Hatch, Match and Dispatch

Births marriages and deaths, the church and it’s yard tells it all, a unique record of the of the people who passed this way before.

So I bring you some images  of a chapel, a very old one, when I say old I mean old, founded in 1662; now what I know about ecclesiastical history, you could write on the back of a communion wafer, save to say I think this chapel played a historic part in the development of the non conformist church. I didn’t set out to photograph this place, I just sort of got sidetracked.

When I looked at this elevation, I thought it was a shame to see a modern burglar alarm stuck on the side of a  historic building,

But then they could have put it on the southern elevation and that would have been much worse

So back to the  burglar alarm, what would they founders of this church have made of that? The door was locked, a sign of the times? to guard against vandalism?  certainly when I was a child, church’s weren’t locked.

But there was evidence of vandalism, graffiti on the windows; the writer left his/her name and the date, 1869 and returned again in 1874 etched in the glass.

There was evidence of make do and mend, on going changes to the fabric of the place.

In the older part of the grave yard there were some impressive stones, who’s  inscriptions are as sharp and clear as the day they were carved.

The primroses were in flower, amongst the stones, as I imagine they all ways have, since 1662 and before

As well as the ‘flash with the cash’ tombs there was also evidence of ‘off the shelf’ stone masonry, more your ‘mid range’ tomb stone, many of the stones had the same motif, ‘Thy Will Be Done’

There will have been many graves that had no stone and some that were very simple, like this one, just two initials

 

Looking at them made me think of the phrase Joe used to trot out when he was a bout 4 years old and just trying to get his head around  the fact that things die,  ‘When your dead, your dead.’ he used to announce to any one and everyone and he’s right, for posh stone or paupers stone, the moss and the ivy still grow, all things being equal, in death.

The part of the church yard that is in use today, was vibrant and well kept and loved, some of the stones had very personal mementos on them, I wonder what people used to leave at the grave side back in the seventeen hundreds?

There had been a recent wedding,

By the gate, the leaves of the yew tree,  (the symbolism of the of yew trees, often found in church yards, in representing the soul’s immortality, is said to predate Christianity) with the modern day addition of fag ends and confetti

Am I coming over as morbid on this post?  it didn’t feel that way,  just reflective, an an interesting diversion.

A Feast

A visual feast, a banquet and I have stuffed my self silly , totally pigged out on the yummyness of it all; it snowed over night and then this morning the sun shone, words fail me as to just how beautiful it was first thing, what ever is in the camera won’t do justice to it, the stillness, the peacefulness, the warmth of the sunshine, the deliciousness of it, so I’ll shut up and let you take a look.

 

If I eat anymore I’ll be sick, so that will do for starters, I’ll post or upload some more to Flickr later, I need a lie down.

Precious Gift

In the midst of the hectic  Christmas preparations, I came across something that stopped my in my tracks, and get a few things in perspective.

A couple of years ago on Christmas eve, the boys and I were in nearby ‘Market Town’, I can’t even remember what it was, that was so important to our festive arrangements that I felt the need to venture into town on Christmas eve. The boys were with me and seizing the moment I herded them in to the shoe shop for some new school shoes, they were not impressed they were on a mission to go to ‘Game’, to suss the PS2 games; the shoe shop has a traditional sort of ethos in that it offers good service from pleasant staff, but it is by no means frumpy, it sells shoes that tempt (apart from school shoes) its not difficult to part with money.

The shop was full of children, one boy was jumping up and down with excitement, he was thrilled to bits with his new trainers, the sort with flashing lights in the heels; despite the sparkle in his eyes, he didn’t look well, his face was  pinched and thin, his complexion was that sallow yellow/blue of a fading bruise, it was not the hue of of healthy child. There was a cacophony of chatter in the shop, but not a word of it could we understand, (and we are local after all.) Then slowly it dawned on me, the party and their chaperones are all  from Belarus. The children live in the poisonous shadow of the Chernobyl disaster.

