Saturday, 7 August 2021

On Changing My Mind.

F

Familiar sight of Hans Memling on his 
Woensdagmarkt pedestal.

As I sit and type I hear the lovely clopping sounds of horses’ hooves as four carriages pass along Genthof  en route to the Markt for the happily-increasing numbers of tourists. When I came to live here in early February 2015 I already adored Brugge but it was the soundscape from my flat which unceasingly enchanted me. The sounds of the hooves trotting rhythmically along the road each morning ; the register of different church and convent bells, some muted some tiny and hesitant;
others triumphant; the tumbling notes from the Belfort tower; these were new and delightful to me and they continue to please enormously. In fact, these sparkling melodies are addictive and have become part of my every day pleasure. They remind me daily of how good life here is and how we need to nourish the present by referral to the past. 
The familiar Markt with the Belfort in the centre,
horse-drawn carriages to the right and the statue to
commemorate the Battle of the Golden Spurs, 1302.
I shall miss these familiar Brugge sounds when I go back next year to live in England. I was dipping into previous blogs earlier this week and came across the one I wrote a year ago after I had stayed briefly with my daughter in Bury St Edmonds.

"I hope not to have to leave Brugge till the Final Curtain, but if I did have to return to the U.K., provided the mind remained open, I would now choose Bury St Edmunds for its gripping historical continuity and its beautiful old stones and walkways. It is an historical and aesthetic gem."

18th century houses within the ancient abbey walls.
Bury St Edmunds.


Visitors exploring Bruges by horse-drawn carriage.
 











But in one short year I have changed my mind about remaining here till The End! I guess that Lockdown has played its part as I haven’t seen family for between a year and eighteen months and I have missed them. It didn’t matter pre-Covid that I lived here, as friends and family visited quite often and it wasn’t difficult for me to return or someone to come here. But now, it is still impossible without quarantining which no one wants to do. But there is more, and this is the most important strand. I have aged during this last year; not at all disastrously. I do not need any medication; I walked, chatting with a friend, for two hours this morning along canals and empty streets, slowly it is true, but surely. As far as I know, I don’t have anything disastrously wrong with my health. The memory is a little less effective; annoying but nothing to worry about. I don’t think I look a year older but I DO feel older! Chiefly, my balance is less good and that is irritating but also impossible to change. No but importantly, I do feel strangely more vulnerable and have also discovered an unsuspected desire to live closer to family. I always listen to my feelings and now they tell me to move closer to family! So, next year, when I can find somewhere beautiful to live in Bury St Edmunds, I shall go and have been busy telling family and friends of my as-yet vague plans.

I can’t begin to enumerate the things here which I shall miss; it will be a removal from a subconsciously -sought haven of beauty and tranquillity. But I need, at my age, 87 at the end of July, to try to keep ahead of the curve and place myself in the best place for me, Old age is a time for self-centredness and forethought as well as poor balance and the increasing difficulty of remembering names! And I comfort myself with the worthy thought that my living in England will make it easier for my children as I stumble towards the Final Waiting Room! This honourable thought should not detract from the original intention of self-preservation; I mustn’t pretend to be too worthy! So it will be adieu Beloved Brugge next year. I predict a long, and possibly tearful, good-bye. That said, I already feel excited about the move to live near my daughter and grand-daughter in Bury St Edmunds.

Along the Coupure, a favourite walk.

Sunset, Brugge.

Part of my terrace which has been a constant
joy during Lockdown et al.


Saturday, 31 July 2021

Birthdays? Bring 'em on!!

 

Birthday bubbly, after Mah Jong
before Chinese feast!
Chef to the right of the picture.

