You don’t need to consult a fancy shaman to find out whether you have a soul or not. No need for some over paid, under-qualified practitioner to jangle some purple space crystals over your forehead, intensely reading the chakra quanta emanating from your aura. Put your money away. Here is a much simpler, instantaneous test. If the photo below leaves you completely unmoved then you have no soul. None whatsoever. Simple as that. You should immediately apply to 55 Tufton Street, London, SW1P 3QL for a research position. If however, this photo sent in by Hazel Long from Brighouse, W. Yorkshire, causes strange stirrings you don’t quite understand then you most definitely do have a soul. There.
Regular readers may well remember back two and a half years to this post {Shot at Dawn}. Hazel must be a baker or post-person or insomniac to so regularly (twice in three years) see dawn. That’s more than I’ve managed in a lifetime.
Newport is in Wales. Just. It’s in Wales about as much as Berwick upon Tweed is in England. So close to “them” that “they” may as well have it. I am of the previously unshared opinion that the rest of wales is quietly ambivalent about ownership of this particular corner.
What do I know about Newport?
Well, I became intimate with the roundabout beneath junction 24 of the M4 during a stalled hitch-hike home back in my army days – specifically where the A449 branches north; the fans of Newport County football club could be friendlier (one savage purple-jumper wearing Newport fan has stayed long in the memory of my home town’s fans); AND nobody ever chose Newport as a holiday destination – except when confusing it with Newport, Pembs.
So, given the feeling in the rest of Cymru it was with some trepidation that long-term correspondent to these pages MartYn Fielder (a son of Abergavenny) had to visit the town with his mother for a medical appointment. He need not have worried. It was while waiting for the NHS to do its thing that MartYn followed his Indiana Jones urges and explored an old railway track bed in Malpas just to the north of the town. I’ll let his words describe his adventure:
“I came across the noble form of an old pole, forlorn in the splendour of its decaying grandeur. The pole is incredibly pock-marked, as though it’s been attacked by giant woodworm, and there are no identifying markers. It is also entirely alone – having walked all the way to the point where the old railway has been obliterated by the link road between the A4042 and the A4051 in one direction, and then followed it in the other direction where it has been transformed into a tarmac footpath wending its way through endless housing estates, I can confidently state that this is the only remaining telegraph pole on this stretch of the old Eastern Valley Line of the Monmouthshire Rail and Canal Company (1852) which closed in 1963. This splendid solitary specimen stands as a witness to a century of spectacular growth and slow decline in the industrial heartland of South Wales. A humbling thought.”
So there we have it. Newport, Gwent, still in Wales, has Big Mac’s Wholly Soul Band and a single old and isolated, redundant and woodpeckered multi-arm telegraph pole. The word “Yay!” comes to mind. Put Newport on my holiday list. Summer 2074 should do it.
Anyway, I looked it up recently, MartYn and I have been exchanging telegraph pole related missives for more than ten years now. He is this close ” to getting on my Christmas card list.
As I write, storm Franklin is thrashing around outside trying to outdo it’s older siblings Dudley and Eunice. The latter came through here two days ago showing 969 millibars (hectopascals) and scared the life out of me and the ridge tiles of my house. Said storm proceeded to wrestle to the ground a 250 year old lime tree in the field across the lane. That this tree has significance to us is beyond the remit of this post/page/website. The tree also fell onto a rusting dutch barn flattening what was left from a storm 3 years ago into a mangle of corrugated rust and retired and rotted telegraph poles.
Curiosity took me out there to inspect the damage. The tree was rotten mostly through and clearly wan’t long for this world anyway, wind or no wind. I was just about to retrieve a branch or two for the home hearth when I spotted a fully intact insulator lying on the top of the grass as though it had been left there just minutes before for me to find. Then I found two more, slightly more concealed. Much excited rationalising led me to conclude that they were somehow wedged into the tree as a byproduct when the poles were used to make the now planate barn. Serendipity* that Eunice should have lead me to them.
I thought of the title of this post way before I started writing anything. I felt sure that if I just kept writing I could think of some connection between someone called Jim and the happenstance of me finding some old insulators. Like you now, I realise this far into the post that it’s just not going to happen. I can’t think of any association. At all. Try as I might. But I’ve written the heading now and I’m not the sort of person to go back and change it. So cheers, to the Jims of this world. And to one in particular 😉 May you be Lucky Jim.
Agent #1015* spent his entire working life building his company providing bitumen surfacing solutions for vehicle storage yards. But when Aaron Aardvark’s Tarmac Carparks closed in June last year Aaron took to telegraph pole spotting to fill the massive void in his life.
Here is his latest submission. This busy half pole with footpath sign and dual wide angle mirrors and obligatory missing cat poster is somewhere in Gwynedd, Plaid Cymru. Aaron tells us he aims to progress to whole poles very soon and hopes to find one with cross arms too. Good luck with that.
A close up of the aforementioned convex mirror reveals Aaron replete with camera and sidekick Shaaron and Terry Tesco driving a van at breakneck speed behind them.
*I’ve got your tystysgrif Cymraeg here Aaron. I haven’t forgotten.
Welcome to the TPAS virtual gallery. Wayne Firth is an honorary member of this society. He didn’t become such via the usual vulgarity of a cash donation delivered personally to my doorstep. Nor did he offer me a non-executive seat at some dubious investment company. And he didn’t marry my sister either.*1 Whilst these are all perfectly valid means of suffixing your membership with the esteemed “H”, Wayne went one better and used his position within the echelons of Openreach to access photos of poles of great interest. These he then sent to us under plain cover.
I’ve been hanging on to these for a while with the intention of spreading them out over a year. Truth is, my email inbox stretches off for over a mile now and so if I left it any longer then they may be lost to the silt at the bottom. (Apologies to those still waiting a reply from me for anything at all – don’t lose hope).
Anyway, thanks to Wayne #0985H for all these fabulous pole pics. Click a pic for full sized gallery.
*1 All are also valid, and oft used, means of acquiring peerage and/or PPE contracts.
PS the descriptive captions whilst seemingly blooming obvious… to the sighted, are from the alt text which we include with each image so as not to exclude so to speak…
