Defining moments

Day 12 (Monday 12th December 2016)

12 literary awards and numerous accolades, including a commendation

in relation to the Nobel Prize for Literature, are a reflection of the talents of

William Trevor, the Irish writer, playwright and short story specialist

(he is widely considered to be the finest short story writer in the English

language for the past half century). He died on 20th November 2016.

We have reached the start of a new week and I am sure you will agree with me that the blogs so far have been stunning; today's, by Tony Jackson, is no exception. It is a very personal reflection on a defining moment, not just for him in 2016 but in his life as a whole. Tony is the founder and managing director of Chelsham Consulting Limited, a firm that specialises in executive, leadership and transition coaching, facilitation and people consulting. Tony is active on social media (his business Twitter handle is @ChelshamConsult or you can contact him direct via @JacksonT0ny) - he writes an excellent coaching blog, "Silos, boundary-spanners & hot spots" and publishes posts on LinkedIn. Tony is both emotionally and intellectually intelligent and is swift to get to the heart of an issue. Resilient, perspicacious and empathetic - he is a great person to bounce ideas off or to discuss an issue with, to determine a solution.

As an added treat to his post, the beautiful pictures (excluding the one of David Bowie and the final one of the Fylde coast) are all photographs taken by Tony himself.

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Defining moments


There are some moments which define you.

If ever there was a bad year personally it was 2015.  And if ever there was a bad year for the world it has been 2016 – although  remarkably it turned into a much more positive one on the personal front.

(As an aside: I genuinely felt David Bowie’s death in January as if it was that of a beloved & close family member – and somehow it seems that since that awful day it has just been one thing after another on this blue planet of ours. As if David was the one who held things together for us.)

I had a complex, difficult relationship with my father. And then he went and died in October 2015 – leaving me without parents. My dear Mum died way back in 1990. His death incited so many memories of her and so many mixed emotions. 

Genuinely complicated.

My hollow came a year later. A surreal day.

My brother was much closer to him than I ever was – and given their geographical proximity (I escaped to London at the first opportunity as a young man) had managed the estate and the house for many months. My step-mother – his second wife - had moved out and into a home near her daughter as she gradually slid into the parallel world of vascular dementia. 

So it had been a trying year as we navigated new territories in a variety of ways. And none of us had ventured anywhere near my father’s wardrobes & cupboards to do the necessary clearing. Quite a hard task.

And the time had come. I’d decided that I could probably choose to be more dispassionate about matters. Nevertheless I needed to brace myself so I did, then sped up the motorways to the Fylde, popped into the village shop to buy some bin-liners and in I went.

For reasons I will not go into, it is not a place filled with exclusively happy memories. And the village is a place about which I have blogged before so let’s not go there either.

I kid you not…the lock collapsed as I opened the front door.  As if the house was saying either do not enter or ‘I have you again – you may not leave’.

I started in the loft. Pausing on the old 78s and 45s which I remembered from my early childhood. Finding…well…finding little really.

And then in the bathroom cabinet more than one unopened Christmas aftershave which I had given him many years before. Oh so he didn’t like it after all.

And then those wardrobes. With each new door a memory was provoked. Still some things which belonged to my mother. Clothes of his which hadn’t been worn for decades. Multiple packs of new shirts (his recent habit had been hilariously over-ordering on the internet). Medical paraphernalia. Now I’m feeling wistful. The overnight bag he’d taken with him on that final admission into hospital. Still packed. Now I’m feeling hollow.

Hollow with the realisation  that something profound has happened.

A generational shift.

There’s no longer anyone ahead of me.

I am the responsible one. 

Fylde coast

Ghosts

Day 46 ( Friday 15th January 2016)

46 is sometimes used in Japan as a slang abbreviation for "yoroshiku" (よろしく) meaning "best regards".
The numbers 4669 is also used as the first 4 is pronounced "yo", the 6 "ro", the second 4 "shi" and the 9"ku".
4 can be "shi"or "yon", 6 is "roku" and 9 is "kyuu".

Today's post is by Gemma Reucroft, the UK HR Director of Tunstall Healthcare (UK) Ltd where she leads HR in the UK and Ireland. Prior to joining Tunstall, gemma has held a variety of HR roles, including leading teams in employee relations, resourcing, operations, service delivery and business partnering. Gemma is a fellow of the CIPD, has a Masters' Degree in Employment Law and Industrial Relations from Keele and is a qualified mediator and coach. Gemma is a celebrated Social Media expert, regular speaker and acclaimed writer. Amongst various publications, Gemma co-authored a book on Social Media with Tim Scott, Putting Social Media to Work – A Practical Guide, which was mentioned in Day 43's post. Her blog, People Stuff, is a great read and accurately named. Gemma is a great source of advice and inspiration and genuinely cares about making the world of work a win-win for all parties involved.

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Coal dust. 

A fine powder created from handling coal. 

Tiny but deadly. In the lungs, it causes the deadly disease pneumoconiosis, known as black lung. 

In the air, highly explosive.  Did you know that because of coal dust, a nearly empty coal store is actually more likely to explode than a full one? 

Many mining disasters, and many deaths of mine workers, have resulted from the presence of coal dust.  

Trepanner, miners and coal dust

In this universe, you don’t need to be big to be significant.

Mining is a tough, dirty, and often dangerous job.  But a job that many men fought hard to keep all the same.  A fight that they did not, perhaps could not win.  But as many miners will tell you, you may leave the employment of the mine and come back up top, but something about it stays with you still. 

In December, the last deep mine in the UK closed, with the loss of 450 jobs.  An industry that once employed a million men.  The once mighty National Union of Mineworkers now reportedly has less than 100 members. 

Those of us that are interested in the world of work often talk about this thing, this most elusive of things; meaningful work.  We talk too of the often fabled ‘employee engagement’.  Few of the theories and the books and the thought leaders seem to suggest that employee engagement is gained by crawling on your hands and knees through low coal seams, descending into the dark in a tightly packaged cage, getting filthy, risking injury and death every day.  But engaged these men were all the same, with their industry, their work, their colleagues.  A different kind of engagement, perhaps, than the one we talk of today. 

A Yorkshire miner

The mining industry in the UK, is mostly gone.  Mines abandoned.  Some, filled in with concrete.  Equipment left beneath the surface to slowly rust away to nothing.  Ghosts of an industry consigned to history. 

Port Mulgrave, North Yorkshire

But there, the coal dust remains still.  And so too the memories, of those that worked there and fought amongst it. 

Kellingley miner's boots