I have delayed this week’s blog till next week in a burst of birthday festivity. First as I opened up my Lenovo this morning, it was charming to read on-screen, “Averil Clayton’s birthday Tomorrow all day.” Even my computer loves me once a year, I thought! After Petanque [much-loved but seldom-played these last several weeks!] was cancelled yet again in the face of robust showers nicely timed for 9.00 a.m. I was thus home when a delivery man called with TWO bouquets. He was happy to catch me as one bouquet sender had specified, After 17.00 and the other, Before mid-day. Lovely to discover the beautifully-coordinated roses were from California and the other with my favourite Agapanthus shining azure in the floral midst, from local friends. How lucky am I! The subsequent activity involving throwing away the last two weeks’ flowers after rescuing still-living stems and blooms for small vases, and incidentally scattering many petals from the fading flowers over the black-tiled floor nicely-timed to be sprinkled around by the stiff breeze from the open terrace door. It took forever as I arranged, clipped, selected but eventually after finishing my truly enjoyable chores, a friend arrived to pick up something before her departure for France tomorrow and she left promising a birthday bottle of French wine!! This birthday lark should definitely occur more often though the mounting numbers might give pause for thought!!

I wrote the above four days ago since when I have received a total of FIVE bouquets, all gorgeous! One from my Suffolk daughter; one from my son; one from my Oud Huis Amsterdam friends; all these added to the one from California daughter and the one from three local friends. Today, resting in my floral flat, I am still very tired after a succession of lovely activities, small in scope but more frequent than the normal rate of action!! The usual coffee with the girls, on my birthday by chance; brunch with my lovely friend and neighbour Michele at Cafe Adriaan on my birthday plus a couple of hours of family Facetime too in the evening.  Thursday morning Mah Jong with bubbly and Nancy’s wonderful Chinese lunch with barely sufficient rest time before I tottered over to the Oud Huis Amsterdam and more bubbly with my group. Friday too tired to move though did my weekly training with weights etc by a miracle, and entertained a friend, bringing a cadeautje of beer, in late afternoon! Today, Saturday, to the market to buy a plant to take tomorrow to a friend after which I located de Bruhne in Sint Salvatorskoorstraat which a friend had recommended for its take-away.

De Buhne turned out to be amazing! Anna is the owner with her husband and frankly I was so entertained and impressed by her. In her early seventies I would guess, she was delightful and forthright. She only uses organic ingredients and prefers not to use eggs. She flashed a card featuring a handsome cockerel [Belgian obvs!] to underline the fact that “We don’t use chicken from Vietnam!” I caught a glimpse of her husband [grey hair and similar age] in the kitchen and discovered that that is the entire de Buhne team. Her containers, plastic to you and me, are beautiful and special, as she noted, and suitable for both microwaves and normal ovens. They can confidently and stylishly be taken to the table, as Anna pointed out. She asked me about myself and when I explained she said it was a beautiful story. She supervised my descent from her front steps before returning inside to serve the next waiting customer and frankly I floated away on my post-Anna cloud. Astonishing how a short transactional meeting with a restaurant/take-away patron can colour the day positive!!

This gives barely a nod to the delicacies available
chez de Buhne! All made by Anna.

I had received a birthday note from beloved Sarah Pacini in Nordzandstraat giving me 50 euros deduction as a present. Lovely gesture for me and shrewd move from S. P. Sales Manager!! I needed a pair of black trousers and would not have gone to S. P after spending a mind-numbing amount on an outfit there last week. [Excuse to myself then: I will save it for the first of two family weddings next year!] And that amount had been after considerable sales period savings! But, today, riding on my Anna-cloud, I went straight to Sarah Pacini and bought the needed black trousers and a super chic black and white knitted sort of cardigan for the Autumn, suggested by the assistant, the lovely Tinette, because of additional astonishing savings. I had, by amazing synchronicity,

hit the first hour of Final Reductions! She did, in fact, say, “Now this is a little bit naughty of me but do look at this; amazing savings!” Etc!! Result: My birthday high spanned four entire days so that I hardly noticed the increased age number!!

.

Back view of fab black and white 
Sarah Pacini cardigan.


