Having tidied away the decorations, cleaned the house and washed the dog and her bedding this weekend, it is now time to sort out my boxes of journals. The one above is a much used notebook from 2012. The yellow leather binding is worn, the ribbon is frayed and the pages are falling out. In fact it looks a bit like I feel; but inside it, the essence of me is distilled.
On a sea of ink
I sail to oblivion
In a paper boat
Do you remember the feeling you used to get every September when school started? Everything was new ~ uniform, pens, pencils, rulers, rubbers, sharpeners, geometry equipment, art materials and virginal exercise books covered in pretty paper. Whatever had happened the previous term, the new school year was filled with hope for a fresh start, a clean sheet, a copybook with no blots!
Well I got that feeling when I opened my Christmas presents and found a beautiful new journal. It is from the Wedgewood Archive Collection and the design is called Yellow Butterfly. Of course one journal is never enough for the addicted writer so this year I have bought 2 other journals in the sales! I am torn as to which one to start writing in first, they are all so beautiful.
The prompt for Haiku Heights this week is the word ‘script’. I knew immediately what I wanted to write about but it is a painful memory. When my father was very ill with cancer I would sit by his bed for hours on end whenever I was not at work. He was a self taught man who left school at the age of 13 to work in the shipyards in the North of England where he lived. He spent his whole life working with steel, eventually owning his own business. He was in great demand as a consultant on huge projects from bridges to buildings like Canary Wharf in London and Terminal 4 at Heathrow. He was also recognised as a bit of an expert on safety in Nuclear Power Stations which he used to inspect. I absolutely adored him and shared his passion for bridges, buildings and anything of beauty.
Now my father kept a diary all his life and his last sentence on every entry was a prayer of thanks for his day. He always used a propelling pencil and wrote with a beautiful script. As he got weaker his diary became really important to him. However hard it was to write he would still insist on filling in the days news. He recorded every visit by doctors, nurses, priests and friends. The day before he died he was quite distressed that he could not hold his pencil and he insisted that I should write what he dictated, which I did. When he fell asleep with the exhaustion of it I took a peek at his diary and I was totally shocked by what i found. For the worst months of his illness he had ended every entry with a prayer to St Jude ~ patron Saint of Lost causes! This was a bit upsetting. But the really upsetting thing was that for the last two weeks his entries were in mirror writing. Every word and line was written backwards. It was still legible although the writing was getting rather spidery.
I found this deeply moving as it seemed to me that his life was going into reverse. After he died I mentioned the mirror writing to the doctor and he said it sometimes happens as a result of neurological disturbance. I suppose this would make sense as he was so ill and on strong pain relief. But I still found it very unsettling.
I have heard since that some people like Leonardo Da Vinci used to do mirror writing. It is a strange phenomenon still not fully understood.
I am starting 2013 by clearing space for beauty and joining the Mindful Writing Challenge entitled Small Stones. A small stone is a short piece of writing (prose or poetry) that precisely captures a fully-engaged (mindful) moment. The process of finding small stones is as important as the finished product – searching for them will encourage you to keep your eyes (and ears, nose, mouth, fingers, feelings and mind) open.
Why don’t you go out and buy yourself a gorgeous notebook, start writing your small stones, and you’ll be in the river too.
I am starting 2013 by clearing space for beauty and joining the Mindful Writing Challenge entitled Small Stones. A small stone is a short piece of writing (prose or poetry) that precisely captures a fully-engaged (mindful) moment. The process of finding small stones is as important as the finished product – searching for them will encourage you to keep your eyes (and ears, nose, mouth, fingers, feelings and mind) open.
Why don’t you go out and buy yourself a gorgeous notebook, start writing your small stones, and you’ll be in the river too.
The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2012 annual report for my blog. I only started it in March so i am very pleased that it has been read by so many people. I treasure every comment and appreciate every view so please carry on reading in 2013. Happy New year to you all x
Here’s an excerpt:
600 people reached the top of Mt. Everest in 2012. This blog got about 4,100 views in 2012. If every person who reached the top of Mt. Everest viewed this blog, it would have taken 7 years to get that many views.
