Marking time in December 2016
Two recent dealings with Australian companies have left a sweet taste in my mouth, and a feeling that there are still some businesses that stand behind their products.
Some years ago my sister gave me a Blunt umbrella, so called because it does not have the usual sharp points at the ends of its ribs. It’s the best umbrella I have ever used, even in a strong wind—something to do with its origin in breezy New Zealand.
I was surprised when some of the ribs detached from the hub. I emailed the company to ask about getting it repaired. I told them the umbrella was outside the warranty period (two years) and I asked how much they would charge to fix it. Don’t bother returning it, they said, we’ll just send you a new one. And they did. By express post.
I bought a second-hand Røde M3 microphone but I was not happy with the quality of the recordings I made with it. I wasn’t sure if it was faulty, or if I was the problem (always a possibility). I sent it back to Røde and asked them to test it and let me know if anything was wrong with it and, if so, to quote for repair. The Røde people told me the mic was faulty, and sent me a new one. With a ten year warranty. No charge.
A look-out on Christmas eve
For a greeting card this summer solstice I have chosen this wood engraving from 1866. It may prompt us to lift our minds up from the Christmas carols, Christmas shopping, Christmas presents, Christmas drinks, Christmas pudding—to spare a thought for (ahem) Christmas Island.
Oops, sorry. I’m not supposed to talk about politics or religion at a Christmas gathering. Let’s just enjoy the picture and the text. The scene was drawn by J A Pasquier, an obscure artist. His work, and the work of the even more obscure engraver who signed with a monogram on the bottom-right, is a morally-uplifting tale of devotion to duty, suitable for warming the hearts of respectable folk at Christmas time.
I’ll let the editor of the magazine explain what the picture is about:
At this season of the year, when wrecks are frequent around our stormy coasts, the men at the different life-boat stations, and others whose duty it is to watch for vessels in distress, are more than usually vigilant; and if the sun goes down in a lowering sky, with a tempestuous wind blowing landward, a good look-out is sure to be kept at all points where help or succour is likely to be needed. Our engraving on page 609 represents one of the curious lofty structures erected by the beachmen of Great Yarmouth to overlook the Scroby Sands and watch for signals in the roadstead. These “Look-outs,” as they are called, are six in number, and are each owned by a company of twelve beachmen, commanded by a captain, who also acts as cashier, and squares up all accounts at Christmas. Each company also possesses one or more yawls and other boats, in which the hardy beachmen are ever ready to brave the dangerous surf, and they frequently risk their lives in efforts to save ships and men. The beachmen of Yarmouth are a bold and gallant body, of whom many acts of bravery and endurance are recorded. Between the different companies a notable rivalry exists, which frequently leads to deeds of great daring, and sometimes gives rise to an exciting race, the goal being some stranded vessel, with its benumbed and perishing crew straining their eager eyes to catch a glimpse of their coming deliverers. All honour to the brave hearts who are looking out for the distressed at this blessed Christmas tide! and as we give a hearty “Good-night!” to the old fellow who is ascending the ladder with a supply of Christmas cheer for himself and his mates, let us hope that their night-watch may be disturbed by no worse sounds than the roar of the sea or the howling of the bitter wind.