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My followers will probably have gleaned that I have a very great love of our own and world history. But, of all the ‘ologies’ – and I also love cosmology and archaeology – the one that fascinates me the most is anthropology.
Our departure from our ape ancestors is thought to have occurred somewhere between seven to eight million years ago, and possibly as long as thirteen. We know that Africa was our original homeland and that large numbers of different hominoids wandered the length and breath of that great landmass.
After millions of years in that continent, a few of the surviving groups, perhaps the more enterprising, ventured out of Africa and began the process of colonising the earth. As recently as forty thousand years ago, four distinct groups – ourselves, Neanderthals, Denisovans and Hobbits (a metre tall) inhabited the world contemporaneously. But three of our cousins vanished to join the myriad other hominoids who failed to make it. We plough our lonely furrow across the broad expanses of the planet.
Eurasians inherited 1 to 2% of their genetic make-up from mating with Neanderthals. Fortuitously, because perhaps of the less benign climate than Africa, Neanderthals needed to acquire a range of immunities not needed in Africa and this was their legacy to those inheriting their genes.
Having made the adaptation to the harsher environments of the far north and south of the planet, as well as everything in between, these four groups stood alone – although there is the possibility that more are yet to be found. The great, unanswered question is why only we have made it through to the present age.
Various hypotheses have been put forward, such as one group turning on another. With warfare till part of the hominoid lexicon, this may seem plausible. Certainly, it is hard to believe that our own ancestors would not have regarded them as a lower order of life and thought nothing of ridding ourselves of them, especially if they occupied areas that we coveted. We have done exactly that to our own kind in North America, Australia and elsewhere. However, at the time, the groups were numbered only in the tens of thousands with the resources of the whole world at their disposal, so there could have been little competition for them. Perhaps at a later date, when numbers expanded, we might have chosen to turn them into helots, which again we have done even to our own kind. What all groups did have in common was a greater level of intelligence than all other mammals. This allowed them to adapt more effectively to the challenges of climate change, of which there were a great many – some more severe than others.
Of the four groups, we appear to have been the quickest in developing technology such as bows and arrows and sophisticated stone tools, being more intellectually advanced than the others. Perhaps our language skills were also more advanced, allowing us to communicate more effectively and so plan more intelligently. Taller and more athletically built, we would also have been able to run faster. All of these abilities, and there were perhaps others, would have put us in a better position to survive the more severe of the climate changes.
There are so many unanswered questions concerning anthropology, and it may be that we may never know the truth of some of them. Complex as are the mysteries of the universe, we seem to have been answers to these questions than we do of those surrounding our own origins in this most fascinating of the ‘ologies’.
I was on my way to Plymouth Hoe after finishing work for my proverbial cappuccino, feeling down on account of my wife leaving for Lithuania tomorrow. I noticed how the daffodils along the way had given way to the blossom, which is also beginning to give way to the bluebells – each following the other as though designed to keep our spirits up: a challenge for me at this time . A line of verse came into my head linking the two. Over my cappo, it developed into something more. I’d like to share it with you.
You went away at blossom time, The daffs had had their day, But blossom comes to fill the void, Though, briefly does it stay. And then the bluebells swarm about, Its trillions fill the land, Their fragrant scent in woodland parts, Completes this godlike hand. But I am sad beyond recall, For you are gone from me, With no set date for your return, To help me in my grief. I will endure and wait for you, To do what you must do, But beg you in that far off land, To think on me and you.
It is now five years since King Richard III was re-interred: this time respectfully in Leicester Cathedral with honours appropriate to the last of a dynasty which had ruled England for 331 years. The discovery of his body under a car park proved a worldwide sensation. The confirmation of his terrible injuries as he stood, surrounded by his enemies – a small, spinally afflicted man – fighting like a Viking berserker, evoked pity as well as admiration. Notwithstanding Richard’s lifelong belief in leading from the front, history has judged him both a tyrant and, if Shakespeare is to be believed, a monster – England’s own Ivan the Terrible. It is my belief that this is a false judgement and that it is time to create a more balanced narrative.
The writing of history from the victor’s perspective began with Caesar’s account of the Gallic Wars. Such was the genocidal brutality of that campaign that it is estimated a quarter of France’s then population was wiped out. Rather than Veni, Vidi, Vici, it should have read Veni, Vidi, Dedi – I came, I saw, I slaughtered. A thousand years later, William the Conqueror gave his own (literally) coloured justification for usurping the throne of England in the Bayeux tapestry, and on the way to another thousand years Napoleon portrayed his Egyptian campaign as a glorious success when in fact it was an abysmal failure. We must be careful, then, when we show ourselves willing to place undue credence on the winning side’s account.
