What Lies Beneath Rattlechain Lagoon?

The gestation period has nearly ended as we are delivered a newly improved hazardous waste site. Nine months of stirring, shovelling, sucking and dumping is drawing to a close as the Autumn winds begin to cover the area with a carpet of leaves.

For the last couple of weeks there has been the sense of milking it out a bit. Only two Heyrmans remain and the activity on the site has been fairly staccato, though sometimes an early start has been noted.

Napoleon and Willy in the dark

All of a sudden the other day Napoleon decided to march out of the site with his companion behind him.

Where were they going?

The answer was making an even greater mess than before down the canal track and John’s Lane. I’m sure peple walking their woofers will appreciate it.

The conquest of Napoleon

The new causeway path has also had a smooth makeover

The long-bow

So it won’t be long now before the Solvay circus finally packs up and leaves the lagoon, leaving all the white phosphorus that Albright and Wilson and Rhodia left behind them. I wonder if they told their shareholders about the environmental liabilities that they took on when picking up the poison chalice of the French company?

And now, the end is here
And so I face the final curtain
My friend, I’ll say it clear
I’ll state my case, of which I’m certain

I’ve lived a life that’s full
I travelled each and ev’ry highway
And more, much more than this, I did it Solvay

Regrets, I’ve had a few
But then again, too few to mention
I did what I had to do and saw it through without exemption
I planned each charted course, each careful step along the byway
And more, much more than this, I screwed you Solvay

They still don’t like it up em

Yes, there were times, I’m sure you knew
When I bit off more than I could chew
But through it all, when there was doubt

I ate it up and spit it out
I faced it all and I stood tall and did it my way

I’ve loved, I’ve laughed and cried
I’ve had my fill, my share of losing
And now, as tears subside, I find it all so amusing
To think I did all that
And may I say, not in “The Rho-dia  way”,
“Oh, no, oh, no, not me, I did it Solvay”

For what is a man, what has he got?
If not himself, then he has naught
To say the things he truly feels and not the words of one who kneels

Albright and Wilson- ROT IN HELL

The record shows I took the blows and beat you Solvay!

Yes, it was my way

There is a decreasing presence of both individuals and work taking place at the Rattlechain lagoon. After nearly 8 months of commentary and observation, we prepare to see what will happen when all on site are no longer there and once again “nature” is left to its own devices.

“NEXT STEPS” is one of those ghastly PR/management terms for “we know what we are proposing is completely unpopular but we are going to try to brainwash you in “small amounts” because we think you are stupid and won’t see the bigger picture coming.”

Rhodia have used it throughout the campaign concerning the laying of the geo-textile membrane, (their prefered remediation scheme for closure of the site), but the only “step” was sidestepping planning authority to achieve what they have to date.

Who knows where these “next steps” are leading to, but what has this got to do with “protecting wildfowl” ?

The rattlechain pier now has its own green power box, complete with the obligatory hazard signs.

Whatever the steps, the continued visible presence of gas being emitted from below does not bode well.

Shepherds warning

As we await the real long term plans for this site from the current owners and others who have drawn up a ladder load of “next steps”, the warnings are there. Going “up” is where they want to take it, and this is not always the best direction.

Another week, another set of observations at the lagoon.

With Autumn now upon us, twilight appears on the 2013 “improvement works”. This weeks headlines

CANADA GEESE INVADE THE NORTH EMBANKMENT

DIVING PLATFORM ADDED TO SMALL LAGOON

SOME DODGY LOOKING CHEMICAL TESTING

BUBBLES OF GAS ARISING FROM BENEATH!

You can’t keep a good bird down. I heard some honking but couldn’t see where they were. The binoculars panned left then right across the early morning light on the rattlechain lagoon but to no avail. Then I looked up and you couldn’t help smiling. Up the North embankment 7 geese, who had obviously discovered the newly sprouting grass seed that is starting to appear to cover up the material, to cover up the geo mesh, to cover up the cracks, to cover up the white phosphorus contaminated soil. These curious adventurers have never been able to access this side before. Hopefully makes for a better meal than p4 laced weed in the lagoon.

So what is this latest erection at the lagoon?