Sunday, 18 July 2021

Scent of the Season

Sajid Javid, Minister of Health
Rishi Sunak, Chancellor of the Exchequer

First, a quiet chuckle of appreciation that Boris and Rishi have belatedly accepted the need to isolate after a meeting with Sajid minutes before he felt groggy and discovered, despite being double-jabbed, he had Coronavirus. Needless to say, the volte face came only after heated and widespread criticism of their intended taking of daily tests, not available to the general public. I do not enjoy the spectacle of the illness of others, merely, in this case, the delicious irony that a day or so before Boris announces the much-vaunted end of all restrictions in The Great Leap To Freedom for everyone, the sheer recklessness of this Governmental decision is demonstrated. As is the irritating over-the-top Boris joy at the finish of medically-approved Covid restrictions far too early in the present Delta variant up-swing in Britain. Also nice to see politicians remembering that, eventually, they will need the votes of the nearly-ignored!

Biskajersplein.

In the meantime, in beautiful Brugge, the air is so sweet as one wanders around; I suppose it is the scent of the summer season but it seems more fragrantly pervasive this year, particularly in the area of the Biskajersplein under the linden trees. Aromatic and full of promise. I walked along the Goudenhandrei yesterday to discover that, at last, Jon Lott’s The Bruges Diptych is finished. The Triennale opened officially on May 3rd so I suppose July 18th is only a little late in arriving at completion. I hear that there have been bureaucratic hold-ups, physical difficulties, neighbourhood problems of the ‘not in my backyard’ variety, and perhaps some delays over materials. BUT all is resolved, though I do privately wonder why on earth the neighbours might complain instead of welcoming the honour. True, the Diptych is Seriously Large and may well block light from the 
houses behind; true it rather overwhelms the allotted space but it IS 

The Bruges Diptych, Goudenhandrei.

temporary and will disappear soon after October 24th. In the meantime the idea of the architectural diptych containing the new temporary pavilion in one half with the other half filled by the rear of the original waterfront house of Jan van Eyck,[though long-gone but still imagined] is pleasing. In keeping with the theme of the Triennale, we can conjecture the difference, perhaps the space, between what can be seen of the pavilion and the nearby house and what might take place behind the city’s facades. My own totally mundane question is over the COST of materials and labour to produce what is almost a house; an elaborate construction even for the Triennale and almost ready to house a homeless family! But it is beautiful and imposing.

I have seen almost all the Trauma exhibits and keep coming back to my favourites; The Strangler in 

Part of the Danse Macabre in Sint Maartensplein.
the garden of Gezellehuis [Hector Zamora]; the Bruges Diptych on the Goudenhandrei [Jon Lott] and the Danse Macabre, Hans Op De Beeck’s full-scale merry-go-round outside St Walberga. This stunning carousel is beautiful; it has all the festive elements of childhood fairground recall but all is covered in a thick grey monochromatic layer of dust? Or grime? Does this signify the petrification of childhood dreams and memories? The utter sadness of unrealised potential and possibilities? Why does Death feature so strongly in the images? What a conundrum but the roundabout draws the spectator back again and again, wondering, wondering.

In the meantime, gradually I have resumed coffee with the girls on Wednesday morning; Mah Jong with eight players; the get-together at the Oud Huis Amsterdam on Thursday evenings; occasional, weather permitting, Petanque at Minnewater. Plus the occasional walk with a friend for coffee. Etc. Normality is creeping back though the older citizens like me intend it to be a slow return to what used to be. Double-jabbed I may be, but caution reigns!

The Strangler


In the meantime, my terrace blooms on in profusion!



Entire Danse Macabre.


Sunday, 11 July 2021

Keeping Up Appearances

Part of the terrace of Bistro de Schilder on
Jan Van Eyckplein. The paving was also 
renewed earlier this year, courtesy of the commune.
The pavement is a contemporary work of art.