The England Richard grew up in was convulsed in the domestic bloodletting of the Wars of the Roses. The twists and turns of that brutal struggle between the Houses of York and Lancaster – both branches of the Plantagenet family – are immensely challenging, even for historians, who to this day still argue about events. Five kings came and went in the space of twenty-five years. Richard’s Yorkist, elder brother, Edward, gained the crown after the bloodiest and longest battle ever fought on English soil. Fighting the whole day long, on Palm Sunday in 1461 in a snowstorm, twenty-eight thousand perished. That represented almost a tenth of England’s then population.
Richard, therefore, grew to manhood not just in a time of unparalleled violence, but also of disconcertingly shifting alliances. Nobody knew who could be relied on. When we examine Richard’s record following the unexpected death at forty-one of his brother, the king, we really have to think hard on all these things. As well as betrayal from every quarter, much of the violence was gratuitous and mindless.
Richard’s was always with a purpose and that purpose, many would argue, was in the interest of his country as well as the preservation of his own, threatened, life and Yorkist line. As a third son, he never expected to be king and after the death of his brother gave no indication, initially, of a wish to become one. He enthusiastically backed preparations for his twelve-year-old nephew’s coronation. His brother, on his death bed, had appointed the ever-loyal Richard to act as the boy’s guardian during the years of his minority.
At the request of the king, eleven years earlier when he was nineteen, Richard had been sent to the troublesome north with vice-regal powers. He managed not just to pacify but gain the respect and even love of his northern charges. His campaigns against the marauding Scots gained England large tracts of land including the important border fortress of Berwick on Tweed, which has stayed English ever since. With his legalistic mind, Richard proved an able and just administrator which, added to his bravery on the battlefield, made him the ‘perfect prince’. These qualities, it should be noted, were exactly the ones his country needed if it were not to fall back into the miseries of renewed violence under a boy king. The nation wanted nothing more than a continuation of the much-valued peace from what was originally known as the Cousins’ War, which his brother’s stable rule had brought.
Ever mindful of a reversion to the bad old ways, Richard knew that only he had a chance of holding the country together and that it was essential, therefore, for him to carry out his brother’s wishes and govern the realm for the next several years. Unfortunately, it quickly became apparent that he would not be allowed to. His late brother’s non-aristocratic, but stunningly beautiful, wife with her immense family of hated and ambitious hangers-on gave every indication that they intended to take over. Were this to happen, the country would be plunged back into factionalism and warfare. Just as certain was Richard’s own fate. In those troubled times, he would have been a dead man walking. The low-born late Queen’s family had stirred up great resentment among the ruling magnates by the way they had inveigled their way into the king’s favour, gaining titles, lands as well as high offices of state. Everything that followed, which has been so much portrayed to Richard’s detriment, must be viewed in the light of these circumstances. Richard’s success during his long period of service and vice-royalty in the north had made a great impression on the country. Almost all right-thinking subjects would have preferred him to the upstart Woodvilles, the dowager queen’s family.
Another feature of Richard’s character was his decisiveness. In his present, life-threatening predicament, it would be much needed. He was, in today’s terms, a genuine action man. When he saw how heavily the dice were being loaded against him, he knew he had to act fast and he, being Richard, did exactly that. When he had cleared what was, admittedly, a very fraught path to taking up his duties as Lord Protector, a sermon was preached by the bishop of Wells and Somerset which claimed that both of his nephews – one of whom was the new king Edward V – were the illegitimate offspring of a bigamous marriage. This had been talked about in palace circles for some time. In addition to this, his own brother, the late king, had a questionable pedigree which was rumoured to be the result of a dalliance that his mother had had with a French archer during a period of estrangement from her husband, the king. Certainly, when Richard’s remains were forensically examined after that famous discovery under a Leicester car park, they bore absolutely no brotherly resemblance either in build, height, colouring or facial appearance to the strapping blond, Edward IV.
Richard was a known stickler for legality who, among other things, had long standing views on legitimacy so that when the estates of the realm started to press him to assume what they believed to be his right to the crown, and bring certainty and adult kingship to the realm, he may well have considered that he had a duty to listen to them. If church law held his nephews to be bastards, that made him the undoubted king and not a usurper. As a patriot at a pivotal moment in his country’s history, he would have felt a heavy burden of responsibility to save the realm and his Yorkist line from falling back into the hands of the Lancastrians. His lavish coronation, attended by high and low, bears testament to a will strongly felt generally, and by Londoners in particular, to see a continuation of the stable government that the country, under his brother, had enjoyed for years.
