Wildflower seeds to honour Hull's fundraising Bee Lady
Residents of a Hull street are handing out wildflower seeds in memory of charity fundraiser Jean Bishop, better known as the Bee Lady.Members of the Chanterlands Avenue Residents and Traders Association said the initiative was to highlight Mrs Bishop's connection to the street, as she got married in a local church.She raised more than £125,000 for Age UK and was often seen dressed in a bee outfit raising money on the city streets.Chris Hall, chair of the association, said it was about creating "beautiful patches of wildflowers in honour of Jean Bishop, who herself spread joy".
"We want children and adults alike to be able to help themselves to the seeds, take them home and scatter them where they like," he said.The group have put wildflower mixes into small packets and left them in display boxes at The Avenue pub and a pharmacy opposite.Mrs Bishop, who died aged 99 in 2021, was awarded the British Empire Medal for her fundraising efforts and picked up a Pride of Britain award, which was presented by actor David Walliams dressed in a bee outfit.This week, Age UK in Hull and East Yorkshire launched the first ever Bee Lady Day.The charity said the annual event aimed "to inspire a brand new generation of fundraisers".Listen to highlights from Hull and East Yorkshire on BBC Sounds, watch the latest episode of Look North or tell us about a story you think we should be covering here.
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Daily Mail
4 hours ago
- Daily Mail
He was chased by dogs, racially abused and faced brutal interrogations, but MELVYN DOWNES reveals how one VERY embarrassing moment almost scuppered his chances to become Britain's first black SAS soldier
Escape and evasion is at the heart of what the SAS is all about. The regiment often operates behind enemy lines so its men are much more likely to be separated from comrades or captured, and need to know how to evade a larger enemy force. This was the climax of the gruelling SAS selection course that had seen many ejected already, for which I – a black, working-class kid – was one of the few survivors. We returned to the freezing Welsh hills where we'd begun the selection process, to be pushed to the edge of our physical and mental capabilities. We were blindfolded and driven to an unknown mountain and moorland spot, handed a sketch map and told to rendezvous with an 'agent' at a particular location. When we reached the first checkpoint, we would be given another location, a mouthful of bread and cheese, and sent on our way. This process was then to be repeated over and over. Each wearing just an old Second World War-style greatcoat and a pair of laceless boots, we were let loose to be hunted by more than 1,000 soldiers who'd been promised a bonus if they captured us. They were accompanied by helicopters and police dog-handlers. The local farmers had been told to inform our hunters if they spotted anyone suspicious on their land. It was only possible to move at night; if you tried during the day you were guaranteed to get caught. And if you were spotted anywhere near a road or a track, you were instantly off the course. So we had to try to navigate over marshes and hills in the dark. If caught, you'd be beasted for a few hours, then released again. On the first night I split up with the man I'd been paired with as we sprinted blindly away from hunters whose torches we'd spotted approaching us. For hours I splashed across streams to throw dogs off my scent. Then I found a ditch, made a tunnel by pulling branches over myself and had lain there through the day lashed by constant rain. By the evening I was hungry, cold and wet and shivering uncontrollably. My legs and arms had been ripped to shreds by thorns. The greatcoat wrapped around my shoulders was so sodden that I doubted it offered any warmth at all, but nor could I contemplate abandoning what was my only piece of outerwear. Then I heard high shrieking yells. The dogs were near again. The hairs on my arm stood on end, my heart pounded. I knew this wasn't real, yet I had persuaded myself it was. That I was being chased, that I might be tortured or killed if I was captured. I'd figured that if I raised the stakes like that, I'd be less likely to throw in the towel when I was tired or hungry or cold or fed up. The barks grew closer, accompanied by the muffled sounds of men talking as they swarmed through the area, their feet bringing them closer and closer to my hideout. I needed to control my breathing and rein in my fear. That way I would be less likely to give off the pungent scent we produce when frightened and which the dogs would pick up. The voices were more distinct now, I heard the dogs panting. Damn, was this the end? I'd chosen a spot so choked with nettles and rotting mulch I was sure nobody would stop to investigate it, but what if I'd made some stupid error that led them to me? My mind cycled through all the possible options. They were just metres away. Twigs snapped, grass tore. My heart started to thump, so I turned my attention to my