As I wander the Bruggean streets, I keep noticing the eye-catching results of considerable efforts on the part of owners of restaurants, cafes, bars, hotels, to beautify their outside spaces and add extra appeal for visitors and tourists. Almost every terrace on the Markt, for instance, can boast flowering plants in containers, little trees in large pots, greenery and floral flourishes in one guise or another.. It is aesthetically delightful and Covid with Lockdown can take much of the credit. It is a significant celebration in an already beautiful little city; rather like a splendidly accoutred dowager pinning a luscious rose in her hair, to be noticed!

The indefatigable Hyacinth and long-suffering spouse,
Richard.
"My name was always Bucket before I met you."
As I wrote the above title, I welcomed the familiar phrase from long ago, one which always raises a smile. Obviously, as I wrote the heading, I was thinking of Brugge polishing up its image, but the smile which generally accompanies that expression comes from the inevitable association with a 90s TV sitcom with that title. Instantly, happily, one remembers Hyacinth Bucket [ALWAYS pronounced, incorrectly, Bouquet!] a snob and social climber, played exquisitely in the series by Patricia Routledge. Hyacinth, monstrous though she was but so fondly recalled, was an almost divine inspiration for the still-class-conscious Brits; she was perfectly formed, psychologically, for any class-based social minefield as she desperately tries to hide her working class roots and emphasise her ‘poshness’. She always answers her phone thus, “The Bouquet residence; the lady of the house speaking.” There is always a Northern under
Undesirable Onslow in perpetual vest and cap.

-current to her working class, attempted RP [Received Pronunciation] as she struggles to impress others with her refinement and pretended affluence. She adores to give ‘executive-style’ candlelit suppers with her Royal Worcester Avignon plus the Royal Doulton china with “the hand-painted periwinkles.” She desperately tries to hide her ghastly lower-class sisters, Judy and Rose; the latter being a sexy man-eater, and almost certainly, promiscuous to boot. And of course, there is Judy’s proudly unemployed slob of a husband, Onslow, who lives on Benefits! In fact, Onslow, sofa-bound, proudly unshaven and definitely unbowed, becomes Hyacinth’s nemesis throughout the series. The trio turns up, from time to time, unexpectedly, [obviously they are never invited] often with Hyacinth’s senile father, conveyed in a totally run-down, scruffy Ford Cortina; NOT a car for anyone in the aspiring middle class. They are unfailingly, indeed proudly, working class, lacking any social pretensions whatsoever and are deeply embarrassing to status-conscious Hyacinth, Meanwhile, Richard, [Clive Swift] her husband who tolerates her rather than loving her, tenaciously continues his long-suffering endurance made even more difficult when he has to take early retirement from his Council job. and he is home all day.
Rose, unashamedly sexy
and available. But not 
in a middle class way!


Onslow's finely-tuned Ford Cortina.


Hyacinth’s much-loved son Sheridan, about whose intellectual prowess she frequently boasts, despite the fact that he is following a course on embroidery at a Polytechnic, lives with his friend. Tarquin. Hyacinth is blissfully unaware of her son’s real relationship with his flat-mate who makes his own curtains, wears silk pyjamas and has won prizes for his embroidery. Though never clarified, Richard’s calm manner over Sheridan suggests that perhaps the son has confided his real sexuality to his father. Meanwhile, Hyacinth boasts about the frequent letters and phone calls from her son, implying their close relationship, though in truth dear Sheridan never writes and only phones when he needs money.

Rose, Hyacinth and Judy.

A gracious wave Goodbye, from Hyacinth




Monday, 5 July 2021

Lend Me Your Ear.

My son walking the Pennine Way in the north
of England, with two friends last week..
91 miles over 5 days!.
Great prep for wandering the streets of Brugge!