Richard was a hugely pious man. During the two years of his kingship, he enacted a string of measures that can only be described as enlightened, even by today’s standards. He encouraged widespread use of the newly invented printing press, which the powers of the day were highly suspicious of and which acted as a spur to translate the Latin monopoly of the Bible into English. Inevitably, that would have led to the churches’ monopoly of possession of the ‘Good Book’ being broken and the common people gaining their own copies and starting, perhaps, to place their own interpretation on holy writ.
Most incredibly, Richard would brook no censorship in what could be printed. All were encouraged to speak their mind. This hardly speaks of a man with dark secrets. He did away with the ability of the rich and powerful to lock a man up and keep him there awaiting trial, sometimes for years. Bail was introduced. Although a fluent French speaker – having spent part of his early life in Burgundy – Richard insisted that Parliament conduct its business in the vernacular and not Norman French. This same view applied to other agencies of the state. Another of his hates was corruption. Richard attacked and sought to do away with Indulgences, the practice which allowed the rich and powerful to purchase public offices. It was a landmark step towards a well-governed country. Richard, as we have noted, had a great interest in law and would sometime conduct a case in court himself. His passion for justice for the underprivileged may well have had its origins in his own experiences. Suffering, as is known, will often give a person greater empathy for the less fortunate.
Although – somewhat unkindly, I feel – it has been remarked the Richard had ice in his veins, he was observed to weep when his wife died and doubtless he did the same when his infant son – his only heir – did likewise. The calumny that was later put about by the Tudors, that he killed his wife so that he could marry his niece, we know to be false. His wife died of an illness, probably tuberculosis, and he was negotiating the marriage of his niece to the Portuguese royal house. Unlike his handsome, womanising elder brother, the king, Richard kept faith with Anne, his wife, after they married, something unusual for aristocrats right up to modern time.
There was much personal tragedy in Richard’s life. His father died on the battlefield when he was a boy, as did his uncle. His erstwhile older brother, Clarence, who had habitually rebelled once too often against his own older brother, the king, was condemned to death by Attainder. While the king upheld the verdict, Richard begged for clemency. The act is said to have been carried out by the bizarre method of drowning Clarence in a vat of malmsey wine in the Tower of London. Perhaps that’s because Clarence couldn’t stop imbibing on stuff that they held to be the culprit in sending him off the rails. They thought giving him a double dose would be a suitable punishment.
To add to the litany of misfortune which fell upon Richard, at around the age of eleven he was struck down with the debilitating and painful affliction of scoliosis – a warping of the spine. Little allowance has been made for these tragedies in Richard’s young life, but they must have caused him severe distress and had a profound effect on him. Furthermore, as a small man – around 5’6” – he must have felt hugely overshadowed by his magnificent, 6’6”, muscular, blond brother, the king, who to add to the mix was extremely handsome as well a gregarious. Perhaps these were very same attributes that a lonely queen, years before, had found irresistible in a French archer.
Richard must have felt a desperate need to do something to prove that he was a true Plantagenet. That led him – despite his growing disability and a skeletal frame revealed by recent forensic examinations to have female characteristics, particularly his pelvis – to take up battlefield training so that, with a superhuman effort, he eventually morphed into a warrior who could cope with sixty pounds of armour and wield a heavy mace.
In his final dash to cut down Henry Tudor, he came within feet of him, crashing through his bodyguards and taking down Henry’s standard bearer before he himself was surrounded and cut down in a fury of sword and Halbert thrusts. Ten wounds struck the battling Richard through to the bone: two of them lethal. There may have been many more flesh wounds. But most shocking of all, considering that he was an anointed king, there were a series of what are known as ‘humiliation wounds’ – struck after death. There were some to the head and one up through the posterior to the pelvis. Considering the closeness of Henry Tudor to the action, he must have watched this happen and that represents a shocking indictment of him that he permitted such desecration of a crowned monarch.
