Investigating The Strawbridges
Part One:
The Lay of The Land, an Introduction.
They are the region’s TV Stars. The Strawbridge family. They smile on camera as they casually sprinkle alfalfa seeds onto their their recycled Afghan-rug-ethanol-powered-hyper-grower.
I'm not a suspicious man. I generally see a man’s smile and know if he is a lover or a fighter. But not with Dick Strawbridge: I just don't...or rather...didn't know the mark of this man. Then I began some investigations in the name of local blog-based investigative journalism. Readers of my Investigating Mebyon Kernow articles will know that when I want to investigate something I investigate with proper investigatory vigor. It’s not for nothing that people don't call me the Cornish Columbo.
So, I started snooping. With my contacts in Mebyon Kernow and my friend’s mum I investigated. I put my ear to the ground, and in Par and its environs, the streets were talking:
"I saw him once in that garage at the top of the hill coming out of Fowey. He was getting a scratch card and when he didn’t win he just put it in the bin and walked out," said one local. I had the uncanny feeling she was hiding something. I didn't know what, but something.
"The son went to my son's school. I've never met him." That was all that one well respected pub landlord would say. I asked him again about Dick and the Strawbridges, and it was clear he felt uncomfortable talking to me. He then blanked me. As if brainwashed.
These two are just small drops in the ocean of similar comments about the Strawbridges locally. Most either knew of them, or had never heard of them. This suggested to me the profile of an organisation which had something to hide, but hid it in something bigger and more obvious in order to distract everyone from what was really being hidden – a bit like the Project For A New American Century.
My investigations over the last few weeks took me deep into Dick’s past and the past of his family and associates. Using research techniques never before used in the South West, I gained access to documents from the darker side of the BBC’s environmental program. I hired a number of undercover cub journalists (From 3rd St Austell Scouts) who infiltrated the Strawbridges’ close knit fraternity. All of this, unified by my prodigious journalistic skills, will enable me over the next few weeks to lay bare the truth and the hypocrisy of Cornwall’s most charismatic Scrap Heap Challenge contestant.
But before I drop these bombshells I will lay down my MO, strategies and intelligence. If you would care to join me then hold tight, because the way ahead is treacherous and the weather, well, it gets pretty inclement.
Investigating The Strawbridges Part Two:
Getting to Grips With Dick.
The Early Years
Dick was born in Lamorna Cove in 1950. The son of a Cletus, a fisherman, and Cornwall’s most famous harpsichord player, Demi Strawbridge. Unusually for the time and the area, the Strawbridge family were not Methodist but practicing Cthonic Pagans.
Much of Dick’s early childhood is unremarkable. He went to the local grammar school where he excelled in humanities and the arts. He played rugby for Newlyn Boys and, with his mother’s tuition, became an accomplished harpsichordist in his own right – an ability he retains to this day.
Where Sea Eagles Dare
Yet there are morsels of compelling evidence that imply that as a lad, Dick Strawbridge was not as ‘green’ as he is today. His closest childhood friend told me, after some persuasion, that Dick used to singlehandedly - and without rope - scale the cliffs between Lamorna and Mousehole “egging” – an act that even then was highly illegal. The most prized eggs were those of the albatrosses that were abundant in the area until the early 1960s.
When Dick would find an egg he would hurl it down onto the rocks below, with the victory shout, “fly birdy! Fly!” echoing above the waves. Was Dick responsible for the loss of these birds from mainland Britain? We will never know…but I suspect the timing is no coincidence.
In the next section we will follow Dick’s career in the armed forces and his later trek into TV and Radio fame: Investigating The Strawbridges Part Three: “Brothers In Arms, or Devil In Disguise?” will be published shortly.
Investigating The Strawbridges Part Three:
“Brothers In Arms, or Devil In Disguise?”
As a teenager, two paths became obvious for the ambitious young Cornishman: the military and music.
At sixteen Dick chose the former. He joined the army and excelled as he rose through the ranks, serving in Oman, The Falklands, Belize and Desert Storm, eventually making Lieutenant Colonel. His time in the forces is hard to investigate but what is evident is that he was a very well respected soldier; his army nickname was "Strawbridge Over Troubled Water". Everyone I interviewed agreed that Dick was a bastion of support and leadership as well as….when needs must…a rampant killing machine. Andy McNab described him as “terrifying in battle”.