The prompt for this week at haiku heights is the word ‘snow’. This set me off thinking of the many places I have been where there is always snow on the mountain tops, the “Everlasting Snows”. I think of the North West Explorer trip I did many years ago visiting Seattle, Vancouver and the wonderful national parks in USA and Canada. I will never forget the breathtaking views we saw as we drove along the route through the glaciers to Banff and beyond.
I also remember the trip to the top of the Caucasus mountains at Krasnapolyana in Russia which I have written about before. This beautiful place will be the setting for many of the events of the 2014 Sochi Winter Olympics.
I remember the very first time I went to Russia. I arrived in Moscow in the evening having left the UK on a crisp Autumn morning. The first thing I did in Moscow was go for a walk to Red Square. As I turned into the square it started to snow gently and there I was at last, totally captivated by the sight of the magnificent multi coloured onion domes on St Basil’s cathedral. Red Square has been the scene of some dreadful ~ and some impressive events ~ over the course of its history, but I defy anyone to see it without being instantly awed by the sheer magnificence of the whole square and its buildings, especially in the snow!
St Basil’s in Red Square in the snow
Soft flakes fall gently
On sumptuous St Basil’s
White snow on Red Square
Another place with “Everlasting Snows” is the Pyrenees. These mountains are steeped in history. For century after century pedlars and merchants, crusaders and warriors, troubadours, shepherds and pilgrims have trekked across these mountains. The village of Gavarnie was known as “the last village in France” in the Middle Ages on the old pilgrim route to the tomb of St. James at Santiago de Compostela. It is a great centre for winter sports as well as summer walking now. I have often travelled to Lourdes with groups or with friends and I have always taken a trip up the mountains to Gavarnie. I have written about it in a previous post. The route to Gavarnie from Lourdes takes in the Lavedan Valley, Argeles Gazost, St. Savin de Lavedan, the Chateau of Miremont, the Valley of Luz, Pic du Midi and Luz. These are all fascinating places in their own right and St Savin is a must see village and church which seems unchanged by time. The Cirque de Gavarnie is the most famous place in the Pyrenees, with 1,400 metres (4,400 feet) and is home to the highest waterfall in Europe. Near Gavarnie there is an amazing statue of Our Lady of the Snows. We often stopped to say mass there with the VIPs in our group, using a spare wheelchair as an altar! (In Lourdes the sick, disabled or terminally ill are the VIPs.)
Our Lady of the Snows
Mass in Gavarnie
A wheelchair for an altar
Snow capped sacristy
Source of River gave at Gavarnie
River Gave is born
In the Everlasting Snows
Of Haute Pyrenees
Tour guides will tell you that the statue was erected by airmen after the Second World War in gratitude for making their escape across the mountains from occupied France into Northern Spain. However, this statue was visited and blessed by Pope Pius 12th when he came to Lourdes in 1935, so I guess it might have been erected by grateful resistance fighters in earlier times. There are many mountain passes in the Pyrenees, known as Le Chemin de la Liberte, which were secret escape routes during WW11 and one of them does pass the spot where Our lady of the Snows statue stands. This route was taken by hundreds of Frenchmen and Jews fleeing from the Germans as well as RAF and American airmen who had either crash landed or parachuted to safety after being shot down over occupied Europe. There was a chain of local people who hid, fed and clothed these men, at great personal risk, until the time was right for them to make their escape under cover of darkness over the mountains. Official statistics tell us that between the years 1940 and 1944, there were 33,000 successful escapes by Frenchmen along the entire length of the Pyrenean chain. It seems strange that we can now picnic there in the summer sun admiring the snow-capped mountains!
English: Cirque de Gavarnie gripped by frozen snow in the Pyrenees (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Trudging through spring snows
Escaping occupation
‘Cross the Pyrenees
Pyrenees by the River Gave
Trek through history
On high Pyrenees, scene of
trade and tragedy
Last but not least, I think of Stratton Mountain in Vermont near where my daughter lives and her husband works. We won’t be seeing him this Christmas as he will be on the mountain as usual preparing the next generation of winter Olympians. So I dedicate this series of haiku to him as he lives for the snow! Jointly they run the superb ski camps known as US Elite Camps.