On the matter of his alleged killing of his nephews – the most damning of all the charges levelled against Richard and the deaths his enemies made the most capital of – it is universally agreed that no prosecutor would ever have gained a conviction against him. There is not a scrap of evidence linking him to their disappearance. Several suspects, beside Richard, are in the frame. My own prime suspect is his sidekick, the Duke of Buckingham, who, having charge of London in his master’s absence far away, may have felt he would do him a favour by carrying out an act which he knew Richard couldn’t. There had already been one attempt to spring the princes from the Tower and there were likely to be more. Buckingham knew that while they lived, they could act as a focus for Richard’s enemies. Their elimination would settle the matter once and for all. When the question is posed, why did Richard not denounce Buckingham on his return, he must have asked himself, who will believe me? Better to let sleeping dogs lie and the mystery of their disappearance remain unsolved.
Another reason why I find it difficult to believe that Richard was culpable is that it would have been profoundly abhorrent to such a devout man. He was an ascetic, almost in the mould of the puritans who would come two hundred years later. He forswore the wearing of gorgeous apparel, which was the mode amongst aristocrats of the time, preferring to dress simply, almost like the common man who was forbidden to wear clothes above his station. He endowed more monasteries and places of learning during his thirty-two years of life than any other monarch. But even if Richard did give the order – and it remains a big if – he would not be the first to kill close to home. History is littered with similar acts. His own brother, the king, had allowed his sibling, Clarence to be killed. Two of history’s ‘Greats’, Peter and Constantine, killed their own sons. Reasons of State, some hold, override everything. Is it not just such a reason as allows us today to square our consciences over the firebombing of German cities and the nuclear annihilation of Hiroshima?
Had Richard been victorious at Bosworth, as he would have been but for the treachery of the fence-sitting Lord Stanley and his 2,000 contingents, that would have been the last hope of the Lancastrians. Richard would have gone on to reign unopposed and, judged on past performance, particularly his rule of the north, we might be reading a very different account of him.
As an accomplished warrior, much in the mould of Henry V, I believe he would have taken up the challenge of the recently lost lands in France and won them back for England. The Hundred Years War might well have had a different ending.
When you consider the merits of the man who succeeded Richard, one finds it hard to mount a compelling narrative. It was an increasingly unhappy, even miserable reign. The penny-pinching, grasping and murderous Henry Tudor cannot stand against the principled, brave defender of the law and peoples’ champion, Richard. Henry is even said to have had an opportunity to sponsor Columbus’ voyage to the Americas, but turned it down as being too risky. If so, it was a blunder of titanic proportions. All of the continent, south as well as north, would have accrued to the English crown and the miser filled his boots with its mountains of silver and gold so that he would likely have gone mad at his miraculous good fortune.
The son who went on to succeed the ever-suspicious first Tudor, Henry VIII, would become known on the continent of Europe as Henry the tyrant. He would plunge England into two centuries of bloody conflict with the Catholic church. To fill his own boots with the sale of church lands during the dissolution of the monasteries, untold scores of beautiful Abbeys were destroyed. Had they survived, they would be the glory of our land today and be earning us untold tourist receipts. The wonder is that the second Henry’s butcher and vandal-in-chief, Thomas Cromwell, didn’t turn his attention next to the cathedrals. But he didn’t have time. His master had him begging for the headsman’s axe rather than suffer the fate Henry intended – the grisly end of a traitor. It is as well that the poor man’s mentor and former boss, the brilliant Cardinal Wolsey – himself the son of a butcher – had previously died on-route also to face Henry’s vengeance.
So, I come back to the successful character assassination that the Tudors carried out. It has been the accepted version for five hundred years now. To this day, the royal website refers to Richard as the usurper. The first of the new Tudor dynasty’s claim to the throne was so nebulous that it is hardly worth detailing. A whole clutch of aristocrats were better placed in line of succession. Furthermore, what claim Henry Tudor did have came through the normally disallowed female line which was, itself, tainted with illegitimacy. Knowledge of this made both of the Henrys paranoiac; they murdered all the better claimants they could lay their hands on including the frail and saintly, 67-year-old Margaret, Countess of Salisbury, who was raised to sainthood in later centuries. Does Henry’s seizure of the crown by force of arms, and in these circumstances, not make him an undoubted usurper?
It is ironic that the second Henry’s Lord Chancellor, Thomas Moore – another to be beatified – bowed to the royal pressure and lent his much-respected support to the Tudor campaign of Richard vilification. His reward came later on the headsman’s bloc. Henry’s double-crossing of the leaders of the Pilgrimage of Grace and the lethal vengeance taken afterwards represents yet another chapter in a bloody reign, which attracts nothing of the criticism levelled at Richard.