Lt.Col. Strawbridge and DRD Alpha Nine (Desert Rapid Deployment), 1991, Falafel, Iraq
His career and background, apart from the extinction of the British Albatross, could not prima facia be any more rosy. He has been an exemplary soldier, citizen, husband and father. As I researched him I started to feel that there was nothing to write about. He was exactly as it said on the tin. But then, as I got closer to the present day and his involvement in TV and radio, I started to see cracks in the veneer of perfection. Cracks that turned into chasms. Chasms that cut deep into a layer of hypocrisy, lies and pure gluttonous evil.
Video Killed The Field Radio Star
Dick got his lucky break into the media after appearing in the audience of Gardener’s Question Time on a wintery Sunday in 1994. His innocuous question about trellising Clematis Montana revealed a man whose voice and charisma was tangible, even via radio. The story goes (as yet unconfirmed) that after the broadcast, GQT producer Simon Seys spoke to Dick and saw in him that rare raw talent, that seed of stardom.
At this point in Dick’s life fate plays an interesting twist. The aforementioned producer was working on a new TV show and needed contestants who looked good on camera but also had mechanical and organizational skills. He was invited at once and eagerly agreed. Dick put together a team of his old army buddies with the intention of dominating the first series of Robot Wars. Sadly their entry, Sludgehammer, failed to qualify, after what Dick described as “catastrophic battery issues.” The Sludgehammer team was not going to give up and soon found bigger gear to chew….
Investigating The Strawbridges Part Four:
"Scrap Heap Challenger Disaster"
After failing to qualify for Robot Wars, Dick and his crew rebranded as “Brothers in Arms” and became the lead team in the 1990s most exciting new format show, Scrap Heap Challenge. The idea was simple: steal scrap from itinerant tinkers and from that scrap make a either hovercraft or a dune buggy. The Brothers in Arms won every show in the English series and went on to be world champions six years in a row (most SHC aficionados agree that their loss to “Grao de Bico Garbanzos” in the 2001 Portuguese series was a fix).
Dicktor Ludorum
Whether casually flaunting the three-thousand degree centigrade nozzle of an oxyacetylene torch inches from his moustache (that he originally grew in an Argentinian POW camp), or commanding his troupe with his now famous catchphrase (“stick with Dick!”), we watched him and we loved him. His avuncular, personable and captivating screen presence opened doors not normally open for a boy from Lamorna. At the height of his Scrap Heap Challenge fame his face was everywhere – even beating Chris Evans to Radio One’s Man of The Year in 2001.
All is impermanent.
In 2003 disaster struck.
It was the penultimate episode of the series and, after finding thirty square meters of fifteen mill’ latex, The Brothers obviously went for the hovercraft. Second in command Clammy was gluing the latex skirt to the chassis when he was overwhelmed by the fumes of the latex cement. Within half an hour Clammy was turned into a vegetable and to this day is unable do anything, at all. The enquiry found no fault with anyone: Clammy, an experienced engineer, should have known better. But the vegitabalisation of a team mate took a big toll on the team, especially the captain. He would never make another hovercraft or dune buggy again.
With the Glory Days of SHC over, Dick was in a career wilderness. Radio, porn and “Songs of Praise” were all options but none held the purpose and celebrity Dick needed to survive. To thrive.
At the time he was in hell, but looking back, leaving Scrap heap Challenge was D-Day for Dick. The line in the sand. The recycling rubicon. It was the narrow penumbra between likable TV personality and the more sinister side of hate. In the next part of this series we will see the first evidence of what is to come. We will see the sapling grow after a remarkable chat with a famous TV personality (including video footage evidence) and all will be clear... even the darkness.
Investigating The Strawbridges Part Five: Straining Dick’s Greens, will be published shortly.
Investigating The Strawbridges Part Five:
"Straining Dick’s Greens"
When they make a TV show they film much more footage than they use in the show, and Scrap Heap Challenge is no different. If you have the contacts you can get access to this “backroom” and “greenroom” footage. I got this access and from the digital cutting room floor from the 2003 Series I found the Rosetta stone; an informal off (but on) camera chat between Lisa “3-2-1” Rodgers and Dick Strawbridge. We have transcribed the pertinent aspects or you can watch the entire footage on YouTube:
LR: So, what will you do if you leave the show?
DS: Ah divvent knaa. Mebeez I’ll get mesel’ some kind o’ show like that gadgie from Eastenders, like. Ye knaa, deein’ gangs or summick, like. With me military trainin an’ that, Ah should be canny good for it, like.
LR: Yeah, not a bad idea. He gets a packet for that show, and all the travel as well.
DS: Aye, pet, travellin’s always a bonus, like. Aah’ve been aall ower, me: Aisa, America, even New Zealand, like.
