Rest in Peace Geoff Duke, born March 29 1923, died May 1 2015

Rest in Peace Geoff Duke, born March 29 1923, died May 1 2015

Geoff Duke in 1952 Photo: Getty Images

   

  

Geoff Duke, who has died aged 92, spent a glorious 10 years at the highest level of motorcycle racing, winning six World Championships and six Isle of Man TT races during the 1950s; he was also the first rider to compete in a streamlined leather one-piece rather than jacket and trousers.

Duke was an early global superstar of motorcycle racing, known above all for the smoothness of his riding. The great Irish motorcyclist Stanley Woods compared his style to “water flowing from a tap”.

The son of a baker, Geoffrey Ernest Duke was born at St Helens in Lancashire on March 29 1923. Even as a youngster he was attracted to motorcycles and in his autobiography he fondly recalled, as a boy of 10, smelling “the now-rare aroma of Castrol R” coming through his window from two bikes parked outside.

His parents had been vehemently opposed to his owning a motorcycle ever since his older brother Eric had been knocked off his bike (a 248cc New Imperial) and severely injured by a Humber coming out of a turning. They eventually relented, however, and Geoff’s first bike was a 1923 belt-drive Raleigh which he bought with two friends for 10 shillings.

In 1939 he secured a job with the Post Office as a telephone engineer, for which he needed his own transport, so his parents let him a buy a second-hand DOT 175cc. He volunteered for military service in 1942 and was posted as an instructor of riders for the Royal Corps of Signals. After the war he worked first for BSA and then for Norton where he was a member of the trials team.

He made his racing debut in 1948 in the Junior Isle of Man Grand Prix on a 350cc Norton borrowed from the works. His engine failed with a split oil tank but his performance – he led the race at the end of lap three – impressed observers and he was marked as a star of the future.
His first road-racing victory was when he beat Les Graham in the 350cc final at Haddenham in 1949. He won the senior Manx Grand Prix later that year as well as the Senior Clubman’s TT.
Around this time Duke had the idea for a lightweight, close-fitting suit with minimal pockets and padding. He approached Frank Barker, a tailor in St Helens, to design the aerodynamic leather outfit, and Barker measured his client crouching over a chair as if riding a motorcycle. The finished suit weighed less than 5lb and was ready for the 1950 Senior TT.
Duke won that race against tough opposition – wearing his one-piece leathers for the first time – on a Norton 500cc, equipped with the new, softly sprung “featherbed” chassis designed by Rex McCandless. Duke was world champion three times for Norton, winning two 350cc titles in 1951 and 1952 and the 500cc title in 1951.
_{Geoff Duke riding a Gilera on Bray Hill at the Isle of Man TT races, June 11 1955 (GETTY)}
He was also extremely skilled behind the wheel of a fast car and, on the suggestion of Lord Brabazon, switched to four wheels and sports car racing for a time. Brabazon arranged a test with Aston Martin and John Wyer, the firm’s racing manager, considered that Duke had “great potential”. Duke drove a DB3 to take third place in the Goodwood Easter Monday Race in 1952. The year after that he took a works Aston Martin to the 12 Hours of Sebring endurance race in Florida, teamed with Peter Collins, but they crashed and failed to finish.
In the summer of 1953 he went fully back to motorcycles, moving to the faster four-cylinder racers of the Italian manufacturer Gilera . It was a golden period. He became the first rider to win the 500cc world championship three years in a row , from 1953 to 1955 .
He carried on racing motorcycles in the later 1950s, though without such spectacular success. Injuries and technical problems intervened. For his last two seasons he went back to racing Nortons as well as motorcycles made by BMW, NSU and Benelli.
Over the years he was active he won 33 world championship races.

^{Duke in his one-piece suit, originally designed in St Helens (Howard Byrne/Getty Images)}
In 1961 Duke was offered a drive in a Formula 1 Cooper car at the Karlskoga track in Sweden. He suffered a locked gearbox, precipitating a crash that proved to be, as he later described it, “the most physically shattering experience of my life”. His injuries included damaged ribs, a collapsed lung, trauma to the heart muscle, a broken collar bone and a cracked pelvis. It was the end of his racing career, although in 1963 he ran a motorcycle racing team known as Scuderia Gilera.
In later years he lived on the Isle of Man, where he was a revered figure, and went into a variety of businesses including hotels and shipping; in 1978 he was involved in setting up the first roll-on roll-off ferry service from Douglas to the mainland.
He published an autobiography, In Pursuit of Perfection, in 1988.
Geoff Duke was voted Sportsman of the Year in 1951 and appointed OBE in 1953.
He married Patricia Reid in 1951; she died in 1975. He married, secondly, Dorothy Eagles; the marriage was dissolved. In 1978 he married, thirdly, Daisy; she survives him with two sons from his first marriage.
Geoff Duke, born March 29 1923, died May 1 2015