Groups of children come to this area twice a year, for a recuperative holiday, most of then will be suffering from life shortening illnesses, or they are in remission from cancer or leukemia, the chances of them living a full and healthy life are slim,staying with host families, this break is to give their immune systems a boost. The children arrive in the UK, pretty much with just the clothes they stand up in, local businesses donate, clothes and in this case shoes, their visits are on the local fundraising calendar, so that by the time the children go home after their months stay, they have a case full of new clothes.

So there I am, in full ‘consumer mode’, fretting about some inconsequential detail that I think is essential to  the ‘perfect Christmas’ and sticking a couple of pairs of school shoes on the Visa bill along with the rest of the Christmas spend; when I am confronted by  10 children about the same age as my own, all of whom are and look very sick: the effect is as good as a slap across the face, It is not lost on me the contrast between all that my children have, good food, a warm home, health care and pretty much all they could wish for, including the most precious thing of all good health; these kids have so little, of so many things. Tears start to fill my eyes, Tom seeing my face asks ‘Mum, what’s the matter?’ trying to tell him what’s going on in the shop and in my head only goes to make matters worse, tears are now spilling down my cheeks; ‘Mum stop it, you are being embarrassing’ hisses Tom. As we leave the shop, the proprietor, is telling the chaperones they too must choose themselves a a pair of shoes each, what ever they fancy, I want to tell him what a generous gesture he is making, but the lump in my throat prevents me* One of the chaperones is trying on a sexy pair of high heeled shoes, may be warm boots would have been a practical choice, to take back to Belarus, but every girl needs pretty things.

We make our way back to the car, and in the shopping precinct, all the signs pointing the way to ‘Santa’s Grotto’ have been  sub titled in Russian; this set me off crying again; Tom is by now ’so not impressed’ with me;

 ‘MUM will you stop it, you are so EMBARASSING’

Sorry son, sometimes it is important for parents to be embarrassing, it makes us realise just how very, very fortunate we are.

 

I hadn’t realised till I started writing this post, just how many towns up and down the country fund holidays like this, to all of you that are involved, happy Christmas you are special.

I re-told this experience to a friend who, is in a position to know what they are talking about, (unlike me) and they told me that, the children, are by no means the last, there will be many many more whose lives will be blighted if not cut short by the events of the 26th of April 1986, just how many, is open to wide debate, World Nuclear Association is cautious, Greenpeace is not; part of the problem seems to be in the lack of data before the incident, all I can tell you is what I saw one Christmas eve, I won’t forget.

 

* It was March before, I caught up with the shops proprietor, and told him how generous I thought he had been, he shrugged his shoulders, ‘I suppose it cost us a bit, but we think is worth it.’ I think he’s right.

 

Technorati Tags: Chernobyl Children, Christmas, Gifts, Leukemia

Job Satisfaction

None of these tasks were on my to-do list for the day, but what the hell, they were all high in job satisfaction.

• Today I have got my flickr photos back in my sidebar! hooray.
• I have discovered where the white leghorn chickens are laying their egg, and retrieved 12 eggs.
• I have oiled a squeaky door, why did I not do that weeks ago?
• I re-strung some Christmas tree lights from circa 1948

Mum was talking the other day how as a child they never had any Christmas decorations in the house and that when in 1948 she and dad got their first home, they bought a Christmas tree and some light; the lights were used all through my childhood, we still have them, so I got them out of the loft, it took me back a bit seeing dad writing on them, with the details of the bulb size and wattage, just the sound of the lamps rattling together takes me back to my childhood; the wiring was more than a little dodgy.

The men of our house were a bit disparaging of them, maybe it was the nursery rhyme theme,I explained it was a ‘retro’ look and tough, I was going to do it anyway.