Definitely, in Brugge, the Corvid stranglehold is loosenng its grip. No need for masks in the street, though some [usually natives] do wear them ; social distancing seems to be a passing fancy; tourists are returning with the continuing proviso that no one can visit from the U.K. The Oud Huis Amsterdam nearby, normally has over 60% of its clientele from the U.K. and is probably fairly typical of other hotels and B&Bs here. This exclusion may well change before the end of the month. I am personally hoping so, as my son has promised to come over for my birthday before the end of the month. I haven’t actually seen him or his Suffolk-based sister for a year nor, in fact the grandchildren, chiefly, since our family theatre trip on January 4

Vaccination proof and 
other necessary papers
 
for UK entry from U.S
.
 2020! My California-based daughter and her little family landed at Heathrow on July 4 [yesterday] to stay for a fortnight but my possible reunion trip over to the UK for me has been scuppered as I absolutely do not want to quarantine over there and at present, no one from the U.K. may enter Belgium! Though as my home is here. I would probably be allowed re-entry, albeit with another period of quarantine.

July 4Jth 2021 't Rommelmarkt on 't Zand.

But to return to the subject of emerging normality [i.e. pre-Covid events/behaviour] re-appearing. One of the events which I loved early in my relationship with Brugge, was the Zandfeesten. My husband, Eric, and I used to come over for about a week in early August for what is now known as the 
MAFestival of musica barocca and I soon discovered the delightful synchronicity of the huge Rommelmarkt on ‘t Zand. Ignoring the scorn of my husband, I used to hasten to ‘t Zand around 7.00 a.m. often meeting up with the ‘boys from Cologne’ with whom Eric and I were great friends. The

2021 MA Festival logo
leader of that group, Joachim, was/is a confirmed Rommelmarkt addict and he and his partner, now husband, would hit the deck by 6.00 a.m. Eric could never believe, or understand, the magnanimity of our irrational behaviour. He always chose to lie in late on the offending Sunday and virtually ignore the treasures I eventually purchased!


New Senses: Portuguese cafe selling home-made
Pastel de nata with coffee. To die for!
But to return to what was going to be my original point in the preceding paragraph; Sunday June 4, yesterday, saw the first Return of ‘t Zandfeest. I think the last pre-Lockdown ‘t Zandfeest must have been September 2019! Excitement was high at Chateau Clayton, embellished by an arrangement to meet a similar Rommel-obsessed friend for coffee at New Seasons at the corner of 't Zand and Smedenstraat. BUT early on Sunday morning I awoke with a swingeing attack of Labyrinthitis, SO rare for me now that I didn’t recognise what was happening to be able to name it. And yet I suffered from intermittent Labyrinthitis from the early 90s but, crucially for the ageing memory, not for about ten years. I had totally forgotten its existence! But as I was unable even to sit upright in bed, felt dreadfully nauseous and could hardly hear the BBC on the Ipad that always shares my bed, I knew going anywhere was impossible. Indeed it took me around two hours before I was able to walk, holding the wall, to the kitchen.

Labyrinthitis is caused by an infection, perhaps by a virus in the inner ear. It produces a serious loss of balance; some hearing loss; and initial violent feelings of nausea. This sounds terrible but normally, mercifully, it is temporary. In the past, mine used to last up to five days and with the prescribed tablets, improving a little day by day. This time I also feel terrible; unwell, lethargic, with underlying feelings of nausea continuing and a longer-lasting inability to balance, the latter no doubt amplified by ageing which has seen a deterioration anyway in my balance. This time I was lucky to find in my scant medical supplies, a nine year old box of tablets, unused! So although any notional sell-by date will have vanished long ago, nevertheless I have used them and the situation is improving!

Summary of Labyrinthitis Symptoms.
Frankly, it doesn't feel benign!

Saturday, 26 June 2021

Legacy From Slavery in Bristol

The slave trade significantly influenced the growth of racism, most obviously in the U.S. where it is institutionalised, but also, less obviously, in Britain. Stories of slave rebellions, runaways and attacks on plantation owners were rife in the colonies and were also echoed in the British press and this succeeded in perpetuating the myth that black people were lawless, untrustworthy and violent. The slave trade in all its aspects, significantly influenced the growth of racial theory as a method for society to justify its unjustifiable actions. Thus racism was vindicated and impacted black people adversely over hundreds of years from the 17th century on until today when official racism has long been outlawed in Britain though informal racism  still exists, allegedly, within the police force and employment.