FEAR AND LOATHING IN UXBRIDGE

FEAR AND LOATHING

IN UXBRIDGE

Yes I'm afraid that this General Election has produced nothing but fear and loathing in serene Uxbridge. Indeed the most feared and loathed is Boris Johnson himself  - and that among his own Tory Party.

GRANNY BARKES FELL IN WOOLWORTHS

GRANNY BARKES FELL IN WOOLWORTHS
 

Granny Barkes fell in Woolworths ... she'll get a free ride in the  ambulance. Ha! Ha! Ha! The just man falls seven times.  Look! See the tracks of Santa's feet on the hearth. Say what may the tidings be, on this glorious Christmas morn? He's lost his apple cake. I heard a roar between  two hills. L to the water Jimmy Harte. I wish that day would come back again. And flying my kite. What happened to your lorry Jim? Edward's day out. He cut down a tree from the hedge of the car road with a hatchet - yes, but it's his birthday. I think they did. He stole matches. Wait 'til I get another stone for you Cyril. McAree, McAra, Mc Avarn K-Kunny, put in your white foot 'til I see if you're my mummy. Yes and truly you are best.  Dr Whitehead. Piss, Piss  Iceland dog! Tickets are sixpence each and I hope you all win. Andera Keck K-Keck K-Keck K-Keck. We sell only the best E..E..English C..C..Coca Cola. Aye but, naw but, could you cut turf? Hollyhocks! Hollyhocks! over Bobby Lyttle's garden wall. We're the boys that fears no noise, we are the bold Drumarda boys. On Saturday night we all got tight and Cassidy brought us over. This is a day above all days. Silver Saturday, jink night.  Listen to me George: "Would you like white stones on your grave?" The bespectacled roadman. Mr. Marley has been dead these seven years, Scrooge replied. He died seven years ago, this very night. Go on Balfour! Santa Agatha, ora pro nobis.  The Ypres Salient at Night. Histracy. Wherefore have you left your sheep on that stony mountain steep? Hi for a toffer  and hi for it still; and hi for the wee lad lies over the hill. The river eddy  whirls. Rushe came down last night. I know my nick name. For aye for guide: very good neighbours, but keep your back to us. Apostrophe at the Post  Office today. Let the reindeers go. Let them go! Good morrow Mick. No-one will  read your papers. The image of a girl. Deeper than the wishing well. Ballina, Balnabroka, Anahinahola, don't show the white feather wherever you go. Carolina  moon. What a beautiful day! What must heaven be like? Do you know our d'Brian?  You're nice Miss Rice. I see said the blind man. The fish in the pond are seeing  red as Bobby is fishing with Coates strong thread. And those who come from  distance far are always late for tea. Oh! to be in Doonaree. All day all night  Marianne; down by the seaside sifting sand. Look at the way he's twisting that  stick. He won't know himself in this lovely place. You've given me a taste of fame. There was a wild colonial boy  Jack Saltey was his name. Geoff Duke. I win a pound. The ancient ring post snapped like a matchstick. I think, I think, that she's the mostest of the lot, and furthermore she is the only chick I got. They all wore black coats and black top hats and they turned and went up to your room. Deep, deep river... away, away. Early morning light ... Rat ta-tat ta-tat ta-tat. Rat ta-tat ta-tat ta-tat.

If the Catholic blogosphere is to survive then our bloggers must become more Catholic

If Catholic blogging is limited to Vatican politics and the personality of the Pope then it will run out of steam.

By Mary O'Regan on Tuesday, 26 August 2014

'Pope Francis beatified 124 Korean Catholic martyrs but it was not given adequate attention in the blogosphere' (CNS)

Nearly five years ago, I started a Catholic blog that has been modestly successful. The high-point was when I was invited to the Vatican Blogmeet in May 2011. During those exhilarating days of Benedict’s pontificate, bloggers raised their voices in support of the German Pope.