LR: I saw a show on Five where they filmed recruits for the SAS or something…he looked really hard.
DS: Whey aye, pet. Ye have to be hard and tough, like. Aah didn’t knaa there was already a show like that, mind. Bit of a shitta yes’ve dropped on us.
LR: It’s hard to find new formats, Dick. That’s the game, innit. And even when you have a new format, you’ve got the uphill slog of persuading people to make it.
DS: Aye, yer not wrang there, pet.
LR: I’ll tell you what’s getting a lot of interest at the moment. Shows about the environment, sustainability and stuff.
DS: Aboot what, pet?
LR: Environmental issues.
DS: Aye aye, Aah knaa. Whales and dolphins and aall that shite like?
LR: Well yeah, kind of I guess.
8DS: Champion! Cheers for the tip, bonny lass! Aah’ll be havin’ some o’ that mesell. Belter!
LR: Gotta go Dick, Richard just texted.
DS: Aye, nee sweat. Had on though: is it reet there’s an aald diff forra jeep in the tip, like?
LR: Dicky, if there was one in Pile F you know I wouldn’t tell you….
And there it is: irrefutable evidence of the moment Dick became green, caught forever, without question. It’s not easy being green, but it’s a lot harder befriending the gangs of Sao Paulo and being treated as kin and kindred while the bullets and the screams of the dying fill the air.
Investigating The Strawbridges Part Six:
"James -The Sins of the Son"
Student James Strawbridge takes after his father in many ways. He studies Marine History at the University of East Anglia, and is described by his fellows as “a great bloke” and “greener than algae”.
He writes poetry. Most of his oeuvre is highly personal, appearing to arise from the Lacanian mirror phase of his development, in post-structural psychoanalytic terms, of course. He explores the interstices between the ego and the ego-ideal with sensitivity and panache, clearly influenced in this sense by Coleridge’s opium induced self explorations. James Strawbridge’s free verse, unbound from the shackles of the traditional stanza, swoops and flies in a manner resonant of the Ted Hughes’ early work; while the elasticity of the metre is comparable to the great metaphysical poets of the seventeenth century.
Since his family has moved back to Cornwall James’ poetry has taken on a more environmental flavor. Bold pieces that challenge and alert within the same well wrought couplets. For a man in his early twenties it is mature and very well considered verse. The following Poem from the UEA Union Poetry magazine captures his muse beautifully:
But like his father, there is a hidden darkness.
James has an addiction, kept secret from his parents. An addiction with one of the worst environmental payloads of any. James steals on average five traffic cones a week from the streets of Norwich. These he takes back to his “digs” where he and his mates laugh at their ever growing hoard. Perhaps we could look at this tomfoolery and give a knowing shrug; “students, eh? Crazy.” But a man must be judged on how his actions shadow his words, and I am afraid in this case, we cannot brush over this so easily.
To make one Traffic cone produces three tones of CO2. To deploy a traffic cone on an urban UK road junction releases another half a ton of Carbon. To replace a stolen cone on a UK road means anther half ton of CO2. All in all, that’s 4 tons of carbon for every pilfered traffic calming device.
It doesn’t take a brain doctor to work out that since, on last count, he had stolen 124 cones, James “Greener Than Algae” Strawbridge has a carbon footprint bigger than a family of yetis. Yes James; “We must take care of our home”.
Investigating The Strawbridges Part Seven:
The Problem with Dick
Trying to penetrate the Cornish Enviro-Mafia’s omerta was proving harder with each attempt at inquisition. Once people knew they were talking to the Cornish Colombo ranks were closed, doors were slammed, windows security locked and lips were sealed.
In this game of hard-core deep-cover investigative journalism perseverance pays off, I managed to find one guy, just one, who had something to say about Dick and his entourage. His name is Wesley Pencarrow and he drinks in The Ship Inn, in Par.
I asked Wesley, as part of my investigations, what he thought of Dick and his show. He was gruff looking chap with skin made lathery and sepia by smoke and the sun. He asked us to take a table and he asked me to get him a beer. I obliged and listened.
“Dick has his heart in the right place. So does everyone who wants to save the planet, that’s a no brainer.”
I asked if he had ever met him. He said no, and continued, a forceful passion in his stare and words.
“But his is the reality of the situation. The entire corpus of the Green Movement is a futile smoke screen that inadvertently serves to distract from the core issue.” His hands had a subtle but constant shake to them.
