So Long, and Thanks for All the Beach

Amiable Reader,

I wrote a rather awful poem under the above title that I would consider sharing here, were it not for its awfulness.

I’m off then, supposedly to do something productive with my life. I’ve got a few tutorials I’d certainly like to produce over the next couple of weeks at least – you’ll soon be seeing a nice Google Maps API tutorial or two here, and maybe an AJAX tutorial as well so long as all goes well.

I have very almost finished off the few illustrations of Aberystwyth that I was working on, so they’ll be up here too! (Yes, more annoying history posts to come!)

Actually, this general description of my life I’m attempting seems to be about as awful as that poem anyway, so enjoy:

The creak of the eves casting fishing-rod shadows;
The crunch of the net knit from nettles and thorn,
As the shoals of the treetops breathe out in a murmur
And glint in the rose-water dawn.

Cold heaven was winter when it was around us,
And laced in perfection the ice and the snow.
Then came on the springtime and rang out the greenwood
To the blossom of cherry and sloe.

High on broke the summer and christened the hillside
With the heat and the heart of a friendlier day,
And the crowd and the hubbub were singing together
That I so soon must away.

The castles of bird-song broke high in the cloudscape,
The sea and the sand were a sigh on their own,
As the last of swallows that had come here but shortly;
Like I, to far places had flown.

I’ll see you all for Halloween! (Apparently I’m going as Lois.)

The Last Person to Live in Aberystwyth Castle

Genial Reader,

My very final last ever absolutely no more post on Aberystwyth history… unless I find anything else that I just have to blog about in my last week here.

It has been established by some, dear reader, that Aberystwyth castle was entirely abandoned and has been a ruin ever since Cromwell took a disliking to it and blew it up in 1649. But, reader! I intend to topple that suggestion and instead present my tale of the last man to live at Aberystwyth Castle.

I only really thought that there was a chance someone had called Aberystwyth castle home and converted part of it out of a ruin when I came across a manuscript picture while researching whether Plas Crug had really been an ancient castle or not (sadly, reader, it is proven by contemporary accounts that Plas Crug truly was not).

Aberystwyth Castle, A Tour to South Wales by Thomas Martyn, 1801

This picture shows a window in the northern-most surviving tower (far left) of Aberystwyth Castle which looks to be mid-eighteenth century, so what is it doing there?

This is the second earliest image that I can find of the castle, the previous being drawn in about 1740. While there are other images claiming to be between 1740 and 1801, these are all copies based on the 1740 drawing, and are not original engravings. The next drawing of the castle was done by S.R. Meyrick in about 1807, but is from a different angle, and in fact no other drawings show the window.

Not long after all this, the Victorians repaired much of the ruins and tidied them up, as they had a knack of doing to so many medieval buildings and remains around the country, and any evidence for or against this curious window was lost.

I have borrowed the below image from aberystwyth.com because it illustrates my reasoning perfectly, and my phone is currently not working so I can’t take a similar photo myself.

The northern-most tower as it appears today.

The window opening is certainly completely gone, and the other rectangular opening has been half-closed up by later Victorian repairs. So where is my evidence that there might ever have been anything there?

Well, good reader, on the right hand side of the photo you can see the Victorian repairs to the curtain wall (rebuilding is a more accurate word), but only a little way into the right of the photo it stops and butts up against a stone wall of a cruder, older construction. This can’t be a wall built before the destruction of the castle, because it completely cuts through where walls would otherwise jut out from the remains of the medieval room it encloses. It also itself butts up against the external wall of the round tower.

So, this appears to be a wall built after the castle was destroyed, but before it was turned into a tourist attraction by the Victorians. Could it be, then, that this is the remnant of some mid-eighteenth century fisherman’s house, built using the remains of the ancient castle? It would explain the survival of that tower while other parts of the castle were robbed away.

Perhaps it was not some noble Cavalier or rebelling Roundhead who was the last man to have Aberystwyth Castle as his home; instead perhaps, during the storms and winters that the castle constantly faces, it was some poor Welsh fisherman, his family alongside, who dwelt in the remains of that place for the last time.

The glad reflection of conjecture.

Farewell, good reader.

Go Build a Solar System

Curious Reader,

Far from the pleasant merits of bookbinding, or the toil of revision, I would gladly like to produce here a piece of work that I have spent the grand total of a few hours on a train and a couple of sleepless nights on – a solar system!

