Oil Drum Lane

  Start at one of the two  PAGES  in the headings above, which organise the content. This page is simply  a scrolling list of blog posts in no particular order.   The SCRAPYARD Page   is a collection of notes  on offbeat places and the events and people that shaped them, created while grazing in pastures of irrelevance. (cornucopia. goats. ok?) I doubt that you share my fascinations, but if you root around a bit, you might find something that catches your eye. The content wanders but has a London bias. My gaff, my rules.  It is primarily configured for reading on a phone, but the Blogger software is imperfect, so there will be glitches, and the graphics can wander around the page. I don't have an excuse for the typos and factual errors.  NOW WITH LESS  FEWER TYPOS AND MORE COMMAS !  The SOAPBOX Page   is a reliquary of my former professional involvement in planning and development. My interest was in making things happen. Some ...

  Schooled by Catholic nuns and priests, I was fed the full-fat hellfire and damnation diet. Death seemed remote at the time. If we went through the motions of the rituals of confession and absolution, we didn’t need to worry too much about it. It was never suggested that we could ease any residual fears by simply embracing a different religion, let alone by suggesting that we could bypass the worst consequences of our sins by buying into the notion that we lived in a computer simulation. To be clear, and so you know where I am coming from here, I now belong to the church of ‘dead means dead’, and accept that my fate is to end up as worm food and then reduced to my constituent atoms. Dead is Dead It really never occurred to young me that it was only some of the many flavours of Christianity that were into this fire and brimstone stuff. So, when I finished researching (yes, I do some) and writing up my posts on the landscapes of hell, I decided to explore both the origins of those i...

The  Rothschilds were a banking dynasty, the  Rockefellers of the Victorian era. They seemed to congregate around t he Aylesbury Vale, which became known as Rothschildshire. Now, the area is littered with their fabulous mansions. This is the story of some of them.  Their origins in the Jewish ghetto in Frankfurt  were far from fabulous. It was  a grindingly impoverished hellhole where, i n 1743, Amschel Moses Bower, a goldsmith by trade and aided by his formidable and capable wife Gutle,  expanded into finance as a way to make money when many other avenues were closed to Jews .  The Frankfurt Ghetto, a century later  Houses in the ghetto were not numbered, so he placed a sign of an eagle on a red shield over the door. Rothschild is German for ‘red shield’ so, later, his son Mayer adopted that as his family name. Mayer prospered and, to extend the scope of his nascent banking empire, dispatched his sons around Europe.   The Red Shield...