 Not really high enough for a Tom Daley triple pike special, or did they have someone in mind to walk the plank?

Over the course of the week, the Rattlechain Pier began to take shape.

I look forward to seeing Joe Longthorne and the Krankies performing on the end of it fairly soon. But where is that pipe leading to? Haven’t seen any advertisement for change in discharge consent- the pontoon  pump hasn’t been discharging into here for a few weeks. I just hope the stupidity of the environment agency doesn’t allow a white phosphorus contaminated pool- which this still is by the way, into the River Tame via the John’s Lane sewer.

Instead of discharging to the canal, both the pontoon pump and the old pumphouse have been utilised to discharge water from the smaller lagoon into the now covered larger lagoon.

So let’s pump water from the dirty “clean side” into the now supposedly “clean side”

Two pumps both discharging water back to the main lagoon- why? A pool that is proven by their own commissioned report to be contaminated with white phosphorus- after we told them that this pool had been carved out of an original single contaminated pool. But why wasn’t this capped as with the main lagoon? The question has never been answered but ducked- but we are supposed to believe that a phoney pumping operation sucked out all the offending material out of here and under the now covered larger lagoon.

The only reason why as far as I can fathom is that this side has been left to soak up phosphine gas being emitted from the other side, via the causeway path. I would like to know what phosphine monitoring has or is being undertaken at surface level and below it on this smaller uncovered lagoon.

And so to the rather conspicuous looking testing that appeared to be going on behind the pump shed.

I get concerned when it looks like those doing the testing appear to be reading from a manual. Is this what we can expect from the supposed 5 year monitoring retainer that Rhodia/Solvay have put ERM on? But there again- they have always kept their own monitoring results close to their chests and out of public scrutiny concerning this site. And the EA believe their results without ever putting it to the test.

The best of it came when I saw what they were using as a temporary fume cupboard come lab bench. I had seen it before but couldn’t make out the red lettering. When I did I laughed out loud, then grimaced at the irony of it all and how so many birds had to endure exactly what they were storing in their tanks.

No shit!

The only thing missing was the ACME sign before it. On top however-

The tank labelled “small lagoon” with the cover left off so that rain water, as there was on Thursday and Friday could collect in the bowser. Are they producing “tests” from this water with a view to presenting a clean bill of health for the small lagoon water- with a view to discharging it again if the levels that the EA might set have not been breached? Call me cynical- but I will not and never will trust anyone connected to this chemical company again. You learn to think this way when you have been duped before- Never again! I don’t trust the bastards further than I could throw them.

Which brings me neatly to my last observation. A curious bubbling coming from the main lagoon near to the North embankment, and also it appears on other parts during the early morning. What It Is Not

• Diving birds
• fish
• an underwater pump
• rain or something else falling on the water giving the effect
• the loch ness monster
• any other bullshit nonsense the EA could think up (perhaps it’s marsh gas LOL!)

This is gas being evolved from beneath the water in the Rattlechain lagoon. I have the evidence and I have video evidence.

 And I will be watching.

Spring and Fall:

    to a Young Child

   Margaret, are you grieving
   Over Goldengrove unleaving?
   Leaves, like the things of man, you
   With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
   Ah! as the heart grows older
   It will come to such sights colder
   By and by, nor spare a sigh
   Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
   And yet you will weep and know why.
   Now no matter, child, the name:
   Sorrow’s springs are the same.
   Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
   What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
   It is the blight man was born for,
   It is Margaret you mourn for.

Gerard Manley Hopkins

Stat rosa pristina nomine, nomina nuda tenemus

 And so as week 30 of the work at the lagoon ends, this saw the departure of the majority of the watercraft. Goldmember, minimember and Gullit. The underwater sand castles have ceased, the sand machine and the giant snake packed away and presumably heading back on its way to the Netherlands.

Goldmember’s big end has gone

Snake on the way out

I may be off the mark, but on the day that Goldmember left, a suspiciously familiar looking long red lorry had a bit of an accident along the Sedgley Road- and carrying a suspiciously oval looking package under the covers!

So they are nearly finished with the burial. I’m sure the local residents will be glad to see the back of them. All that remains now is the shovelling of crushed brick over the folds of cappenslaag around the edges. I reckon this will be done and dusted by next week.