“Man’s endeavors are trying to cure cancer and aids, dengue fever. We are trying to make crops that can grow in salt and pig’s hearts that can live in humans, and all the while the Demographic Demon grows bigger and bigger, without any widespread acceptance that it must be stopped.”
I laid down my notebook and adjusted my Dictaphone to align more with his magnetic diatribe.
“We are clipping seven billion and, unless we can curb the growth, in thirty years we will be up to nine, even with rampant HIV infection and anything else you can throw at us. To have the planet support a population with anything like the quality of life we expect in the west the population needs to be closer to two billion. Two bill’ is optimum. Nine is the mother of all catastrophes.”
I was speechless. Forty Three seconds of pause on my recorder. It was clear he was waiting for a response. “So we should give up being green?” I asked.
“Of course not. Of course we should not pollute. Of course we should recycle. Of course we should not waste. That’s a no brainer’s no brainer. But the problem comes when we elevate green living, a la Strawbridge, into the realm of those life choices in some sense making a significant difference. If everyone in Europe became super green; negative footprint living, maximal recycling, universally vegetarian and so on… it would make a difference. But that difference would be half a drop in a supersized ocean of starvation, disease, suffering and constant global catastrophe. It is polishing light bulbs, my friend. Polishing light bulbs.”
He looked at me and he had an air of Dharmic serenity and calmness to him. “Really don’t take my word for this Chester, that would be foolish. Go find the facts for yourself. See that I’m right. Perhaps show that I’m wrong. Never, ever change your life because of what some slow-pissed salt dog tells you on a dull Tuesday in Par.”
I assured him I would, but I wanted more from him. I needed more. I was under the impression that the world was being decimated by HIV and famine and Drought. I questioned him: “But we are always told how Aids and famine are shattering Africa? Millions dying.”
“My friend, millions is trivial when you’re playing with billions. The scope of the problem is so off the scale. Take Botswana, it has above twenty percent HIV infection. Its population is expected to double by this century’s median. And it’s not just Africa, at all. America is aiming for point four billion in the same time frame. China and Indonesia keep on growing at terrifying rates, and India, if things carry on, that’s going to be the world’s most populous country in three decades. “
“It gets worse. The population growth will accentuate the environmental damage that has already been done by many orders of magnitude. And as the deserts grown and the seas rise, the population density will rocket even faster than the population growth. “
So What Should We Do?
My head was rattling. I took a swig of beer into my dry mouth and asked him, “So what should we do?”. He paused again, for a long while, and then spoke.
“The paramount thing is to look above the environmental movement smokescreen. That’s a false cause. A convenient distraction. It’s easy suggest to your neighbor to use a water butt, it’s harder to tell a family in Hyderabad that they shouldn’t have any more kids. We need to actively face to face with the Demographic Demon, my friend. Until we do that, collectively, as a planet, all other green measures we take as individuals are close to pointless.”
“We should be encouraging the populace to have no more than two kids. We should be educating woman to have children later in life. We should consider adoption as a very viable alternative to third, fourth etc kids.”
“In terms of more direct action, petition the government to penalize large families – its hard and harsh, but it needs to be done. Petition the government to make adoption easier, at home and for kids from abroad. Petition the government to put direct pressure on the Vatican to renounce the sin of contraception. The most readily available pill in the world should be the contraceptive pill, and only the west can make that happen.”
“In terms of the developing world, we should do all we can to educate and empower women. The women hold the key to the reversing the explosion. They need free and unbroken access to family planning methods and the associated communal education. It is up to us, in the west, to pressure for the empowerment of women in developing countries. This has other benefits above population reduction; smaller, later families in the developing world have a higher quality of life and are more healthy.”
I asked, how we could do this.
“In the first world we have the huge bargaining pressure against the developing world of debt relief, foreign aid, assistance and trade. And we should use this pressure aggressively; “If you can drop your mean birthrate from 4.7 to 1.5 we will give you….”; “If you can incentivize your female population to become mothers at 24 rather than 16 we will…” It isn’t going to be easy to do; to persuade often corrupt governments to totally change their relationship with their populace and their national priorities, but we must try. And we must try much harder with much more focus and effort than any other green policy.”
His bloodshot eyes had sparkles of watering.
“The biggest ever pandemic, Spanish Flue, ninety years ago, killed only 100 million people. Mankind will never become extinct by overpopulation or environmental disaster. That isn’t what we must avoid, what we must avoid is a planet where billions live lives not worth living. Where unimaginable suffering is the norm for the vast majority.”
I finished my beer and Wesley had finished his. I went to get another round in, and as I stood, Wesley suggested some nuts.