Street names in Bristol such as Guinea Street, Jamaica Street, Codrington Place, Tyndall’s Park, Worral and Stapleton Roads are all references to Bristol’s involvement in the transatlantic slave trade. Using the wealth generated from the slave trade, many merchants invested in municipal land purchase, sponsoring cultural/municipal buildings and upgrading ships. The Theatre Royal in Bristol, the second oldest working theatre in Britain, was built as a result of very wealthy subscribers that directly or indirectly benefited from businesses involved in the slave trade, each pledging a substantial sum of money for the design and erection of the theatre, a locally prestigious project. Some municipal buildings and institutions such as schools were named after their slave trading benefactors; for example, Colston Hall, Colston Girls’ School and Colston Primary School [recently re-named Cotham Gardens Primary School following the defenestration [as it were] of Edward Colston’s statue.] Edward Colston was a Bristol-born slave trader, member of the Royal African Company and of the Merchant Venturers Society and a prominent local benefactor. He was perhaps the most important name in a veritable compendium of slave traders who used their wealth to bestow their names by funding prestigious municipal and other public projects.
A temporary name change while seeking a permanent new title
The Colston Arms re-named, for now, Ye olde Pubby Mcdrunkface

Georgian House in Bristol was originally built for John Pinney [1740-1818] who owned several sugar plantations in the West Indies. From 1762-1783 Pinney lived in Nevis running his plantations but in 1783 he returned home to Bristol, bringing two black attendants with him: Fanny Coker and Pero Jones, both bought by him in 1765 when Pinney also bought Pero’s sisters, Nancy and Sheeba but left the little girls to work on the Matravers Plantation in Nevis. There is related original documentation held by the University of Bristol Library recording the date of purchase of the little slave family with evidence of the physical appearance of each member of the family sold. Interestingly, Pero’s Bridge, a footbridge across the River Frome was opened in Bristol docks in 1999, and memorialises the black boy of 12 who died, aged 45, in 1798 in Ashton, Bristol after a lifetime of domestic service in the area.

Pero's Bridge, Bristol.

By the early 1960s, Bristol had an estimated 3000 residents of West Indian origin, some of whom had served in the British Army during WW2 and included a large number who had arrived, by invitation of the UK Government, as part of the Windrush generation from 1948 onward. [And for the recent (2018 on) Home Office hostile treatment of Windrush descendants, Google it!]There was a significant number of West Indians therefore, living in the St. Paul’s area of Bristol which had set up its own churches and other associations, developing a real sense of community in the face of[ widespread discrimination in housing and employment and sporadic violence from Teddy Boys, gangs of white racist youths.

The Bristol Omnibus Company at this time, openly employed only white bus drivers and conductors [while allowing black cleaners and maintenance men]. In fact this was in line with widespread racial discrimination in housing and employment in other British cities at this time. In Bristol, an organisation founded by Roy Hackett and led by youth worker, Paul Stephenson, and including the so-called West Indian Development Council, a local black pressure group, instigated what became known as the Bristol Bus Boycott in 1963. The idea had come from the indomitable Rosa Parks and her refusal to give up her seat for a white person which led to the ensuing Montgomery Bus Boycott in Alabama. The Bristol Bus Boycott drew overwhelming local support from black and many white residents and lasted for four months until the company backed down and overturned the discriminatory policy. The Boycott drew national attention to racial discrimination in Britain and attracted the active support of politicians, Church groups and the High Commissioner for Trinidad and Tobago, the famous Leary Constantine.

Old [1950s] Bristol Omnibus Company bus.