The orange boat now stands alone on the water, presumably as a back up for those parts the Heyrmans can’t reach.

They’ve always had a soft spot for the sailors at Trinity Street. Now they want YOU!

Where can you find pleasure
Search the world for treasure
Learn science technology

Where can you begin to make your dreams all come true
On the land or on the sea

Where can you learn to fly
Play in sports and skin dive
Study oceanography

Sign off for the big band
Or sit in the grandstand

When your team and others meet

In the Solvay
Yes, you can sail the seven seas

In the Solvay
Yes, you can put your mind at ease
In the Solvay
Come on now, people, make a stand

In the Solvay, in the Solvay
Can’t you see we need a hand

In the Solvay
Come on, protect the motherland

In the Solvay
Come on and join your fellow man
In the Solvay
Come on people, and make a stand
In the Solvay, in the Solvay, in the Solvay (up the Solvay)

They want you, they want you
They want you as a new recruit

If you like adventure

Don’t you wait to enter
The recruiting office fast

Don’t you hesitate
There is no need to wait
They’re signing up new seamen fast

Maybe you are too young
To join up today
But don’t you worry ’bout a thing
For I’m sure there will be
Always a good Solvay
Protecting the land and sea

In the Solvay
Yes, you can sail the seven seas

In the Solvay
Yes, you can put your mind at ease

In the Solvay
Come on now, people, make a stand
In the Solvay, in the Solvay

 Can’t you see we need a hand
In the Solvay
Come on, protect the motherland

In the Solvay
Come on and join your fellow man
In the Solvay
Come on people, and make a stand
In the Solvay, in the Solvay, in the Solvay (up the Solvay)

They want you, they want you
They want you as a new recruit

Who me?

They want you, they want you
They want you as a new recruit

But, but but I’m afraid of water.
Hey, hey look
Man, I get seasick even watchin’ it on TV!

They want you, they want you in the Solvay

Oh my goodness.
What am I gonna do in a submarine?

They want you, they want you in the Solvay

THE (LANGLEY) VILLAGE PEOPLE

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=InBXu-iY7cw

“It’s alive!” That fart smells MancThere comes a time in your life when you here a certain phrase and suddenly the meaning of life suddenly clicks into place. Mine was when I read the old Icelandic proverb

“EVERY MAN LOVES THE SMELL OF HIS OWN FARTS.”

A profound observation from the old vikings, but not quite enough to excuse their disgusting extermination of marine life. It’s a phrase that is perhaps the singular to “birds of a feather flock together.” I’m not sure if birds fart, but when people come together with a common purpose, they perhaps produce a collective cocktail, which more often than not is not a very good thing for the air that everyone else has to breathe. Think Nationalism for example, or the corrupt whiff from Brussels that tries to combine garlic bread, fish and chips with mushy peas and a large helping of German sausage washed down with a weak Polish beer and sickly Belgian chocolates for desert.

At the lagoon last week I observed a lesson from Nature on the subject. A grey heron landed on the North embankment. No food prospect there mate! But no sooner than he or she had landed, a crowd of “admirers” appeared in unison.

And it wasn’t long before these black birds  started to harrass the startled grey beast to the point where it took flight with a prehistoric squak and posture of a terradactyl. Even then a dog fight of crows performing aerial scurmishes until he gave up and went away. Did they not like the smell of his fishy farts?

This is an example of nature shooing away a potential threat, or so the scientists might claim as a theory- did they ask the crows?

Last week we had the latest in a long line of science friendly programmes from MI7, oh I meant the British Broadcasting corporation. The latest favourite poster boy for science- head of Data, face of Blunt, grin of Blair, presented the theory that Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein had put people off scientists meddling with nature, but how wonderful and misunderstood the lab men actually were.

Those poor scientists getting bad PR? You’d never have thought it seeing their faces on coinage, notes and stamps. And then we get “educated” how great they are by naming units of measurement after them and seeing their portraits and statues along with blue plaques.