It came as no surprise to find when I took the bulbs out, that there was bits of silver foil in and amongst the connections, it was just the sort of thing my dad was always doing; so with a bit of modification I have got them threaded on to new light; originally they were just white lights, but I have used coloured one, I am rather pleased, and I know mum will be delighted to see them lit again

Part of the inspiration too get these light working again came from our weekend in the Borrowdale area, where I found a wonderful little cafe, called ‘Temporary Measure’ in Main Street in Keswick; it was filled with all sorts of ‘retro’ goodies as well as nice tea and cakes, and the young and talented proprietors create clever, witty canvas prints, take a look you would be to late to order for Christmas now though.

Technorati Tags: Christmas tree lights, cake, chickens, flickr, retro

Buck Up, Look Up

The days are getting short and it is to easy to spend too much time indoors slumped over the keyboard in our ‘back office’ a north facing room, that only manages to get a dash of sunshine at sun set on the longest day of the year, at this time of the year it is a dark room.

Today has been glorious, cold but bright, so ‘I abandoned ship’ for an hour this afternoon and went for a walk and got myself a fix of sunshine, it was much needed. I had a chat with the horses who are wise enough to be ‘rugged up’

Walked through the copse, and looked up at the beach leaves

The scot’s pine

And I am not sure what species this tree is, but I like its bark

The beech tree made rather a nice filigree pattern, against the sky.

I liked the shadows on the dry stone wall

The Ivy is rather splendid too

And you have to respect this alder tree, for hanging in there; know locally as the ‘lightning tree,’ it should have blown down by now. The woodpeckers keep hammering away at it, it get’s more battered with every season.  I like the way it has pulled up rocks from the soil, amongst it’s roots as it has grown.

At 2pm, the frost was still lying in the shadows of the walls

Now I only have an hour and a half to do an afternoons work, never mind it was worth it.

 

Technorati Tags: Frost, Cold, Sunshine, Blue Sky, Trees, Bark

We will remember them

The 11th hour, of the 11th day, of the 11th month

Even as a child Remembrance Sunday captured my imagination, may be it was all the time I spent as a small girl at the war memorial in the local park, shivering in my tissue thin Brownie Guide uniform, icy cold wind, slapping wet leaves at my blue legs; I took my duty as the ‘Sixer’ of the Elves and therefore tasked with carrying our standard, oh so, very, very seriously (you just knew I was going to have been a sixer, didn’t you? I displayed management bossy tendencies from an early age!)

But it was Christmas at Mr and Mrs Anderson’s home, that was the real reason I knew all about ‘poppy day.’ Mr and Mrs Anderson lived in the ‘big house’ near my parents; it’s not big, now I come to think about it, but in 1967, it seemed big, strange and mysterious. My mum used to go round each morning, to ‘light the fires’ for them (goodness this sounds like something out of Dickens’ not the swinging 60’s, but we are talking rural northern England.) And whilst our house at Christmas was awash with tinsel and fold out paper lanterns (no paper chains, my dad deemed them to be a fire hazard, what with open fires and that) the Anderson’s was stark, the house even by the standards of the day was very old fashioned and Victorian; they had just just one Christmas decoration, a small artificial Christmas tree, that was made out of very sparse green ‘bottle brushes’ it had no other decorations on it than scarlet ‘Haig Fund’ poppies.

Mr and Mrs Anderson’s only son had been killed in the Second World War, they had survived the First World, only to loose their child in World War Two.

For me this provided a very visual link, that has stayed locked in my mind, a link between now and then, and how it must have been; I think as time passes it get harder, if not to forget, but understand the scale of the two world wars, because simply by time we have become removed from them

I wrote a few weeks ago about a rather special gentleman that I had the privilege to meet, and his distinguished war time career, this sparked off a flurry of email’s with Kevinmillhill, about his dad who was shot down at Arnhem and my dad who served in Burma. Kev kindly sent me some fascinating documents, copy of his dad’s flying log and the letter from the air ministry to his dad’s parents, confirming that their son, was reported missing; it makes sober reading, I read them with my son yesterday, maybe, they will have captured his imagination in the same way , that tree of poppies did for me.