Finally, to complete the work of the victor writing the narrative the great bard, Shakespeare prostituted his otherwise gifted pen. Seeking to please Henry’s daughter, Elizabeth, he wrote a favourable play concerning her father and a true stinker concerning Richard. Such a fantastic, crowd-pleasing horror story of a play is Richard III, that the world has preferred to believe that this is how it must have been. That tainted version of events included incest, gross deformity, ugliness, usurpation, infanticide and unwarranted, murderess violence. Dogs barked, according to Shakespeare, when Richard went by.
It has taken modern forensics half a millennium to demolish Shakespeare’s caricature of an ugly, limping, hunchback with a withered arm. Richard was not any of these things. Actually, after a reconstruction of the face according to his facial bone structure, he turned out to be quite pleasant looking. Why would the bard’s depiction of Richard’s character traits be any more accurate? It is now the job of historians to do their work; a task which should be evidence-based.
Shakespeare would have won no history prizes at school. Just as Scots are not taught about bad King Macbeth – he was, in fact, so safe on his throne during his 17-year reign that he went on pilgrimage – equally, there is no bad king Richard. We must start teaching something which more closely resembles the truth concerning Richard, not just give him a decent, final funeral.
For as long as politicians can guarantee the best for their own children, we will always have education inequality
Of all the great achievements of the post-war Labour government, the one, more than any other, which would have cemented its reputation as the greatest reforming government of all time would have been the abolition of privilege in education. If the rich and powerful knew that their sons and daughters depended on the state, they would pretty soon ensure that the same standards they themselves had enjoyed were established under the new dispensation. This would have been a major step in the direction of a more classless society.
That Labour failed to abolish private education following WWII – which many had begged it to do – is not a criticism of that heroic government. It was, quite simply, a bridge too far. All its other reforming zeal left it with insufficient headwind to tackle this greatest of all bastions of privilege. Had it done so, it should have included faith schools since education should only concern itself with empirical facts.
Britain will have to wait for its next cataclysmic event to enable it to deal with this most entrenched of all its inequalities. Only when the governing classes are themselves traumatised, along with the rest of us, will they yield this most precious of all their privileges. Then, and only then, will we be close to enjoying equal opportunities.
Meantime we must pray that the traumatic event required does not extend to another world war, such as before the great Labour government reforms, or a financial crash of the sort that 2008 threatened, which might very well have been 1929 all over again but for the great engine of Far East growth. But, just the same, it will have to be something quite dramatic.
While we wait, the political classes should make good on their constantly trumpeted willingness to send their own offspring to the country’s state schools. It is rank hypocrisy for the politicos of both the Right and Left to extol the virtues of state schooling, while at the same time lambasting the private sector in the process, and then go on to send their own children to fee-paying schools. Great numbers have done this, including one of Labour’s shrillest advocates for social justice, Diane Abbott. The fact she represents one of London’s most deprived boroughs, Hackney, didn’t stop her sending her son to a private school.
There is, too, something deeply troubling about the numbers who make it to the top, be it in politics, the military, the judiciary, the Civil Service, finance and business, who were once part of the Oxbridge set up. That needs also to be urgently examined. Elitism seems to be at the very heart of Britain’s privileged classes, almost as though it is in their DNA. It’s the ‘Old Boys’ network writ large. A closed shop par excellence.
New Year after New Year for half a decade now we have entered it with a sense of deep foreboding. There has been no joy anywhere. We clung together in families during the Christmas festivities hoping against hope that our jobs would still be there in a year’s time. But this year we seem to have had a festive period in which much gloom has been banished.
Just six short months ago, the pointers were still showing southwards. Now, they tell us we are on an upward trajectory unmatched almost anywhere in the Western world.
The French, who five years ago were pouring scorn on our economic model, extolling their own socialist variant, are now having to eat their words. Theirs is the model that isn’t working. Indeed, they are increasingly being described as ‘the sick man of Europe’ – and that’s saying something when you consider all those other sick bailout EU states. The Economist recently branded them the ‘ticking time bomb’ of Europe.
Whatever you say about the Cameron government, with all its cock-ups and string of bad calls in terms of the prime minister’s personal lack of judgment which continue apace, it bit that most necessary of bullets in setting about rebalancing the books and shrinking the ballooning government payroll. The world looked on and approved. Credit rating agencies backed off downgrading our prospects while they continued to downgrade those of our neighbours à la France.