I am thrilled to have been nominated for this award by positiveboomer.net And here are the rules:
1 Select the blog(s) you think deserve the ‘Blog of the Year 2012’ Award.
2 Write a blog post and tell us about the blog(s) you have chosen – there’s no minimum or maximum number of blogs required – and ‘present’ them with their award.
4 Let the blog(s) you have chosen know that you have given them this award and share the ‘rules’ with them
5 You can now also join the award’s Facebook group – click ‘like’ on this page‘Blog of the Year 2012’ Award Facebook group and then you can share your blog with an even wider audience if you choose to
6 As a winner of the award – please add a link back to the blog that presented you with the award – and then proudly display the award on your blog and sidebar … and start collecting stars…
Yes – that’s right – there are stars to collect!
Unlike other awards which you can only add to your blog once – this award is different!
When you begin you will receive the ‘1 star’ award – and every time you are given the award by another blog – you can add another star!
There are a total of 6 stars to collect.
Which means that you can check out your favorite blogs – and even if they have already been given the award by someone else – you can still bestow it on them again and help them to reach the maximum 6 stars!
There are so many wonderful blogs out there which I love reading. Some I dip in and out of and some I would not miss. From my desk I can travel to India, USA, Canada, Australia and all the places in between. I can see fabulous photos and read wise words. I can enjoy newsletters, magazines, unpublished stories and a wealth of poetry. I can be stunned by haiku and warmed by appreciative comments. I can even say that I have made friendships as some bloggers give and receive advice, tips and encouragement freely. I am constantly amazed by the talents, wisdom and sincerity that exists and I feel privileged to share in it through blogging. I have a long list of blogs that I would not miss and I have nominated some of them for awards before. So I am deliberately choosing some that I have only recently discovered and enjoyed as well as some of my favourites and I hope you will seek them out too.
Here are the nominees I have chosen for the ‘Blog of the Year 2012:
I have updated my post about the quilt as it fits in perfectly with the Haiku Heights theme for this week which is ‘Wish’ I have added a few extra haiku!
Stanley Jack
A shooting star streaked
‘Cross a cloudless sky, my wish
Was granted that night
Wishes are woven
Round the world, on a web of
Wisdom and wonder
I wanted something special and personal for my new grandchild, baby Stanley. It should be something useful that he could keep. I decided that a quilt was a good idea. Quilts are great in the pram, on the cot, as a changing mat, or on the floor as a play mat. In my former life as a teacher I loved the book “A Quilt for Baby” by Kim Lewis ~
“There is a farm far away from the town, in a valley in the hills where
a river runs. . . . This is home, my little one. This is where we live.”
In the book the new mother makes a quilt for her baby appliqued with farmyard images ~ sheepdog, sheep, grass, stream and trees. Jenny and Simon have decorated their nursery with beautiful star wallpaper in ivory and grey so that was my starting point. I wanted a shooting star to feature and wanted a material that would be safe, warm and lovely to the touch. So I bought some ivory Calico and padding. My middle daughter, Anna who lives in Barcelona, found coloured silk ~ a silvery blue/grey ~ perfect for the large stars. I had saved a piece of ivory silk from Jenny’s wedding dress for just this sort of occasion ~ that would be perfect for small stars.
Now I am no great seamstress but I have a friend who is! She has a sewing machine which does everything, including star shaped stitches, and she offered to help me. So I designed the quilt and cut out the material arranging the silk stars on the calico.
My friend then used her magic to put it all together with ivory silk thread.
The result is a lovely unique quilt for my precious grandchild. Of course I have to write some haiku about it!
I am moved and inspired by haiku heights word prompt this week, which is ‘Pain’.
On Saturday my daughter went through the pain of childbirth and produced a wonderful son, Stanley Jack. That pain was worth going through.
A cold winter’s day
An arrow of agony
A baby is born
On Sunday my husband bent down to pick up a basket of logs for the stove and his back gave way. That pain was definitely not worth going through! By Thursday my husband’s pain was so bad he was kept in hospital where he still is. Although he is very brave it must be a pain to have so many pills, injections, procedures and tests when he is already on dialysis 3 times a week and chemotherapy alternate days for an existing condition! He has a very high pain threshold but this back has beaten even him.