Of course Remembrance Day is about all those who have fought lost and suffered in conflict, not just the First and Second World Wars. As so often is the case, my dad in his life time told me little, and I asked even less about his time in Burma with the Royal Engineers, but I do know the experiences never leave the service man/women.

The very last thing my brother heard my dad say, in his drug induced confusion and as they wheeled him in to resus, at the hospital, at the age of 82 and just hours before he died? ‘Get down, get down it’s a sniper’

Lest we forget.

Technorati Tags: Remembrance Day, poppies, War, Conflict, Peace, Arnhem, Burma, Haig Fund, Girl Guides, RAF, Royal Engineers

Ooohhhhh Scary

Halloween, thank goodness the boys have grown out of that malarkey. Halloween is one ‘tradition’ that should definitely have stayed state side; it is a tradition we worked very hard at side stepping in this household. However we did grow some cracking pumpkins on top of the ‘midden’ (muck heap) one year, pumpkins apparently like a good deep root run, and we obviously made them feel at home.

Up and down the country vulnerable people dread the ‘trick or treat’ calls. Not sure why parents think it is a good idea to let there kids wander the streets at night banging on the doors of stranger; am I a kill joy? I don’t think so.

Halloween is of course the the day preceding  All Saints or All Hallows day now a little know fact about this festival is that it sends the price of cut flowers soaring in the UK, (you won’t notice it in the super markets because their suppliers grow to a contract price, but in the independent flower shops who buy through the local wholesale markets who in turn buy from the Dutch auctions (that act like a clearing bank for the world flower industry) will see wholesale prices rise.

The reason for this is supply and demand, in many countries through out Europe it is traditional to take flowers to the graves of your loved ones, since departed; and to light candles.

This is a  little known fact about Halloween that you can chuck into the conversations today!

When I flogged flowers for a living I hated this time of year, prices went up (I knew they would come back down again, but I still disliked it) huge amount of cash had been committed to stock for the Christmas rush, and all the customers would disappear off to the Dark City to ‘do their Christmas shopping’ (this was a few years ago no doubt now they just go to Google and EBay) The didn’t reappear again till a few days before Christmas, with a list that read

• Pick up Turkey
• Buy Satsuma’s
• Send flowers to Auntie Vera (in Australia)
• Buy holly wreath
• Buy flowers for hall
• Buy 1.5 meters of 1/4 inch ribbon, red shade; not tomato red, not claret red, not blood red (same thing to some readers) but robin red.

And if we had a penny for every time a customer said ‘This is just what I have been looking for, I couldn’t find it any where in Dark City; and look it was here in Market Town all the time.’ we would have been much richer.

The moral of this tale, shop local, who want’s to go to the Dark City anyway.

We didn’t mind Christmas being very busy,as much as three weeks turn over in as many days, we were very happy to get the money in the till, we just wished it wasn’t so last minute, it used to make me feel like this.

 

Now that is scary…….

 

Technorati Tags: Halloween, pumpkins, flowers, All Saints, All Hallows, Christmas shopping, Trick or treat

Nutritional Values

A huge section of the world population doesn’t have enough to eat, so how come I am paying Weightwatchers to stop me eating too much?

For the first time in my life I am ‘on a diet’ now don’t ‘click away’ just yet, I don’t plan for this to be a discussion on the calorific values of crisp bread (that would be as dull as dishwater) I am just reflecting on the irony of the situation.

I’ve never needed to diet before, having been of the tall and skinny ilk since I was about thirteen. But changing work patterns (my work is a lot less physical than it used to be) and a changing aging metabolism mean the pounds have been piling on. There was no way I was going down the traditional ‘fat club’ route to a draughty village hall at 6:15 on a Monday evening for a ritual weighing and to be told to lay off the custard creams; so I joined Weightwatchers On Line

I have always thought Billy Connolly’s diet advice of, ‘move more, eat less’ was pretty sound advice, but I had to accept that this time I need a kick up my growing backside. I didn’t like parting with the best part of £50 for three months membership, but within in a few days I was feeling really good, now part of this I suspect was a psychological reaction to just ‘taking charge’ of the situation and committing to change as well as the ‘detox’ effect of passing up on less than wholesome foods, (but not the red wine!)