The Bristol Omnibus Company was a nationalised company owned by the U.K. Government from 1950. Despite an acknowledged shortage of bus crews, black men were considered only for lower paid work in canteens and workshops. The policy was blamed by the Company management on the insistence of the Transport and General Workers’ Union [T.G.W.U.] This was denied by T.G.W.U. officials despite a 1955 T.G.W.U. resolution that ‘coloured’ workers could not be employed as bus crews and that if such happened, “if one black man steps on the platform as a conductor, every wheel will stop.” The underlying fear was of reducing wages from increased competition. The four months involving a war of words in the local media; a refusal by the T.G.W.U. to meet a delegation from the West Indian Development Council; plus perhaps some negotiation, was marked by real bitterness when Ron Nethercott, Regional Secretary of the Union, opined in the national Daily Herald, that Stephenson, who had emerged as the leader of the boycott, was dishonest and irresponsible. Stephenson, college-educated and articulate, sued in the High Court and won damages and costs in December 1963. Meanwhile, with the boycott causing increasing economic problems, and following a mass meeting of 500 bus workers on August 27th it was announced that there would be no

Left to right:
Audley Evans; Paul Stephenson;  Owen Henry.
1963.

more discrimination in the selection of bus crews. Serendipitously, this announcement coincided with Martin Luther King’s “I have a dream ..” speech in Washington. On 17th September 1963, Raghbir Singh, a Sikh, became Bristol’s first, non-white bus conductor with two Jamaican and two Pakistani men joining him ‘on the platform’ soon after.

Unite, the successor to the T.G.W.U. issued an apology for its shameful discriminatory actions and language in 1963. It was made by Lawrence Faircloth, the union’s South West Secretary, who agreed that its behaviour had been ‘completely unacceptable.’ Hilariously and appallingly, this public apology was made in FEBRUARY 2013. Oh, Perfidious Albion!

The Bristol Bus Boycott was believed to have been an important contributor to the passing of the Race Relations Act of 1965 which made ‘racial discrimination unlawful in public places’, and the Race Relations Act 1968 which extended the provisions to employment and housing.

Plaque attesting to Bristol as Capital of the Atlantic Slave
Trade, 1730-1745
From 12,000,000 captives, 6,000,000 died.

Colston Hall, Bristol.

Sunday, 20 June 2021

Juneteenth

 

Celebration of Emancipation Day in Richmond, Virginia, 1905.
Juneteenth, June 19th is now a federal holiday in the U.S.. In fact, it has been celebrated, especially in Texas, to commemorate the original announcement there, two and a half years late, of The Emancipation Proclamation of 1863. Although the holiday name is new to some, it has long been viewed as a major celebration, especially for and by black Americans. Interestingly, I noticed on the Merriam-Webster website [an impeccable source!] evidence of considerable and consistent use of the word since the late 19th century.

Last Wednesday the citizens of this city and vicinity, native Texans, assembled in the fair grounds to commemorate the thirtieth anniversary of the liberation of the bonded Afro-American of Texas.

...Closely following the speakers an animated game of baseball was witnessed, when this happy throng repaired to their homes expressing themselves as highly pleased with their first Juneteenth celebration.”

Parson’s Weekly. [Parsons KY] 22 June 1895.


Sherman people celebrated the Juneteenth at the beautiful Fred Douglas school grounds and the handsome Wood Lake park pavilion, midway between Sherman and Denison, on the electric railway.

Freeman [Indianapolis IN] 27 June 1908.

June 19th, or, as it is humorously referred to, ‘Juneteenth’ is the day the news of the emancipation proclamation reached Texas, so annually the day is celebrated much as we do the Fourth of July.

Chicago Defender, 3 July 1915.


Tennessee has just banned Critical Race Theory from its schools.
My only surprise at the above quotations is that Texas has never seemed the most non-racist, diversity-encouraging, liberal state! And indeed, it wasn't; the formal Emancipation announcement was imposed on Texas by the Army. I am beginning to write this on Juneteenth, a celebratory date of which I had not heard until perhaps two or three years ago. What recently drew my attention to it was reading that Republicans are setting out to ban Critical Race Theory from school syllabi. I think that Critical Race Theory [CRT] is an academic theory that underlines the critical effect of race on identity and on law-making in America. I would guess that there is a much more extended and sophisticated academic explication of CRT but that is the basis. And that basic truth seems undeniable in any country but overwhelmingly so in America.

