Bye George-what a Navy Lark!

Just another twenty minutes or so remaining (as I begin typing) of what some say should be the most patriotic day of the year for all true Englishmen and women- St George's Day! And, for that matter, the birthday and reputed dying day of not just England's, but probably the world's most recognised and gifted dramatist, good old Will Shakespeare (or whichever one of the numerous spellings of the Bard of Avon's surname you choose to use).
Now I've always been a sentimental soul and love all the tradition and pageantry of great occasions and our national heritage. In fact, for a while today, I even thought of affixing one of the remaing red roses for a lovely lost lady, from Mum's floral funeral tribute still in the garden, to my own clothing as I went off to Reading for what turned out to be a very enjoyable radio club meeting followed by a very tasty Indian meal. However, wisely probably I decided against such ostentation in the end and instead settled for reading about some of the exploits of St George and his history in a certain redtop newspaper discarded by a previous traveller on my Reading-bound train.

Now it is rare indeed that I would agree with The Sun- so often an organ of pointless or even baseless scandal and drivel. It's a paper best left for wrapping chips or cleaning windows (yes, really!) However, travelling light with no magazines or books with me today I was surprised to find Wapping's Saturday edition was actually quite interesting. The tone of the paper seems to have become a bit less narrow-minded and flippant and I couldn't agree more with their leader about a case of political correctness gone ga-ga with one of today's stories. Mind you, whether they have their facts right of course is another matter!

It seems that the top brass or whoever determines these things had decreed that several ships of the RN fleet currently engaged in an exercise in Plymouth could not display the flag of St George today. The simple but evocative red cross of England, symbol of sporting dreams more often dashed than realised, also forms the basis of the British senior service's own flag of sovereignty, the White Ensign but today it was a definite no show, at least in the navy's second home.

The reason for this bit of absurd pseduo-diplomatic nonsense? Apparently there were fears it would offend the Turks, who as NATO members were also taking part in the exercise. It might be seen as too nationalistic on what is Turkey's national day. Of course, as "The Sun says", the fact that St George himself was born in what is present day Turkey seems to have been of no report. How do the ignoramuses who decree these things get away with it?

The Sun wasted no time in launching an attack on our homogenised society, and for once I agree with them. The diversity that we are so often being encouraged to embrace actually ends up bringing about a black and white society with no room for celebration of our individual characteristics- like that of "Englishness" or our national differences such as the musical heritage of Wales or Caledonia's culinary creations and wonderful whiskey. While patriotism may often be the last refuge of a scoundrel (who was it that said that?), pride in the land of our birth and our heritage is a wholly honourable and indeed Biblical attribute most of the time provided it does no harm to others, as for instance anyone with sensitivity to the Jewish faith would tell you today on what is their Passover festival weekend.

Passover or Pesach is one of the most beautiful and special feasts in Jewish society, beloved of children and putting the family at its heart. Like George saving the damsel from the dragon, even if that tale is more likely to be myth than fact, it is a time for Jews everywhere to remember being saved from some ghastly evil and instead offered friendship with God and a new life, known theologically as "Salvation"

EASTERY-BOURNE AGAIN
Talking of salvation, earlier in the week I went down to Eastbourne to do a bit more sorting out of my bits and pieces in my "second" home there, as well as pick up my post, but principally to attend the bible study group held there every fortnight at The Ranworth Hotel, the home of two good friends of mine in Eastbourne's Ceylon Place Baptist Church. The folk of that congregation are a bit like wandering Israelites themselves at the moment, with no permanent home after selling their own building in a bit of a leap of faith some fifteen months ago. As a result, they now meet on Sundays in the local Methodist Church hall, which as someone who comes from that tradition I welcome warmly.

Nevertheless, there is a very real human longing to have a place to call our own home. It's a nebulous concept which cannot be limited by the people we see there or see no more, but it's dear to most folk I know. A hymn writer of an earlier era put it well I think in "I Vow to Thee My Country"- yet one figure of faith has banned this as too jingoistic for the 21st century.

I guess for the Jews who celebrate Passover, the longing to go home is also the sentiment most poignantly expressed in their heartfelt plea at some of their festivals (Passover or New Year? I can't recall): "Next year in Jerusalem".

Thursday night's theme at the Ranworth house group though was based around the 1st chapter of the book of Colossians in the New Testament. Even for someone with a background in Biblical studies like myself ( I have a degree in Religious Studies and History), it's a hard passage to grasp as it attempts to unpack the idea of "Salvation" and what it really means for Christian believers and indeed for all of humanity.

As one who has experienced many instances of what I believe to be God's touch in my own life, I long to share this with others not out of any misplaced loyalty to God and his "country", but because like so many billions of others, I believe that in the story of the life, death and resurection of Jesus Christ is the whole kernel of truth about the meaning of mankind and the wonderful hope that we can actually know God and find his love in an often hopeless world. I gather that next Sunday will be the Eastern Orthodox Easter; a pity it could not quite coincide with the inaugaration of Pope Benedict today, but there are certainly encouraging signs of unity and friendship between the two great streams of Christendom which parted company around a thousand years ago.