Alright, maybe I’m getting a little grandiose in my plans, but please, kind reader, have a go at this small project (that really is just the start of what I plan to build) and go build a solar system.

It’s not as awesome yet as I hope it soon will be.

There might be a lot of physics lacking, and I’m right now working on implementing some pretty elliptical and figure-of-eight-shaped orbits that I’ve written. Then comes planets pulling each other into themselves and maybe a few other curious things like moons. This is an active testing directory for it, so it will change when I have time and there are going to be plenty of bugs.

Farewell, kind reader.

Why Immigration is Awesome

Worthy Reader,

I have restrained myself from being too political upon these curious folds of the internet where my blog is perpetually perched, but certain notions have made me write this blog post. Whether I publish it or whether it remains quiet like countless other posts is yet to be seen, but I suppose your reading this proves quite assuredly the former.

Immigration is awesome. It’s been proven countless times throughout history. It does not reduce job prospects for those already here, and it enriches, not deminishes our culture.

At the end of the 17th century the king of France, Louis XIV, dramatically increased his persecution of protestants, leading to an incredible exodus of French workers entering Britain – largely into the south of England. The population of England is supposed to have risen by between 2 and 3% in a matter of a year or so; if it happened today that would be the equivalent of nearly one and a half million people, with many, many more following in subsequent years.

Estimated figures of current annual immigration, including some idea of illegal immigration numbers, is only about 10% of that; and it appears to be falling.

So, why is immigration awesome?

Firstly, the economy has always flourished following immigration; rather than losing jobs, history has shown us that immigration brings huge new opportunities to workers; both those who are new to this country and those who have lived here all their lives. For example, the Tudor dynasty had a love for Italian styles and openned up Britain to the world in a way that this small medieval country had never been before. By doing so, rather than remaining isolated and poor, the entire country revelled in the renaisance and amazing ‘foreign’ ideas. By having foreign workers, designers, architects, artists, and many more besides, Britain’s economy and culture flourished, and many things that are now seen as very British came here for the first time from distant lands.

The economy followed the same suite following the mass French protestant migration of the 1680s-1700s, when at the first arrival of the poor, wandering French, they were disliked and distrusted; they soon employed themselves in their previous skills, and brought new wonders to Britain. Whole parts of London were built to accomodate the huge growth in silk weaving that the French craftsmen brought with them, which would stoke the furnaces of economy for the rest of the eighteenth century; bringing jobs to tens of thousands of otherwise prospectless Englishmen.

Likewise, our culture is far from a constant ‘English’ way of life, and there is barely any part that has not come from other parts of the world. Tea was introduced to us by the descendants of Portuguese explorers who immigrated here; sausages were brought over by Roman immigrants. Even our language barely holds a note of those truly native ‘British’ who lived here two thousand years ago, and is instead a poetic mixture of Latin, German, and other odd fragments of languages that we so happily speak.

We’re always afraid that change will result in disaster; some going as far as believing that only a fool would risk nationality by allowing immigration. But if anything has any track record of ending in great fortune, wonderful artwork, and an enriched culture, then it is immigration. And by disliking and fearing immigration we are putting at risk not just our nationality, but our country itself.

Adue, kind reader.

The Salad Ballad

Questionable Reader,

About two years ago I suddenly realised that the Salad Ballad was the best title for a poem I had ever thought of. Unable to think of a poem to go with it, I noted the title down and left it.

Two years on, peas enjoy the finished piece.

Celery? ‘Tis awful stuff?
More olive oil – that’s not enough!
Now pile on the lettuce thick;
Yes, higher, higher, that’s the trick!
We’ll stick these odd things into there –
What’s their name? Oh I don’t care!
Some cucumber would really do;
Nine or ten, not one or two!
Now, radishes – they taste alright,
We cleared the peppers out last night.
Some onion, chop them up, not whole!
We’ll need a bigger salad bowl.
Get those mushrooms over – fast!
I know their use-date’s three months past!
Now beetroot, nothing can compete;
There’s nothing worse to have to eat.
And Broccoli? In salads? Why?
Oh – I suppose – it’s worth a try.
Potatoes, no that will not do,
But let’s put in a grape or two.
And last, of course, we’ll look and say;
“Lets just go get a take away.”

Farewell for now, dear reader.