That all said, I had a mind, this Juneteenth, to explore Bristol, in England, where a statue of Edward

Edward Colston now housed in
Bristol Museum.
Colston, a prominent slave trader and municipal benefactor, was toppled from its plinth and thrown into the harbour during a Black Lives Matter demonstration in 2020. I am humbled, and aghast, at my discovery of a whole library of slavery information about Bristol and its eminent men of wealth during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Slaves became an increasingly important commodity during the 17th
Aboard a slaving ship.
century as the British colonisation of the Caribbean and the Americas progressed rapidly; cheap labour was urgently needed for various colonies to work on sugar, rum, tobacco and cotton plantations. The Society of Merchant Venturers, an organisation of elite merchants in Bristol, wanted to participate in this lucrative commerce and eventually, in 1698, they managed, with help from business-men with similar commercial interests in Hull and Liverpool, to break the trade monopoly of the Royal African Company, a powerful London-based group which had controlled all trade between Britain and Africa between 1672 and 1698. As soon as the monopoly was broken, Bristol commenced its participation though there is some evidence for Bristolian illegal slave trade before that date. The first legitimate slave ship from Bristol was the
Beginning, owned by Stephen Barker, which purchased and ferried a cargo of enslaved Africans and delivered it to the Caribbean in 1698. In her will of 1693, Jane Bridges bequeathed her share of £130 in this ship, to her grandson, Thomas Bridges and her will indicated that the ship then belonged to the city of Bristol. A full-rigged ship was the essential technology which enabled the transatlantic slave trade to flourish.
Selling slaves in a slave market.

Bristol became one of the biggest centres of the transatlantic slave trade between 1725 and 1740 when up to an estimated 20% profits were made from slave-trading from the city. By the 1730s an average of 39 slave ships left Bristol annually and between 1739 and 1748, there were 245 slave voyages from Bristol, an estimated 37.6% of the whole British slave trade. In the later years of slave-trading, Bristol’s share decreased to 62 voyages while Liverpool’s share increased to 62% or 1,605 voyages. An estimated 2108 slaving traders departed from Bristol between 1698 and 1807 with the average number of slaves per ship believed to be around 250. Thus in a century plus, Bristol’s merchants trafficked more than 500,000 enslaved Africans to the Caribbean and North America. But, it must be added, that estimates suggest that up to half of each ship's slave cargo would perish en route, due to the harsh conditions aboard and the overcrowding. In any event, not a figure to be proud of!

The so-called triangular trade describes the route followed by English merchants from Bristol [or Liverpool or Hull] to north-west Africa, the Caribbean and America during the same period, i.e. 1698-1807. Bristol ships traded their goods for enslaved people from south-east Nigeria and Angola, exchanging goods like copper and brass as well as gunpowder which were typically offered by Bristolian merchants and manufacturers, as payment for shares in the slaving voyage. The ships then sailed to St. Kitts, Barbados and Virginia to supply English colonies requiring cheap or free labour, with the enslaved Africans to work on sugar, cotton and tobacco plantations. In addition to slaves, the British colonies were supplied with a wide range of goods for the plantation owners, such as guns, agricultural implements, soap, candles, ladies’ boots, and food stuffs plus ‘Negro cloth’ for the slaves. At the same time, the slaving ships imported goods produced in the colonies. Thus the British economy was inextricably linked to slave-produced Caribbean goods such as sugar, rum, indigo and cocoa. The imported goods were used in sugar refining, tobacco processing and chocolate manufacture, all important local industries in Bristol which employed thousands of working class people from Bristol and its surrounding areas. Thus the slave trade and its associated commerce was embedded in effect, in the British economy.

Various implements to secure and direct slaves.


Neck rings and chains with a gun in case ......

Cotton plantation.