So Cox on Science Britannica presented the usual one sided presentation from the Government policy shaped BBC. Calmness of the scientific meddlers enjoying an easy ride of an “interview” compared to archive footage of the marching “mobs” protesting about animal experiments and GM crops- just like those in the original Karloff film of Frankenstein wanting to burn down the mad scientist’s castle lab lair. Not particularly subtle.

But Cox and the spinners miss the point. In the novel there is no mob, rather it is the creation itself that destroys the scientist. So the metaphor in the programme totally fails- as does blaiming Shelley for peoples perception of scientists- particularly chemists.

The creation WAS a real threat. A mumbling brute created from the dead- the main frame from a multiple murderer hanged, with a bolt through its neck. The people didn’t like the prototype that the mad scientist created- because he would probably have wanted to create another- as was the case with The bride of Frankenstein.

DO SCIENTIST’S  FARTS SMELL OF ROSES?

What fails about this attempt to bring science to the masses is that the general gist appears to  originate from university institutions dabbling with the esoteric and fixed with the belief that they are better than everyone else and know what is right for all of us. The ivory towers of MP’s/scientists/businessmen- the axis of avarice- all pissing in the same pot, all farting in the same halls of residence together. And add to this old boys network the token lawyer, chief police officer, civil servants and army generals and you can pretty much ensure your wiff has the power to last for quite some time.

The timing of this programme following on from anouncements by Owen Patterson- (architect of the badger extermination), on GM crops  cannot be a coincidence. It is part of the spin war funded by international companies, one in particular,  and their attempt to take over all areas of our lives to the point where they determine life itself- and you pay for this crap quite literally to the tune of £145.50 a year.

“The mob” is not a bunch of Luddite idiots who know nothing and wield pitchforks, nor do they discount everything that science has given us.  They are a collective well organised small group of men, who have established a set of chains around our lives that they offer the keys to open but seldom do. They want us to follow them blindly as though all our futures depended on them without resistance. We must resist their temptations or face the consequences that they cannot predict with any accuracy. “Things can only get better” without them. Put your faith in Nature- just not human nature.

In Great Bridge, there was only one Fred Perry- and not the former more internationally known Tennis player. As a former Sandwell Councillor for The Great Bridge ward, Fred  was also a founder member of The Friends of Sheepwash Local Nature Reserve and Sandwell Swanwatch.

Along with Malcolm Beckley, he also started the CATCH radio scheme in the town (community action tackling crime and harassment). The radio scheme alerted police to potential crimes being committed in the town, though sometimes went well beyond these boundaries- as did the man whose call sign was 01 !

I remember a slightly built but deeply committed man- especially to Sheepwash Nature Reserve and the Haines Branch Walkway- which Fred had a great deal in shaping, or trying to. I remember standing with him CATCH radios in hand in the dark well after 11 0 clock at night on Sheepwash waiting for the police to arrive to deal with some yobs breaking down trees. I remember a man who put on a pair of waders around the age of 78 to help me catch a wounded swan on Sheepwash. I recall a man who would usually be the first to raise the alarm when he spotted a fire on the site from his multi storey tower block flat. But what else would you expect from a man who had served with The forgotten army during WW2, who raised thousands of pounds for The Royal British Legion and could be found every year doing the same thing always giving of his time?

He was an admired figure by young and old, and a cult figure in the area where he knew almost everyone, and most knew him.

Despite being deselected by his local Labour party branch, Fred remained for many years the face in the street that people would go to with their problems. He never turned anyone away, and it is a miracle that he and his wife Irene ever managed to get their shopping done in the local Kwiksave.

In truth he never really got over being deselected and felt betrayed by those he had considered “friends”.  In a world dominated by the false, Fred remained his uncompromising self- an old school socialist who would give his views instead of playing it safe and saying little. He was a union man, and not one from EQUITY.

In the dozens of meetings that I attended with him, including some of the ones he came to at Trinity Street at Rhodia,  he never once fell asleep, or chainsmoked his way through the preliminaries or afterphase, and he certainly never doubted his good friends or cash their dodgy cheques.

His family can be proud that he “retired” with dignity, was rightfully honoured with an MBE he deserved and has left a lasting memory where he will not be forgotten.

