ‘Down that tide where fresh and salt combine’. Sometimes music captures a particular experience and mood and then stays with it in the memory.
We hope that after being lifted off the ground and turned upside down by your own Big Wheel, it eventually drops you off dazed but upright and not too far from where it picked you up a few short weeks ago.
We gave it the title ‘On the Last of the Land’ which is from the Runrig ballad ‘This Beautiful Pain’ in their 1991 album ‘The Big Wheel’. All three of these phrases fit well into our present situation, as do the later lines: ‘Now all that I have is rushing right through my hands’ and ‘Down that tide where fresh and salt combine’. Sometimes music captures a particular experience and mood and then stays with it in the memory.
We hope that after being lifted off the ground and turned upside down by your own Big Wheel, it eventually drops you off dazed but upright and not too far from where it picked you up a few short weeks ago.
Lockdown in the Centre of Blackpool
We wrote: "This is a brief response to any questions that might have arisen of the kind “whatever happened to MagBaz”, following the complete lack of recent activity on our websites. On the other hand, it is more than likely that people have other more profound matters on their mind such as “Will it Never End?” or “What Will it be Like when it has Ended?” or “Will I still be Around to Discover the Answer to Questions such as These” or, better still, with Brexit and the Climate Crisis to add to the Pandemic “I’m Glad that I Have lived a Good Long Life up to this Point, do I Really Want any More?”
Anyway, what happened to us is that we got trapped part way through furnishing and refurbishing the flat in Thornton, between Blackpool and Fleetwood, that Margaret inherited from her mother. It had been occupied by tenants for the last ten years or so but they agreeably vacated when we recently returned to England from Greece. We felt the need to have a UK base and above all a pukka address, increasingly pressured to demonstrate that we were English or British or ‘Citizens’ of the United Kingdom, loyal Subjects of Her Majesty. We looked at what it took to provide the vital proof and it usually turned out to be a utility bill, of which we had none. Now we have too many, so with ease we can get on the Electoral Roll, hire a car, get a bus pass (also valid on trams if they were running), register with a doctor (a lot of use that is), use the services of a solicitor and avoid the dreaded classification of ‘non-resident’ or ‘of no fixed abode’ with all that now implies.
The work on the flat was coming to an end, and we had already planned our route out via Harwich before Easter, when the borders began to close and the ‘lockdown’ (a term usually applied to unruly people who were already imprisoned) struck. Fortunately we had found a safe place for the motorhome in a nearby locked-down field for less than £1 a day.
Anyway, what happened to us is that we got trapped part way through furnishing and refurbishing the flat in Thornton, between Blackpool and Fleetwood, that Margaret inherited from her mother. It had been occupied by tenants for the last ten years or so but they agreeably vacated when we recently returned to England from Greece. We felt the need to have a UK base and above all a pukka address, increasingly pressured to demonstrate that we were English or British or ‘Citizens’ of the United Kingdom, loyal Subjects of Her Majesty. We looked at what it took to provide the vital proof and it usually turned out to be a utility bill, of which we had none. Now we have too many, so with ease we can get on the Electoral Roll, hire a car, get a bus pass (also valid on trams if they were running), register with a doctor (a lot of use that is), use the services of a solicitor and avoid the dreaded classification of ‘non-resident’ or ‘of no fixed abode’ with all that now implies.
The work on the flat was coming to an end, and we had already planned our route out via Harwich before Easter, when the borders began to close and the ‘lockdown’ (a term usually applied to unruly people who were already imprisoned) struck. Fortunately we had found a safe place for the motorhome in a nearby locked-down field for less than £1 a day.
The Cycle Path from Fleetwood to Blackpool (with a glimpse of the Tower)
And so we wait, using the time to sort through countless slides, photographs, notes, diaries and memorabilia generated by 33 unbroken years of world-wide independent travel. We also cycle most days, with modest rides of up to 30 miles along the shore of the Irish Sea between Fleetwood and St Anne’s-on-the-Sea via Blackpool, and inland on the network of country lanes in the Fylde between here and the line of the M6 from Preston to Lancaster. Our recent e-bikes rest in the garage next to our real bikes: Paul Hewitt-built long-distance traditional tourers. For each ride we have the choice of bike and somehow it is always the Paul Hewitts that get out onto the road.
Feuds with neighbours give rise to light entertainment and glimpses of the TV programming help explain what has happened to the average IQ of the English people, such that we now have both Brexit and Boris Johnson. Let’s see how endlessly repeated propagandistic slogans fare against an aggressive oriental coronavirus pandemic. Take Back Control! Get Brexit Done! Wash Your Hands! Stay at Home! Send the Virus Packing (in 3 weeks?)! Protect the NHS (we thought it was supposed to protect us)!
It’s a great relief to know that we have both experienced, enjoyed and made full use of the last half a century, rather than having to look forward to the next!"
Feuds with neighbours give rise to light entertainment and glimpses of the TV programming help explain what has happened to the average IQ of the English people, such that we now have both Brexit and Boris Johnson. Let’s see how endlessly repeated propagandistic slogans fare against an aggressive oriental coronavirus pandemic. Take Back Control! Get Brexit Done! Wash Your Hands! Stay at Home! Send the Virus Packing (in 3 weeks?)! Protect the NHS (we thought it was supposed to protect us)!
It’s a great relief to know that we have both experienced, enjoyed and made full use of the last half a century, rather than having to look forward to the next!"
Martin's Response
The following reply came from Martin Jeffes to whom we will be eternally grateful for its insight and for the campsite he built, maintains and manages in Bulgaria. It's called 'Sakar Hills Camping' and it's very near that country's borders with both Greece and Turkey.
Martin wote: "The answer to 'Whatever happened to Magbaz', could, if one is blessed with a fertile mind, run to volumes, but my answer to the question is 'nothing'. Magbaz is like the wind. It's far more now than you two old codgers, rattling round the countryside on your bicycles, and annoying your neighbours. Not many people get to create something that will stand the test of time, but I reckon you two have done it in spades."
The following reply came from Martin Jeffes to whom we will be eternally grateful for its insight and for the campsite he built, maintains and manages in Bulgaria. It's called 'Sakar Hills Camping' and it's very near that country's borders with both Greece and Turkey.
Martin wote: "The answer to 'Whatever happened to Magbaz', could, if one is blessed with a fertile mind, run to volumes, but my answer to the question is 'nothing'. Magbaz is like the wind. It's far more now than you two old codgers, rattling round the countryside on your bicycles, and annoying your neighbours. Not many people get to create something that will stand the test of time, but I reckon you two have done it in spades."