Freedom

In her darkest moment, Freda the cow took steps. It was 1986, and she was at the abbatoir. It was do or die. She did; leaping to freedom… actually, the motorway. Police and many helpers gave chase. By the time they finally managed to tranquilize her (in a cemetery) Freda was featuring on the news. Offers came forward, and Freda got to live out her natural life on green pastures.

On the subject of freedom, when a large part of Snowdonia was put up for sale, Sir Anthony Hopkins purchased the land, for over a million pounds, then gifted it to the public. Thousands now enjoy the freedom of wandering the area each year.

And in Liverpool, a wee spot down by Albert Dock:

Freedom comes in many forms. From the castle walls in Conway I heard the lovely voice of a gent singing down on the esplanade. Locating him was a must. His well-decorated black hat (a cross between a boater and a bucket hat) sported feathers and little momentos, crowning warm blue eyes framed in happy wrinkles. His beard could well have belonged to a summer version of Father Christmas. He had a variety of instruments, but best was his voice, suited to sea shanties and storytelling.

This gent had been a police officer in England, then a security man, until he fell down stairs, crushing three vertebrae. Moving to Wales, he now thoroughly enjoys spending his days entertaining passers-by on the foreshore near UK’s tiniest house, from his mobile scooter.

He said his wife had surprised him by proving thoroughly capable of all those about-home tasks which had traditionally been his, thus freeing him to entertain. Not all relationships are quite so accomodating. Years ago, as a young police officer, he’d been tasked with advising a woman she was now a widow. His nerves on high alert, on the way to her cottage he rehearsed every scenario, preparing to support her in her time of shock. Standing at her open door, he gently broke the news. As he finished his first sentence, the woman threw her arms wide and said ‘Thank the Lord for that!

But some are caged on purpose; in Liverpool there’s the electrical worker confined to a little cage. It’s compulsory to have protective fencing, yet big fines if the public can’t get passed him easily.

But there’s other kinds of freedom.

On a back street in Central Liverpool, a community garden dedicated to the folk of Ukraine nestles in what had been waste land. Picnic tables with chess boards set in the tops, and lawn for ball games. A group of 20-somethings, in tight black leathers, chains and piercings were picking up litter. They do it every week. Why? They are a punk rock band, and this is their way of thanking the community for supporting them.

Regarding Ukraine, at the Isle of Man airport, this sign:

The community has a history of taking folk in. During WW2 they were sent Germans who were living in England, many of whom had been involved in anti-nazi work but weren’t trusted on the mainland. The islanders soon had them working, and integrating into the community.

Currently a volunteer group run this:

And then there is the owner of a kebab shop on the front esplanade in Douglas. In September he brought his two twenty-ish nephews from Turkey to live and work with him. He expects them to learn English and make their way in the world. They had no future in Turkey, and like young people everywhere, with no hope and too much time, they were heading for trouble. He was adamant though; this was a hand up, not a hand out. They were going to have to make good, work hard, and study harder.

Freda the cow leapt her way to a better life story; let’s hope humanity can do the same.