Fred acted as the link between the dogma of a council that belatedly honoured him with the title “Alderman” and the people of the community he served so well.

HE WAS THE GREAT BRIDGE.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q-XCmb6t6Zw

He’s seen it all, watching the caged birds within doing tricks. That 70’s guy- a tribute.

Click on the link and then come back to this page following the words and pictures down in time.

Raindrops keep fallin’ on my head
And just like the guy whose feet are too big for his bed

Nothin’ seems to fit

Those raindrops are fallin’ on my head, they keep fallin’

So I just did me some talkin’ to the sun
And I said I didn’t like the way he got things done

Sleepin’ on the job

Those raindrops are fallin’ on my head, they keep fallin’

But there’s one thing I know
The blues they send to meet me won’t defeat me

It won’t be long till happiness steps up to greet me

Raindrops keep fallin’ on my head

But that doesn’t mean my eyes will soon be turnin’ red

Cryin’s not for me
‘Cause I’m never gonna stop the rain by complainin’
Because I’m free

Nothin’s worryin’ me

[trumpet]

It won’t be long till happiness steps up to greet me

Raindrops keep fallin’ on my head

But that doesn’t mean my eyes will soon be turnin’ red
Cryin’s not for me
‘Cause I’m never gonna stop the rain by complainin’
Because I’m free

Nothin’s worryin’ me 

Oh  Rattlechain lagoon- home of the buried toxic waste….

Musée des Beaux Arts


About suffering they were never wrong,
The Old Masters: how well they understood
Its human position; how it takes place
While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully
long;
How, when the aged are reverently, passionately waiting
For the miraculous birth, there always must be
Children who did not specially want it to happen, skating
On a pond at the edge of the wood:
They never forgot
That even the dreadful martyrdom must run its course
Anyhow in a corner, some untidy spot
Where the dogs go on with their doggy life and the torturer's horse
Scratches its innocent behind on a tree.
In Breughel's Icarus, for instance: how everything turns away
Quite leisurely from the disaster; the plowman may
Have heard the splash, the forsaken cry,
But for him it was not an important failure; the sun shone
As it had to on the white legs disappearing into the green
Water; and the expensive delicate ship that must have seen
Something amazing, a boy falling out of the sky,
Had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on.

W.H Auden

Landscape with the Fall of Icarus.

There are many who have passed by John’s Lane over the years, just carrying on their business. Walking a dog, on their way to work, perhaps even claiming to be “bird watching” yet never seeing the suffering of the wildfowl. Whilst the Albright and Wilson UK company and cherub “Icarus” was falling, so too were the wild birds, somehow tied to the fate of a failing polluting experiment.

Whilst some social historians bemoan the “loss” of companies such as this, and vast amounts of copy can be written in local papers about it, in reality no-one could really care less. Perhaps this is poetic justice. I could not care less that Albright and Wilson disappeared and that jobs were lost, just as those who worked or contracted for them including the Matty boat dumpers could not care less about what toxic filth that they were filling into a pit and the deaths of birds that resulted.

For those who are not privileged to be able to view this work in the Brussels museum, just try opening your eyes to what suffering man inflicts on Nature. It is easy to see why Nature looks away and does not care when men fail and fall.

C. D Coppard – Portrait of a chemical company

And so to more “silliness” concerning the covering over with some cloth and filling of sand disguised as “remediation” at the lagoon that has poisoned dozens of wildfowl thanks to a British dumped chemical weapon. I wasn’t aware that Albright and Wilson were also supplying the French war office with phosphorus in the 1930’s until I looked into it. So back in the day when Germany invaded, there is a good chance that some of this was sent back where it came from. You don’t find that in the official history of the company books- along with any explanation as to why fit men in the Albright and Wilson families appeared to have evaded the draft. Thanks AW- another Queen’s export award should have been awarded for that one.

So last weeks observations saw filling up. With fuel

With yet more sand….

Randy Napoleon

The giant sandcastle on the East embankment is starting to subside. But lets not forget the buried p4 laced weed that was dumped here before that in April.

John’s Lane exit strategy

Diggers, lorries, boats, spades and wellies. Who would want to be in the shoes of those De-Roeck blokes?