I can report that it is working for me and I am very pleased about that, but I am aware that our relationship with food is complex(once you get up from the bottom of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs at any rate) After that it all gets a bit more complex, it would be cruel and trite of me to be so dismissive to say that losing or (gaining weight) is as easy as this.

I’ve a friend who has been in and out of hospitals and clinics for the last two decades, as she battles against the anorexia that has delivered her TB and taken her close to death (if you could see her curl up into an old prolapsed sofa, in an attempt to disappear form our sight when we made an unexpected call, it was heart breaking.) Or to see a young obese  women who having been in and out of care through out her childhood had used her size to conceal her pregnancy, a pregnancy that had just ended in a miscarriage, to see her ‘devour’ a Big Mac and fries brought to me, a whole new perspective on the expression of ‘comfort food’

But back to where I started; as I type this, to my left on the wall is a Red Cross calendar, the image for October (Miss October if you will) is that of a group of Kenyan women gathering for a meeting, with Red Cross officials, about the distribution of food and seeds, they face starvation and death, because of the failure of their crops; this is the image

I think the photo has a haunting quality, and it is haunting me right now; the woman in the center of the shot, her eyes are watching me as I type and I know in my heart I should have given the £50 to the Red Cross not Weightwatchers.

Technorati Tags: Starvation, third world poverty, Red Cross, Diet, obese, food industry.

Forecast, good, getting even better; imminent

I wasn’t going to post this weekend, the weather is to nice by far, to be indoors slouched over a keyboard, but I thought I would share these photographs with you.

Yesterday I was out and about early,helping with the party preparations; well before the sun had lifted the mist. It was awesome.

 

 

And this is the photo, for Jo, it’s the one that I mentioned in the previous post, the beauty being in the deatil.

I don’t know if they are the ‘fruiting bodies’ of mosses, lichens or liverworts,(I am sure some one will fill me in) but whatever they are they are very pretty.

The great outdoors is very busy today, with everyone after a quick fix of sun; walkers, bikers, cyclists, and runners, Mr UHDD has been in a fell race, Tom and Joe also took part in a junior race (Joe’s first) and for once it was very pleasant to stand on the finishing line in the autumn sunshine.

 

Technorati Tags: Mist, Moss, Fell Running, Photography, Autumn, Sunshine

Dyed In The Wool

Things around here are taking on a russet hue.

Not just the trees and foliage but the sheep as well; we went for a ‘family walk’ at the weekend just the four of us, (the dog is in rehab, and confined to base, I’ll tell you about that another day.)

We noticed the sheep had something of a glow about them, a hint of pink.

On closer inspection there was something fishy about them and not just the salmon tinted wool

Not only did they look a bit dodgy they smelt dodgy too, sort of a ‘Jeyes Fluid’ aroma. We assume they have been dipped in some noxious chemical to protect them from plague and pestilence (if not blue tongue)

(If I don’t watch out there will be more sheep on my posts than on Inspector Gadgets.)

I don’t have a clue how you mange such a thing organically, I’ve only ever tackled the cats fleas and children’s head lice, that is bad enough, I dread to think what wee beasties lurk deep in the fleece of the average sheep.

Things are looking very pretty and autumnal, frosty misty mornings are forecast for the next few days.

I am spreading my self as thin as Marmite this week, evening meetings at the other end of the county, rewriting lecture notes and reports that were lost in our PC crash last week and helping a friend prepare for a family party, so I probably won’t post till next week, when it is time to come clean on Landrovers.

In the mean time, I shall leave you with a couple of thoughts; as nice nature was looking this morning,

the beauty was in the detail

And Christmas can’t be far away if the holly is anything to go by.

(I am feeling smug I have bought some scrumptious Christmas cards from Survival International, a favorite charity, the photography is something I can only aspire to.)

Technorati Tags: Sheep, farming, holly, frost, nature