breathing again. Please, I thought, don't let me be captured. Then the sounds grew more distant, before disappearing. They were somebody else's problem now. A few minutes passed, I dared a glance through the thatch of plants. Night was falling. It was time to move. One, then two, then three and four days and nights went by. It was the last day of this stage. The end was in sight, though we knew that in a sense our suffering had just begun. If we made it through, ahead were countless hours 'in the bag' – meaning the bags placed over our heads before an interrogation process that would test us to the limit and maybe beyond. I'd never felt so feeble or alone. I wasn't sure if I was ready for this. It was a daunting prospect. I knew they'd do everything to break my mind. If they break your body, you can almost always find a way back. If they break your mind you risk being lost for ever. I was contemplating this as I walked in the dark through ragged woodland. I thought I spotted a face leering at me through foliage. There was someone there, a man with wild eyes and sunken cheeks, his skin almost black with dirt. The face broke into a crooked smile. It was Sammy, one of the oddballs on the course, a Marine in his mid-30s – towards the upper age limit – trying to get into the SBS, the Special Boat Squadron. We'd joked that he looked like Krusty the Clown from The Simpsons. He still did, though only if Krusty had spent the best part of a week hiding in a filthy trench while packs of dogs hunted him. I giggled at the thought, then realised I probably looked just as repellent. He came towards me and asked: 'Did you see that farm over there?' 'Yes,' I said. 'What have you had to eat?' 'Hardly anything, just a few roots.' Sammy had an idea: 'Let's go see what food we can find.' He had a point. We didn't know what exactly we were going to face while being interrogated but it stood to reason we'd need as much energy for it as we could muster. He went off to investigate and rushed back a minute or two later with a triumphant smile. Good, he's found some food, I thought. My mind ran away with me; a loaf of bread perhaps, or even brown bananas. I wasn't picky. 'Look at this,' he whispered, brandishing a plastic bottle in my face. Salad cream. I examined the label. 'It's three months out of date. No way am I eating that. I don't want to get ill.' 'Come on, have some!' he insisted. As I shook my head, he picked up a stick and started jabbing it into the bottle, bringing it up coated with thick gobbets of the salad cream. 'This is lovely.' Sammy and I stuck together, right up to when we were stopped by masked men who grabbed us, planted bags on our heads and shoved us on to the back of a truck of horse manure. As more and more candidates were picked up, they were hoisted on to the truck, thrown carelessly so they landed painfully on the blokes below. The truck rattled, our nostrils filled with the stink of excrement and the bodies of men who'd spent days living in the wild. I reminded myself of the instructions we'd been given about what we were allowed to reveal. Name, rank, number. Nothing else. And if we signed any piece of paper put in front of us we'd fail the course immediately. Straightforward enough, you'd think, but when you're exhausted and disorientated and on the wrong end of the tricks of experienced interrogators, it's anything but. After a while we were bundled off the truck and led to the interrogation centre, where our blindfolds were removed. It was dark and I could see very little. But I could instantly feel a change in the air temperature. For the first time in a week, I was warm. Instantly I began to feel drowsy, almost swaying on my feet. Perhaps I dozed while standing there, waiting for my turn, perhaps I didn't; I cannot be sure. I do remember being led into an even warmer office and the way the interrogator deliberately started talking to me in a soothing Canadian accent. I tried to focus but everything in my mind seemed fogged. I began to drift off. I was going deeper into sleep. Then his voice broke into my consciousness again. 'Thank you for telling me about your wife and kid.' I came to with a start. Had I? No, this is a trick. I turned to the man sitting beside him, trying to work out whether I'd really given this information away. This didn't help because he appeared to have turned as silent as Mickey Mouse. The interview ended and I was hauled out, bewildered and not confident I hadn't betrayed myself. I'd learn later that an officer on the course had been persuaded to put his signature on a document. Once he'd crossed that line, he started cheerfully signing paper after paper. That was the end of him. When we weren't being interrogated, we were forced to sit blindfolded in a stress position, cross-legged, back upright, with our hands on our heads. If at any point you slumped, or fell asleep, a guard would be on you in seconds, slapping you to bring you back up. Before long, every limb was filled with excruciating pain, our discomfort made worse by strobe lights flashing in our eyes and white noise blasting in