Now the voices are going quiet. Talking to my fellow bloggers, they say that their minds are occupied with spiteful thoughts on Church politics. Some have taken an unfair personal dislike to Pope Francis, and this aversion has coloured their blogging to such an extent that they fall into two categories: blogging to critique the Pope or not blogging at all. If Catholic blogging is limited to Vatican politics and the personality of the Pope, then it will always run out of steam.

In response to the “there’s nothing to blog about” grumble, why are some grand occasions being ignored outright by the Catholic blogosphere? For instance, just over a week has passed since August 16 when Pope Francis beatified 124 Korean Catholic martyrs. Their beatification was not given adequate attention on the blogosphere.

Martyrs will make a difficult subject if you don’t like writing about blood-spilling. There’s always the alternative of blogging about saints who were not put to death because of their faith. Even in modern time, saints like St Therese of Lisieux have a remarkable popularity. Showcasing the good works done by Catholic saints also helps improve our image and grabs the attention of non-Catholics who, for example, might urgently need prayer for an illness.

My most successful blog posts have not been about papal politics but about Padre Pio. There are times when I find it hard on my nerves to write about Padre Pio because had he met me, I don’t think he would think well of me. But readers continually say they are “very grateful” because they find that reading about Padre Pio helps them cope with their personal hardships.

As regards bloggers who are “low on inspiration”, perhaps they could devote their energy to myth busting? This takes patience and fortitude, but surely there is little excuse to be idle when by and large our society has such bewildered ideas about our faith. We have a missionary faith, and the Church exists for the aim of saving souls. Being Catholic means doing what we can – including using our blogs to bring back the lapsed and attract converts.

Ironically enough, Catholic blogging will have to become more richly Catholic to survive.

“No Complaints”: An Interview with Pete Best, the Original Drummer of the Beatles

By Zachary Stockill 25 August 2014

Randolph Peter Best cuts an unassuming figure onstage. Wearing a white moustache, a frizzled taft of white hair, a boyish grin and drooping eyes, today he looks more like a retired auto mechanic than a former Beatle. Still, watching him perform at a tiny music club in a suburb of Santiago, Chile, one couldn’t help being moved by his affection for live music, the apparent zeal with which he plays the drums, and his almost-embarrassed response to the crowd’s adulation. His humility makes it clear that he is no rock star, which is a big reason why Pete Best is so easy to like.

Best has experienced both incredible highs, and devastating lows over his 72 years on this planet, but you wouldn’t necessarily know it by speaking with him today. Offstage he is soft spoken, friendly and just a little bit guarded; he describes himself, above all else, as a simple “family man”. When he opened his mouth to answer my questions, revealing an unmistakeable Liverpool accent, I couldn’t help but think: “He really sounds like a Beatle.” But at the same time Pete Best is obviously not a Beatle – lacking the swagger, ego, and commanding presence common to each of his famous former bandmates.

Between 1960 and 1962 Pete was the drummer of a well-travelled, but so far mostly unsuccessful British rock and roll act called variously Johnny and the Moondogs, The Silver Beetles, and, finally, The Beatles. For over two years he held the beat for John Lennon, Paul McCartney, and George Harrison in dank clubs in the red light district of Hamburg, Germany, playing marathon sets to audiences consisting mostly of strippers and sailors. After honing their craft in Germany, the band returned home to Liverpool where they soon became the city’s top-drawing act, acquiring a ravenous local fan base in the process. And then, one August afternoon, on the cusp of the band’s ascendancy to national stardom, John, Paul, and George instructed Beatles manager Brian Epstein to fire Pete and replace him with a different Liverpool drummer named Ringo Starr. And just like that, Pete was no longer a Beatle, in the process becoming forever confined to the footnotes of rock ‘n’ roll history.

The reasons for the Beatles’ dismissal of Best have always been unclear. Some suggest that Pete had fallen out of favour with the rest of the band on account of his introversion; others claim that Ringo was simply a better drummer; some even claim that John and Paul were insecure about Pete’s good looks and popularity with the fans outshining their own. Whatever the reason, on the eve of Beatlemania, Best suddenly found himself to be out of work, missing out on perhaps the greatest party of all time in the process.

In the months and years that followed, John, Paul, George, and Ringo would ascend to previously-unimagined levels of global fame, wealth, and commercial and critical success. Shortly after they sacked Pete, the Beatles achieved the impossible: they became even bigger than Elvis, an insane pipe-dream for the youngsters while sweating it out in Hamburg just a couple of years before.