Advancing in age
Every movement is torture
Unbearable pain
On Monday I saw a homeless person sitting in a doorway in the bitter cold and wet. I feel for him in his physical discomfort but also in the pain of alienation from the community and rejection by society that he must feel.
Hopeless and homeless
Shivering in the shadows
Harbouring his hurts
Looking round the town decorated for Christmas, I am struck by the contrast between the glitzy shop windows, the festive decorations, the singing of the choirs in the streets ~ and the horror of homeless young people, male and female, huddled in doorways.
Two thousand years on
Young mums still search for shelter
Crisis at Christmas
On Tuesday I was reminded of a child I once took to Lourdes. She was 10 years old and gravely ill. She needed a heart and lung transplant, which she eventually received. sadly she died before the year was out and her funeral took place on Christmas Eve. I will never forget her bravery. She wrote her own funeral mass sheet and drew pictures of rabbits on it. She chose the music from Watership Down to be played at the service.
When treatment has failed
And the torment is over
Bright eyes close in pain.
Today sitting at home alone I am reflecting on the pain of having family scattered all over the world. But how lucky I am to have email, facebook, mobile phone and text messaging. My family are instantly updated on my husband’s condition and they instantly respond with supportive calls and texts.
Tender the ties that
bind families together
Hearts bleed when they break
It was not so easy to stay in touch in the 19th century. I have been researching my family tree and discovered a tragic tale about my great grandfather, William Patrick Roche, who suffered from the pain of losing his birth family for the whole of his life. According to an old letter written by his granddaughter, my Aunty Nancy, William was born in Ireland in County Cork in 1840. His mother and father had 8 children, but after the last baby his mother died. The Irish Potato Famine was in full swing so William’s father could not manage all of the children on his own so he remarried. His new wife did not get on with William. So a sea captain friend was paid 40 guinees to take William Patrick to sea and train him. William was 12 years old. The rest of the family went on one of the ‘Famine Ships’ which sailed from Cobh to America.
Bound for a new life
But crammed into coffin ships
No comfort nor hope.
I searched the records at the National Archives in London and traced the original document which William’s father, James Roche signed. The date was 2 February 1855. The ship was HMS Conway and it was a Royal Navy flagship. The commanding officer was John Fulford. William’s birthdate was given as 17 March 1839! Whether this was a true birthdate to make him look old enough, and because it was St Patrick’s Day, I don’t know but it makes him 16 when he signed up not 12 as the family history has him! He was contracted as “Boy 2nd Class” to serve in the Royal navy for 10 years from his 18th birthday plus the time before he was 18 so that means 12 years, or up to 1867. I believe I have traced him on the 1861 census serving on a ship called “Victor Emmanuel” in the Meditterranean. I have not managed to trace him on the 1871 census so it may be that he was on a merchant vessel, sailing overseas on tea clippers at this time.
After William went to sea in 1855 he never saw his family again because their father and new wife emigrated to USA with the other children.
Fleeing the famine
Fragmented Families sailed
To an Isle of Tears
William eventually became 1st mate on Tea Clippers that sailed between China and UK. One day he sailed into Glasgow and decided to take a trip to the highlands of Scotland. Near Inverness he saw a young girl sitting on a farm gate. her hair was so long she could sit on it. He thought she was beautiful and decided there and then that he would come back when she was older and marry her. Jessie Miller (born Munro) was her name. Her mother had died when she was 9 years old so she and her sister had gone to live with an aunt who had a farm for them to work on. 3 years later William Patrick came back for Jessie and they married and went to live in Sunderland. He became an optician and Jessie had 8 children. One of them was Lizzie Roche who was my grandmother. Sadly Jessie died in 1907 when she was just 50. William went on to reach the age off 76 dying in the Newcastle Royal Infirmary in 1916. He often travelled to Dublin to try and trace where his family had gone. He also put adverts in American newspapers. But he never did find any of them again. Today with the internet I am hoping to continue the search on his behalf.