our ears. Occasionally a cup of water would be brought to our lips to sip. We had to p*** where we sat. Sometimes they strode over and started beating us. The worst was a guy who seemed to enjoy it. Finally, I was brought into an interview room, where they told me to strip naked. There was a bloke I'd seen before and a new inquisitor, a good-looking blonde woman. I couldn't help but notice how tight her black top was. They made me open my legs, touch my toes, pull my butt cheeks apart. It was nasty, humiliating, though nothing I couldn't cope with. Then the interrogation began. To begin with it was standard good cop, bad cop, switching between threatening me and offering hot food and a shower if I signed the piece of paper they slid across the table to me. I imagined standing beneath a cascade of warming water that soothed my aching limbs and washed off the dirt that encrusted every inch of my skin. My hand twitched. My God, it was tempting. It couldn't hurt, could it? With an effort I dragged my mind back to the room and shook my head. 'No,' I said, smiling. My sense of reality felt frayed. But I had one thing to hold on to. It would soon be over. I knew that in July it got light at about 4am. I also knew the interrogation phase usually finished at around 11am. And that would be it, I'd have done it. I was sure I'd seen a glow of light through my blindfold and that an entire rotation had passed since then. This was the last block of four hours I needed to survive. The woman leaned across the table. Something in her face changed, her eyes filled with malice. She pointed to my penis. 'Pull your foreskin back.' I did what I was told. 'Now pull it forward.' I obeyed. She repeated the instructions. Baffled, I carried on. Then she sneered: 'Are you w****** over me, you disgusting n*****?' Right, I thought, this is the game, is it? To be honest there was no word she could say that I hadn't heard as a black kid growing up on a council estate in Stoke-on-Trent. Her insults took a more demeaning turn. Then, somehow, as she edged that bit closer to me, and I saw her chest in my eyeline and smelled her perfume, I imagined her naked. It was just for a fleeting second, but it was enough. Blood rushed to my penis; it jerked upwards. Oh, God. She noticed immediately and did her best to control her reaction. A smile flashed across her face, then after a brief struggle, she laughed. And I did too. It was all so ridiculous. And yet it could mean me failing the course, even at this late stage. We'd been told we had to take it all seriously. The idea that this might be the reason I got chucked off felt cosmically unfair. And yet, I wondered, maybe it was a weakness in me they'd managed to find. That's what they were here to do. Panic mounted in me. As I contemplated this, she managed to master herself. 'Get that black b****** the f*** out of here!' I was blindfolded, dragged out and thrown on to concrete by a man screaming obscenities in my ear. I heard the hiss of a hose and suddenly a high pressure jet of icy water slammed into me. The jet was so strong it lifted my blindfold and to my horror I saw it was still dark. I'd convinced myself it was about 8am but it was still the dead of night. My miscalculation devastated me. There were still hours to go. The finishing line was in sight but I was so tired, so addled, I came closer in those moments to quitting than at any other point of the course. I saw no way I could go on. It was precisely at that moment I heard one of our guys being pulled past me, sobbing like a baby. I heard some shuffling and pushing, then sensed that whoever he was had been placed in the stress position. He's in a worse state than me, I thought. I wonder who it is? That's when I got an unmistakeable whiff of salad cream. It could only be Sammy. I thought of his funny sad face, his clown's tuft of filthy hair. For the second time in 30 minutes I found myself giggling. Somehow, this was exactly what I needed. No matter how bad I was having it, it was nothing compared to what he was going through. It wasn't much, but it was enough to get me through the last stretch of the ordeal. And then it really was over. Just a handful of us had passed. We were told the news in a cold hangar in the same flat, emotionless way all information had been delivered to us over the past weeks. There were no congratulations, no pats on the back. I looked around at the handful of other soldiers, including, I was pleased to see, Sammy, who'd made it. Every single one of them looked crazy, their eyes enormous and spaced-out, their cheeks hollow. These defeated, wasted blokes were unrecognisable from the strong, healthy specimens who'd started the course. And yet they were the ones who had passed. I was too broken to react immediately. It was only later that I felt my spirits soar as, in front of the clock tower at the regiment's headquarters in Hereford, we were given the sand-coloured berets we'd worked so hard for. I'd made it. The black working-class kid was in the SAS, one of the first British-born black men to join. It was a dream come true.