Following his dismissal from the Beatles, Best tried to make a name for himself in music, but found limited success. Eventually, he returned to Liverpool and settled into a career as a civil servant; he wasn’t playing on the Ed Sullivan Show or rubbing shoulders with the Queen, but at least he could pay the bills. And then, after shying away from the spotlight for 20 years, in the late 1980s Pete began to play various Beatles-related engagements. Rediscovering his passion for live performance in the process, the drummer soon founded his own Pete Best Band, and has toured all over the world for the past three decades.

Backstage in Santiago, I was curious to get to know Pete the human being, as opposed to Pete the ex-Beatle. How does a man cope with such unimaginable disappointment? How does a musician come to terms with losing one of the most coveted gigs of all time? How does someone deal with what I assumed to be a lifetime of incredulous “What if’s?”

I found many of the answers I’d been looking for when I sat down with Pete following his performance. As songs from his old friend Lennon emanated from nearby speakers—“(Just Like) Starting Over,” “Imagine” and others—I discovered a man not defeated by bitterness and disappointment, but hopeful about the future, and genuinely content with a life devoted to family, and the music he loves.

* * *

Some of the songs you played tonight you played in Germany with the Beatles over 50 years ago. What’s it like playing those songs again?

You still get a buzz from them, because at the end of the day they were great rock ‘n’ roll songs. Some of them I haven’t played for 50 years; you get a buzz off it simply because of the fact that it’s part of your heritage. People expect it from you. And you enjoy playing it… Chuck Berry, Eddie Cochran, Gene Vincent, Ray Charles... I could go on and on. They were our heroes, so to keep them still alive even though it’s under the pseudonym of “The Beatles,” it’s still the old rockers from way back. If it wasn’t for them, we wouldn’t be here.

So [those old songs] still feel fresh?

Oh, very much so. It’s a little bit like the audience makes it fresh. You may have played the song 50 times, but you still enjoy playing it when the enjoyment comes from the audience, and the adrenaline keeps flowing. It’s a good night… very simple.

You didn’t play very much for a while in the ‘60s and ‘70s. What made you want to start playing for people again?

I’d been asked for many years to get up and play so people could see what I could do, and see who this guy was… “This mysterious guy who used to play with the Beatles.” [laughs] And I kept turning them down. Then, in 1988, I got asked by the people running a Beatles convention in Liverpool, and I couldn’t get out of it… So I said “OK, let’s get it over and done with.” I picked some friends from the old days, and my younger brother [to play with], and said “Let’s have some fun. It’s going to be a one-off [performance]. Let’s just go out and show ‘em what we could do.” And we did, and the audience went wild. Absolutely wild.

My mother was there that particular night because it was the first time that she’d seen her younger son and her elder son playing onstage at the same time. And when I finished she turned around and said “Pete, you don’t know it but you’re going to be going back into show business.” To which I laughed, and said “No, it’s only a one-off.” And here I am, 30 years afterward! [laughs]

So she was right.

Yeah, she was right.

When I was watching you play tonight, you looked like you were having a lot of fun. I found it inspiring.

If you can’t have fun, then don’t go back on the stage. It’s as simple as that. Simple rule in music: people feel what you’re presenting onstage. And if you’re not enjoying yourself, it comes out in the music. No matter [if] you try to disguise it.

At the end of the day you wouldn’t be where you are without that audience, and you have to thank them for it. The only way you can thank them is [by] making sure your performance is 100%. Simple rules.

What do you see your future looking like? Do you have plans?

When you reach my age… [laughs] you still have plans, but they’re not long-term. I still want to continue playing music, and bringing enjoyment to crowds. I have no ambitions to get a record in the charts or anything like that. My mission is to bring enjoyment to fans, and I enjoy playing music to them, and I’ll continue doing that.

Away from the public, I’m a great family man. And as much as I tour, I love going back home again. I have a wife who I idolize, been married to her for 50 years. I have grandchildren who I idolize as well, two beautiful daughters. It’s nice for me to go back home, and spend time with them.

Have you let go of any disappointment you had about the original disagreement with [the Beatles] in 1962? Is there any lingering bitterness there?