Sooner or later, our fast-expanding economy will start feeding through into pay packets and people will start feeling better off. Inflation is low and likely to stay close to target, so even modest pay rises above it should be felt. My own great fear, however, is of what will happen when interest rates start to rise, as surely they must. They have never been so low or for so long. Will we see huge numbers unable to keep up payments on those previously cheap mortgages and masses of repossessions? Hopefully those inevitable pay rises and the continuing downward costs of filling up at the pump will help to bridge the gap. The more enterprising, growth-orientated new governor of the Bank of England, Mark Carney, will also play a useful part helping us to find a way through.
The main thing is that we have growth again. Without it you are sunk. Government receipts are rising, government outgoings are falling and a virtuous circle is now being created.
The growth is mainly in the service sector in which we as a country have always excelled. Not for nothing did Napoleon describe us as a ‘nation of shopkeepers’. But services does not only cover retail; it covers insurance, banking, shipping and a host of others which we used to call ‘invisible earnings’. And what would be the cherry on the top is if we could boost our engineering capabilities. It was once what we did better than anyone else at, and we have not lost our skills: look at how well auto manufacturing is doing. We have jettisoned – painfully, I know – old and clapped out industries, preferring to let them go to low cost, low skilled economies while we concentrated on the clever stuff like aerospace, architecture, biomedicine, computer science and pushing pioneering research into all of the above via our world renowned academic institutes. So alone in Europe we have every reason to be optimistic. Trade outside the Eurozone is expanding, and if we can better rebalance our economy by engineering our way back to excellence, so much the better.
Fracking will help since there will be a lot of jobs there, but we, with our stricter environmental laws, will avoid the undue damage to the countryside that Uncle Sam has suffered. We will, however, share with him a dramatic fall in energy prices as well as enjoy security of supply and see less of our precious earnings going to undeserving, corrupt states in the gulf region.
And close to that region is poor benighted Syria and its suffering people. While we worry about ourselves, shouldn’t we move heaven and earth to relieve their terrible distress?
The Chinese have a very good saying: ‘may you live in interesting times’. Well, the period ahead is certainly going to be interesting. Are hoards of Bulgarians and Romanians going to pour over our frontiers this year and ‘do a Poland’ on us, blowing a massive hold in Cameron’s pledge to reduce incomers to the tens of thousands? Funnily enough, I’m sure our people would actually welcome making an exception for a quota of genuinely wretched Syrians, as UKIP’s leader, Nigel Farage, is betting. And how Europe’s credentials would soar among Muslims if all 28 EU members agreed their own quotas! We should press the issue.
Is UKIP going to sweep the board in the May Euro elections? Are the Scots going to take the high road back to Scotland in September? Are the Lib Dems and Tories going to turn on each other in their efforts to get back to normal politics before the election and render government business impossible? Is Red Ed going to find himself in Downing Street with one of the chief architects of our misfortunes as his chancellor, because so many Tories have deserted to UKIP? Is dreadful Clegg going to remain as deputy prime minister, having thrown in his fair-weather lot with Labour? All of these conundrums and more will be revealed in the next few months, and not too long after that the question of whether we stay in Europe, should the Tories win a majority. I suspect the bookies will be tearing their hair out giving odds on any of these vexatious questions.
On a different and more tragic key, how many of the celebrities now arraigned and set for trial will go down to long prison terms? For those who do, what a sad end to otherwise illustrious careers. What will be the fate in this forthcoming year of public figures such as Ken Barlow, Max Clifford, Freddy Starr, Rolf Harris, Dave Lee Travis, Gary Glitter, Jimmy Tarbuck, Paul Gambaccini, Stuart Hall (again)? What a can of worms the monstrous Jimmy Savile opened up. Truth to tell, there can’t be a surviving pop idol – and think how many and distinguished they are – who didn’t succumb to the allures of those legions of groupies who threw themselves at them over the years. And did they ask to see a birth certificate in each case?
Having failed to do his duty half a century ago, plod seeks to exonerate himself by doing it now. But what about those NHS managers who failed to protect the innocents in those hospitals such as the one who gave Savile the keys to Broadmoor? And what about all those BBC bigwigs who we know turned a blind eye? Are they all to be let off the hook?
But back to our own prospects, there remains one very black cloud which can still rain on all our parades: we have not seen the end of the Eurozone crisis. Yet a great positive should give us cause for hope; the one country which has the capability of resolving it is now in a position to do so. Angela Merkel is now safely back in office having won the September election. She is now free to take whatever decisive action is called for to stabilise and reform the European juggernaut.
So in these ‘interesting times’, let’s hold our nerve and hope 2014 comes up rosy. I certainly hope my readers take heart, hold onto their hats and enjoy the ride. I know I will. Happy New Year.