Daily Mirror
4 hours ago
- Daily Mirror
UK seaside town close to shipwreck that's feared to blow up at any second
Fresh concerns the UK's 'doomsday ship' could blow up were sparked after a cargo ship was recently spotted sailing perilously close to the exclusion zone An unassuming seaside town with pastel beach huts and pebble shores is bizarrely home to its very own ticking time bomb. Situated on the northwest corner of the Isle of Sheppey in north Kent, Sheerness looks like any other coastal resort at first glance. With sweeping views of the Thames Estuary, rows of flashing arcades, a slew of fish and chip shops, and a popular promenade that runs along a shingle beach - it ticks all of the quintessential seaside must-haves. Dating back to the Bronze Age, Sheerness' history is what really sets it apart from the rest. It owes much of its origins as a Royal Naval dockyard town, after Henry VIII required the River Medway as an anchorage for his army, and ordered that the mouth of the river be protected by a small fort. Samuel Pepys established the Royal Navy Dockyard in the 17th century, where warships were stocked and repaired until its closure in 1960. But, in 1944, just a year before the Second World War came to an end, a US Liberty Ship named SS Richard Montgomery, was loaded with around 7,000 tons of munitions and joined over convoys bound for the UK and then on to Cherbourg in France. After arriving in the Thames Estuary, the vessel was directed to anchor in the Great Nore just off Sheerness to wait for instructions to cross the Channel. However, on August 20, it all went wrong. "The vessel grounded amidships on the crest of the sandbank. Intensive efforts began to unload her cargo," GOV UK explains. "Unfortunately, by the next day, a crack appeared in the hull and the forward end began to flood. The salvage effort continued until September 25, by which time approximately half of the cargo had been successfully removed. The salvage effort had to be abandoned when the vessel finally flooded completely." Now, the wreck of the SS Richard Montgomery remains on the sandbank, her masts clearly visible above the water. There are still approximately 1,400 tons of explosives contained within the forward holds - sparking fears it could explode at any time. The government has reassured the public that the risk of a 'major' detonation is 'believed to be remote' - but that monitoring the condition of the wreck is essential. "Surveys are carried out by the MCA on a regular basis to ensure that any changes to the wreck, or its immediate environment, are discovered quickly," the Maritime and Coastguard Agency states. "It is clear from the results of these surveys that the hull is subject to the prevailing environmental conditions and is showing evidence of gradual deterioration. However, the wreck is considered to be in a stable condition." The wreck is under 24-hour radar surveillance and is designated under the Protection of Wrecks Act 1973. An exclusion zone is clearly marked around it, but recent fears emerged after a cargo ship was pictured sailing perilously close to the ticking time bomb. Eastchurch resident James Dewey, who spotted a WEC Lines container ship edging closer to the exclusion zone - marked by buoys, told reports: "It was worrying when I was sitting there looking at doomsday." Officials confirmed the ship did not breach the exclusion zone, but the event still re-sparked interest in the ship's potential to wreak havoc. As previously reported, a 1970 report from the Royal Military College of Science predicted a huge tsunami more than 3,000 metres high would be caused if its payload was to detonate. Nearby Sheerness would also be engulfed in the carnage.
BBC News
4 hours ago
- BBC News
How UK paternity leave compares to the rest of Europe
The paternity leave offer for new dads in the UK is "one of the worst in the developed world", according to a new report published this week. The government says the system needs to be "improved" and has promised to review parental leave. But how does the situation in the UK compare to elsewhere? BBC News spoke to dads across Europe about how much time they can take off work after the birth of their children - and how that has changed fatherhood for them. When Jamie's daughter Kiara was born three years ago, he says it was "incredibly difficult"."I had to watch my partner struggle looking after our child," Jamie says. "The biggest thing I remember was the crying. My daughter clearly needed support and my wife was noticeably struggling and exhausted."A few weeks after Kiara was born, Jamie's mother-in-law flew from Zimbabwe to support the family, because Jamie was only entitled to statutory paternity in the UK allow new fathers and second parents in full-time employment to take up to two weeks off work. That applies to all partners, regardless of gender, after the birth, surrogacy or adoption of a baby, but not those who are self-employed or dads earning less than £123 a eligible receive £187.18 a week, or 90% of their average earnings, whichever is lower. This works out as less than half of the National Living from Ashford in Kent, says the statutory pay "was frankly pennies".He and his partner are now expecting their second child, in August - something they began saving for before Jamie's wife Zanele even fell says his "frustration" about paternity pay led him to attend the world's first "dad strike" earlier this week, when fathers from across the country protested outside the government's Department for Business and Trade in Westminster."Seeing things change relatively recently in other countries... why are we not keeping up?" Jamie says. For Octavio, spending four months at home with his daughter Alicia has made "a tremendous difference".He split his paternity leave into two parts - six weeks - which was mandatory -immediately after Alicia was born, and the remaining 10 weeks when his wife went back to work."The extended quality time with Alicia allowed us to develop a strong