There never was any [bitterness]. Bitterness is a word the media picked up. There was anger and there was resentment because of what happened and the way it happened, because of the way I contributed to the band, but bitterness, no.

It’s like anything else, if you carry it with you, you’re going to end up a bitter and twisted old git. And there’s no need for that. I’ve enjoyed life. There came a time when I was like “Fine. It’s not about thinking about what happened yesterday, it’s about today and tomorrow.” And I think once you come to terms about yourself, then you realize that there’s so much more that your future holds for you, as opposed to your past, that you’re striving for.

My life since then had ups and downs; it hasn’t been a perfect life. But when I look back on it now, I wouldn’t change it. I’m happy, I’m healthy, I have a great band which tours the world. I’m a great family man, I love meeting people, I love laughing and joking with them. I’m still in show business, which I didn’t expect to be.

But maybe my karma; it’s a word we use, being born out east [Author’s note: Best was born in British India, and lived there until the age of 5]. Karma’s a word we use an awful lot. Maybe my karma turned ‘round and said “Your time will come some time in the future.”

I have no complaints, I’ve enjoyed life. Wouldn’t change anything.

Why are so many priests alcoholics?

The downfall of many clerics (PA)


By Fr Alexander Lucie-Smith on Monday, 25 August 2014

Why are so many priests alcoholics?

The story about the continuing misfortunes of Paul Gascoigne are more than the usual article about a “troubled” celebrity, or a star fallen on hard times, with which our culture is so obsessed. Rather it is a reminder of the grief caused by alcoholism. Mr Gascoigne is an alcoholic, and his addiction is clearly ruining him, just as it once ruined George Best. Moreover, Mr Gascoigne’s alcoholism must cause distress to his family and his friends, many of whom, no doubt, have tried repeatedly to help him.
Everyone who has lived inside the institutional church, in a presbytery or a religious house, or a convent, will know about alcoholism, for alcoholism is, historically speaking, often regarded as the curse of the Catholic clergy. I doubt that figures are published or much serious research done into the problem any more, but Catholic priests are more likely to be alcoholic than other men, or so it seem to me. Any attempt to provide scientific backing to such a claim would be bedevilled by the question of just how you measure the incidence of alcoholism. But consider the facts: there are special drying out facilities just for the clergy, or there used to be; the figure of the alcoholic priest is a staple in literature – consider the “whiskey priest” in Graham Green’s The Power and the Glory”, or even Father Jack in the television series Father Ted; and think of all the priests you may have known who drank too much. And count up the times you heard someone, somewhere, utter the line: “Father X is not an alcoholic, he just likes a drink” or one of the variants thereof.
Why are so many priests alcoholic? That is a fairly easy question to answer. There are the pressures of the job, being on call, sometimes for 24 hours a day. There is the simple difficulty of finding it hard to relax without a drink in your hand. There is the culture of drinking that is so common in Catholic milieux: the world of the Catholic social club, or the people always offering you a drink. There is the challenge of loneliness, and the challenge of boredom. And there is the possible genetic predisposition to alcoholism that some of us bear.
Alcoholic priests do enormous damage to the Church. I think that goes without saying. But what does even worse damage is the way the phalanx of people who surround, protect and enable each alcoholic priest (and these people are never absent), who all deny there is a problem. One can see that Fr X is an alcoholic, but he is surrounded by people who refuse to admit that his is true, which introduces into ecclesial discourse the dangerous disconnect with reality which is the source of so many of our problems. If we cannot face the truth of Fr X’s alcoholism, what truths can we face? If we cannot tackle this problem, how will we ever tackle anything?
To tell someone they are an alcoholic is cruel, for it shames them profoundly: it is always shameful to have to acknowledge that you are not free, but rather a slave to your lower impulses. But to leave someone in a state of slavery is much more cruel, and, in the end, will greatly increase the sum of human misery. When a priest drinks too much, that has to be confronted, and the sooner the better. There can be no solution to this or to anything else without acknowledgement of the truth.
Why am I writing this, and why now? Partly it is touched off by the pictures of Paul Gascoigne, but it is also because of a concern which we should all have for the welfare of the clergy. The spotlight on the safeguarding of minors and vulnerable adults, which has taken up much attention in the last two decades, should not deflect us from keeping ourselves alert to other areas of concern as well. As with child welfare, burying our hears in the sand is never a useful way forward. Alcoholism among the clergy was always a problem in the past; and it has not gone away. Denying we have a problem has not helped us in the past, and will only compound this, and other difficulties, we face.