St Peter's courtyard in the eternal city, Rome, is a riot of colour tonight, as apparently it has been decked out with flowers. An appropriate reminder maybe of the garden tomb which we remembered a month ago while our Eastern brothers and sisters in the faith will celebrate in a week's time. What a joyful mystery we celebrate this and every Sunday! May today in Rome be a time when the old emnities, the pointless differences between us so often, are put aside again for a little while and Christians around the world remember those words of scripture; "How good it is when Brothers and sisters dwell together in unity"!


ORGANIC RADIO
I had plenty of time for inner reflection today as I supped my fair trade cappucino and my tasty, wholesome Tobermory shortbread in the Reading International Solidarity Centre cafe. Back in January, when I was in the midst of the trauma of my dear Mum's terminal diagnosis and not knowing how long she would be with us, I gave a brief mention in this blog to the Reading International Radio Group meetings.
After several years in the cemtra; library, these ever-popular gatherings have now moved to a new venue in that town famous in times past for Biscuits, Bricks and Beer. At the first meeting in the new venue, I must admit I was barely able to concentrate on the speakers and the hobby as my mind was so tied up with worry for my loved one.
Now, four weeks exactly after we lost Mum, of course the sadness is still there and has touched my soul several times this week. There's no point in pretending I don't miss my mother, and it is a very strange and empty feeling to return home here to Feltham knowing she is no longer seen by our eyes. But just because someone or something is no longer seen in the flesh does not mean that the remembrance cannot be very real and comforting. How true it is that absence makes the heart grow fonder. Many of my older confreres at Reading today, I feel, must have been feeling this as we thought about an interesting and historic chapter in UK broadcasting.

One of the hype sites for digital radio is called "lovemyradio.com" (you do the work- I won't paste it in!) and for everyone of those who have been attending these meetings, some for three decades now, that is a very true sentiment indeed. We love our radio, but some miss the way it used to be. But is it just the medium itself we love? Can you really feel the deepest affection for the diverse assemblage of valves, semi-conductors, integrated circuits, capacitors, coils, aerials and wires that make up a typical radio transmission and reception chain, or is it something else that inspires the peculiar passion of the DXer, the "ham" and the listener?

Love can blossom for inanimate components if you have a particular bent for the technical, which is why a throng of enthusiastic hams and hunters will be racing down to Kempton later today (Sunday 24th) for a radio and electronics rally at Sunbury's race course. I may even join them myself, once I have got the priority of praise and worship done for the morning at church. High time I brush up my technical knowledge and take advantage of the newly-liberalised use of the bands open to those of us who have earned the right to a callsign, so hi to all from G7UPT (currently lapsed but planning to renew my "ticket").

However, for far more of us the beauty and the joy of radio are found in its people,programmes and voices. Mere music alone doth not a radio station make, though it clearly plays a very important part for many. This St George's Day Reading meeting celebrated a time in English (and indeed British!) broadcasting history which now basks in a glow of nostalgia as warm as the valves which once powered names like Radio Caroline and Radio London "Big L", and tears flow like the salt water which nearly drowned them.

The era of the offshore pirates was our main subject today, as with anoraks actually taken off for the moment we enjoyed various videos and recordings about the heyday of the seaborne celebrities between 1964 and 1967, and their latter rising from Davy Jones' locker as legal temporary stations or "RSLs". Now safely out of the hands of Tony Benn, the late Harold Wilson et al, big names like Keith "Cardboard Shoes" Skues, Ed "Stewpot" Stewart (my personal favourite), Pete Brady, Dave Cash and many others have once again shown why these pioneers paved the way for a form of personality radio those of us too young to remember its heyday have much reason to be grateful for. Without the influence of the pirates, so a somewhat ironic BBC TV report claims, there would have been no pop radio and none of the hundreds of local radio stations which now populate the airwaves.

MORE OR LESS?
But are these two a penny ILR stations pumping out anything actually worth listening to and are they worthy successors to their marine forerunners? Can the millions made by covetous shareholders really be justified by the anodyne, homogenous diet pumped out by so many of the independent stations in the noughties, or do we need a return to the sound and the sentiment of the sixties wonders or even earlier eras of sound broadcasting?
One person who certainly seems to think a change is needed is Mr Millionaire himself, Chris Tarrant, who with his interests in a major radio production company is now aiming to bring a better breed of station to the South Coast in a new licence bid. Whether this will really be the case however, or the mere empty promises that so many ILR franchise bids seem to contain, remains to be seen (or do I mean heard?).
Maybe radio needs a patron saint (though I expect someone will point out it already has one somewhere!); can we travellers across the ether dare to hope the final answer for our prayers for better broadcasting can be answered by St Christopher of Celador?
Belief in a resurrection of radio listening -which among some age groups seems to be dying a death- is what we seek. But have faith: Jesus saves souls and - in places like the tsunami disaster zone of the Andaman Islands- radio even saves lives. Alleluia!