bond that I believe wouldn't have formed as deeply otherwise," says Octavio, a computer engineer from the past few years, Spain has increased the amount of time given to new fathers. In 2019, dads were entitled to five weeks off work. But from 2021, that was extended to 16 weeks at full pay, including for those who are self-employed. There is no cap on the salary paid. It means parental leave is now equal between mums and dads in Spain."These changes have truly made a significant difference," says Octavio. France has also made progressive steps on paternity leave in recent is an architect who lives on the outskirts of Paris, and has benefitted from the changes. When his son Thibault was born five years ago, Antoine, who works full-time, was entitled to two weeks paternity in September 2020 paternity leave in France doubled, meaning Antoine got four weeks off work when his second child was born in 2023."It allowed me to support my wife and children," he says. "Fathers should be allowed to be more present during these family life periods that enrich all relationships and allow them to fully take their place as full-time parents."France's paternity leave rules mean dads - including those who are self-employed - must take a week off work immediately after their child is born. Pay is covered by the employer for the first three days, but after that is remaining 21 days, which can be split into two chunks, are optional and can be taken anytime within the next six months. Pay is capped at €3,428 (£2,921) a month. André, who was born in Portugal and spent nine years living in England, says the prominent role played by dads in Denmark was one of the first things he noticed when he moved there."You see dads strolling around with their kids and young babies," André says. "I was like: 'Wow, I'm not used to this.'"Dads in Denmark, including those who are self-employed, can take up to 24 weeks off work at full pay by the eleven weeks, the remaining 13 can be transferred to the birth partner if wanted, so they can use them as extra maternity leave. One of the parents can postpone up to 13 weeks of parental until their child is aged decided to split his parental leave - taking two weeks immediately after his baby Miro was born and saving the remaining 11 weeks - so he can look after his nine-month-old son when his partner returns to work."In Denmark, it's expected that the partner is more present," André says. "You're not only connecting with your child, but you want to develop the family as a whole together." Dads with full-time jobs in Poland are entitled to two weeks of paternity leave. But unlike in the UK, the salary is paid at 100%, which Kamil says was "great".Shortly after his daughter Marianna's first birthday, Kamil took another nine weeks of non-transferable parental leave, which must be taken in the first year. This is available to both parents, as long as they are employed, and is paid at 70% of a full-time salary."For many families, the 70% nine weeks is very low," Kamil says, "but... when I took the leave my wife started going back to work. I earned 30% less, but she started earning more, so it was beneficial for our family."Kamil says those extra nine weeks alleviated a lot of "stress" as his wife transitioned back into work after a year off on maternity leave."I was confident," Kamil says. "I felt as though I was doing a good job - and my daughter felt good with me." Mattias, from Stockholm, says comforting his three-month-old son is "the best feeling I've ever experienced".Mattias is able to take advantage of one of the most generous paternity leave policies in the world. Parents in Sweden, including those who are self-employed, can share up to 480 days of parent leave, with 90 days reserved specifically for each time off for dads was first introduced in Sweden in 1995, with the introduction of a "daddy month" - 30 days just for fathers. This use-it-or-lose-it model increased to 60 days in 2002, and 90 days in first 390 days for each parent are paid at 80% by the government, up to a monthly salary cap of SEK47,750 (£3,590). After that, there's a daily statutory compensation of SEK180 (£14).Mattias took six weeks off when Otto was born and will use another nine months of parental leave from November."We could share the load in the beginning when everything was new," Mattias says. "Those six weeks allowed us to be parents together - that made a huge difference. " Paternity leave - the view from the UK Some companies, both in the UK and abroad, pay out of their own pocket for enhanced paternity leave policies beyond the statutory minimum. But research from 2023 showed just 12% of fathers from low-income households had access to their full entitlement of employer-enhanced parental leave and Lloyd-Hunter, co-founder of The Dad Shift, says "money is the single biggest barrier" to dads taking time off work and wants the government to fund better paternity leave for all dads.A report, published this week by the Women and Equalities Committee (WEC) said statutory pay in the UK was "completely out of kilter with the cost of living". It suggested the government should consider increasing paternity pay to 90% or more and paternity leave to six weeks in a phased approach. The report also looked at shared parental leave, introduced in 2014, which allows parents to share up to 50 weeks of leave and up to 37 weeks of pay after the birth or adoption of a child. The review found many families considered it "unnecessarily complex". It is used in fewer than 2% of all births and a report from 2023 suggests almost half (45%) of dads were not even aware shared parental leave was an option. "We know the parental leave system needs to be improved," a spokesperson for the Department for Business and Trade said, adding the government would review maternity leave, paternity leave and shared parental also pointed to changes which mean dads will soon no longer have to be employed by a company for 26 weeks to be entitled to statutory paternity leave.
