K.J. Bennett's Blog

As a member of Newton Abbot Photographic Club I was part of a wonderful outing to Oldway Mansion on 24th March 2022 for a model shoot under the tutelage of a certain Clive Figes. It was a pretty marvellous day and I came away with some highly acceptable images. The gallery can be found here – Lenka. I hope you… Continue reading Model Shoot

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How many times do we hear it? “By [doing this+], [Joe Bloggs*] changed the course of history…” +insert appropriate deed here *insert appropriate name here Learned experts with university degrees (even in subjects such as History and English) often say this on TV,  but they are wrong – for two reasons. 1: When Joe Bloggs… Continue reading Changing the Course of History? Really?

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… post on the internert after three home made Cosmoplitan cocktails. Take myy word forrit. by

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I think I've killed them off, now, but others may be lurking.

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My site continues to expand, this time with ... a fine array of moustaches

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My first photo gallery is now live ...

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Stuff happens that derails one's preferred path...

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I don’t normally do politics on blogs or social media – goodness, I’d hate to influence peoples views, and I do have that level of clout, y'know - but the general election, complete with a surprise Tory majority, is worthy of my comment.
Whatever your views on the winners, I think they should pass a law that dictates that if you couldn't be bothered to vote, and you didn't have a good excuse for that, don’t whinge about the outcome.
On top of that, whosoever thought that the coupling of the two Eds – Miliband and Balls – was a winning combination needs their heads examining. Quite apart from the fact that one came across like a wet lettuce and the other exudes the grace and personality of a raging bull elephant in mating season (but with far less charm), there was another inherent problem. 
These days it's the in thing to combine the names of famous couples – you know, Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie became Bragelina -  but if you try it with Ed and Ed what do you get? 
MILIBALLS, that’s what.
Ye Gads! We could have been the laughing stock of Europe if they’d come to power!

This is nothing to do with Blondie’s massive hit album of the same name, so if you’re looking for pictures of Ms Deborah Harry looking at her cutest and bestest in the 1970s, look away now – for what I have here is a pair of genuine parallel lines, and they predate Blondie’s achievement by about ten years.
Yeah, I got there first.
In September 1968 I started in my first year at Macclesfield Central School for Boys. I was 11 years old and, in today’s parlance, I was in year seven. Within two months I was defacing the wall of our not-so-beloved school with some bright yellow paint that wouldn't have looked out of place on the roadside, keeping traffic wardens in work.
Macclesfield Central School for Boys
 
I’m not ashamed, and I wasn’t alone: there were four of us, and there was a maths teacher overseeing our wanton act of vandalism.
You see, on 18 October 1968, a certain Mr Bob Beamon smashed the men’s long jump world record by more than 21 inches with an astounding jump of 29 feet, 2½ inches at the summer Olympics in Mexico. I’m not sure whose summer it was – it was autumn in England.
Also, on 17 October 1968, a certain Mr Viktor Saneyev achieved a new world record in the triple jump – twice. In fact, the record was set four times that day. It went like this –
17.22 m Giuseppe Gentile17.23 m Viktor Sanyeyev17.27 m Nelson Prudêncio17.39 m Viktor Sanyeyev 
For those who don’t understand metric, 17.39 m = a little over 57 feet. For those who don’t understand triple jump, join the club: probably the only ones who do are the ones who jump and judge it.
So, back to the lines.
Once the 1968 Olympics had ended, one of the PE teachers thought it would be a great idea to get some first year students to paint a memorial in celebration of these records on the wall of the school. Being a PE teacher he didn't have the capacity for anything too artistic, so it was to take the form of two yellow lines to match the distances jumped. Simple, yet effective.
Over the course of the next couple of PE lessons, myself, Robert Franklyn, Ian Parker and Martin Patience painted two very neat and precisely measured yellow lines on the wall of the school. I had the honour of writing the measurements at the end of the lines, and one of the others wrote the words.
I left Macclesfield at the end of the third year when my nomadic father, not content with moving four times in four years within Macclesfield, decided it was time to move back to Cornwall. I barely gave the yellow lines a thought until I recently found myself in the area and decided to drop in oo Macclesfield.  I tracked down the school, which is now disused and slightly derelict, and there, just visible, were the two yellow lines. OK, they look a little white, but zooming in, the yellow is still there. And the best preserved bit is my decorative numbering, I disown the writing beneath – it’s too neat for me to have done it, and the infamous  Apostrophe Protection Society  will note that the word “Mens” is lacking one.
The faded lines, from a distance, look white
On closer inspection, traces of yellow can be seen. Note the intricate numbering on the far right ... admire the technique

I first visited Paul Cummins’ art installation at the Tower of London back on 5th August when the attraction had just opened.  It was a work in progress, but a magnificent memorial, regardless of its incompleteness.

 By 11 November 2014 there will be 888,246 ceramic poppies occupying the moat of the Tower. Yesterday, Saturday 18 October, I became part of this history, and planted a few of these poppies myself. Along with my wife, three sisters-in-law and a brother in law, and about 194 other volunteers, I spent the afternoon in the moat next to Traitors’ Gate, assembling and planting these beautiful red flowers and generally being a tourist attraction.
Just think of that number: 888,246. 


That’s one flower for each of the colonial soldiers killed in the First World War. It sounds a lot, but that number is overwhelming when you wander around the moat and see the vast expanse of red flowers – and the installation is still expanding.


It was an enjoyable afternoon – warm, friendly and worthwhile. We stayed into the evening to witness the role call: at sundown each night, the names of 180 of those who died is read out at the front of the tower. I was amazed at the thousands of people who gathered for this event in total silence – silence except for sound of London traffic, the sirens of emergency vehicles ... and the mobile phone that rang during the reading of names. 

 
Then came the last post.
 A solitary guardsman stood on a small mound amidst the poppies and let his trumpet sing the mournful tune.

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