Dawkins has done us a favour by highlighting how dangerous our culture of ‘choice’ really is

Richard Dawkins

If a world cleansed of imperfections is what we wish for then Dawkins, with his Down’s Syndrome outburst, has shown us the way.

By Max Wind-Cowie on Thursday, 21 August 2014

Richard Dawkins is not ‘pro-choice’. I know, it surprised me too. Turns out that atheism’s high priest thinks abortion isn’t just a ‘right’ or an ‘option’ – he thinks it’s an obligation. “Abort it. And try again. It would be immoral to bring it into the world,” the professor told one of his Twitter cultists when asked what the right thing to do would be should they discover their unborn child has Down’s Syndrome. Charming, eh?
I am not going to spend the rest of this blog espousing my views on abortion. There are many, many others with more wit, sense, style and understanding – I’ll let them continue to slog it out. But what is interesting about Dawkins’ outburst is how neatly it illustrates the imbalance in how we talk about questions of the body and morality in society.
Those who seek to liberalise almost always frame their arguments in the context of ‘choice’. We must be allowed to ‘choose’ whether to carry a child, to ‘choose’ when and where to die – and so on. This is the argument that has won women abortion rights and which will probably win the right to an assisted suicide. And it is a difficult case to contend with for those of us with deep misgivings – it taps directly into humanity’s vanity about itself. It paints us as free, rugged and self-actualising. Not for us the petty constraints of nature. No, we can ‘choose’.
That’s a pretty attractive offer. And it also, helpfully, has an inbuilt defence mechanism against opposition. Don’t like abortion? Don’t have one. Don’t believe in assisted suicide? Don’t do it then. Disapprove of gay marriage? Don’t marry a man. Because we’re all free floating, autonomous Ayn Rand characters our decisions don’t affect anyone else – you see? Of course, some of us know that this isn’t true. Society is an ecosystem that is as finely balanced, precarious and complex as the most imperiled coral reef. And what we choose to do does have an impact – on institutions, on our community, on the society that has nurtured us into existence. That doesn’t mean that change is always wrong, that we must preserve all that our parents left us in aspic. But it does mean that progress should be made in conversation with our traditions and with respect for the wisdom of those who weaved the fabric of our civilisation. All that being the case, though, the relentless logic of choice is a tricky thing to stand up against. It is clever, it is seductive and it is popular. And telling people that you’re against them choosing things goes down particularly poorly in 21st Century Britain.
So Professor Dawkins has done us a huge service in his honesty. Because he has pointed out – in the grimmest possible way – that people like him don’t believe in the sanctity of choice anymore than I do. They too believe in obligation and tradition – all that autonomy guff was merely shiny wrapping paper, a canny PR exercise. What starts out as a ‘right’ swiftly becomes a tacit expectation. One day the norm is that you can, if you want, choose to end the life of your unborn, disabled child. The next you are selfish or immoral if you choose not to. And what happens tomorrow? Well tomorrow you are instructed to end its life because the state has determined that it is cruel to let it live. Dawkins has shown us what he and a great many others really believe – that our tradition of the sanctity of life must be replaced with a new tradition of utilitarian eugenics.
This is helpful for two reasons. One, because it frees us of a false and circular argument about choice. It helps us to tell the story of our fears and it helps us to explain that freedom has consequences too. You are not just being gifted new rights, you are being asked to fundamentally change the way society views humanity. You may still be fine with that, but you can’t pretend it is not the case.
Two, it shines a light on the truth about assisted suicide. The people urging this new right upon us do not do so out of hatred for the disabled, the infirm and the old aged. They do so, mostly, with good but misguided intentions. But they cannot be allowed to look away from the impact this seemingly small, apparently harmless, change will have. Today the terminally ill will be allowed to ask for death. Tomorrow they will be expected to. Richard Dawkins will be instructing his followers that they are selfish for clinging to life, that it is immoral to refuse the pill, that they are silly and cruel for not embracing death.
If a world cleansed of imperfections is what we wish for then Dawkins has shown us the way. We can be free of people with Down’s Syndrome. We can shed the burden of the sick, the tired, the sad and the old. All of this is possible. But if, like me, you thought Logan’s Run a dystopian warning rather than a template for the future we should look upon the Professor’s words with a chill down our spine and a new resolve to carry on fighting