Today’s haiku prompt at haiku heights is ‘Storm’. It brought to mind the time when I worked at St Peter’s Grange, Prinknash Abbey, which I have described in earlier posts. The view from Prinknash is amazing as the Abbey is set high in the hills near Cranham and Painswick. Although there are wonderful woods behind the Abbey, the front has a clear view over the vale towards Gloucester City with its beautiful Cathedral. One day I will write about my time working at the King’s School in Gloucester (founded by Henry V111) while Harry Potter was being filmed in the Cathedral. However, today I will stick to the point of my blog! On a clear day there is a wonderful view from Prinknash, of May Hill, with its clump of trees on the summit. They were planted in celebration of Queen Victoria’s Diamond Jubilee in 1897 and are visible for miles around. Beyond that there are the Brecon Beacons and the Black Mountains.
Having observed that view on a daily basis, the monks were very good at forecasting the weather merely from looking at May Hill. If the hill looked a misty blue they knew there would be rain at Prinknash later. If the crown of trees was lost in cloud there would be a storm.
Interestingly, I discovered while working at St Peter’s Grange that it was built in this position, sheltered by the hills and trees, as protection from the plague. There is documentary evidence, as well as internal evidence in the Grange, that some parts were built in the 14th century. In 1339 the Bishop of Worcester granted a licence “For the Abbot of Gloucester and his fellow monks to celebrate Mass or to have it celebrated by a suitable chaplain in an oratory within their manor of Princkenasch.” So we know that there was a chapel on the site then. By the time the Grange was built the Black Death had already swept through England and people thought it was carried on the wind. Wealthy people therefore built their homes on the side of a hill sheltered from the wind in the hope that this would protect them.
St Peter’s Grange at Prinknash Abbey on the side of the hill, sheltered by trees
One of my jobs at the Abbey was to polish the Parker room. This room was named after William Parker who was Master of the Works in the Abbey before he was elected Abbot in 1515. He was responsible for many improvements to the building. In July 1535 Abbot Parker entertained King Henry V111 and Anne Boleyn for a week. They used St Peter’s Grange as a hunting Lodge as there were many deer around – as there are today nearby. One fascinating snippet that appeals to me is that Abbot Parker had windows put in positions from which he could watch the monks about their work. He used to spy on them. I believe, contrary to what Wikipedia says, that this is where the phrase “Nosey Parker” comes from.
St. Peter’s Grange, Prinknash (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
At Prinknash the monks have long been known for their art and craft work. They made beautiful pottery for many years from the local clay. They still make Incense that is exported all over the world. One of the monks who has sadly passed away created a wonderful painting for the millennium which was displayed in the Abbey Church. he also painted and created stained glass. Many of his pictures were made into lovely cards which were sold in the Abbey Shop. Today there is a gallery displaying the artwork of a prolific painter monk, Fr Stephen Horton. I was fortunate enough to buy some of his original paintings while I worked at the Grange. They are my pride and joy. The one I love especially is a watercolour of the Vale of Gloucester as seen from the roof of the Abbey. When inspiration struck him for this painting he had no suitably sized paper on which to paint the panorama. Being a monk and used to making use of whatever is available, he used two pieces of A4 paper side by side. This painting speaks to me of so much more than the view. It is creativity at its most basic I feel. The painting had to be painted there and then using whatever was to hand. The muse could not wait for a trip to the art suppliers! It also speaks to me of the way of life of the monks. They waste nothing and ask for nothing. They live such a simple life yet produce beauty all around them from whatever is there to be used.
Painting by Fr Stephen Horton OSB
One of the saddest things that happened at Prinknash was the theft of a statue of Our Lady of Prinknash in 2002. There are many statues at Prinknash but this one was extremely beautiful and so special. It was about 20 inches tall, carved of Flemish Oak, and had belonged to St Thomas More. After the Reformation, it was taken abroad but returned in 1925 when the Benedictine monks founded their new abbey at Prinknash. Of course this means it was hundreds of years old and priceless in the truest sense. The Abbey Church was always open for visitors and those who wished to pray, and the statue used to stand on a shelf to the left side of the church. One day it just disappeared while the monks were at tea, stolen to order presumably as nothing else was taken. It devastated the community in the abbey and the wider community, including myself, who attended mass there. I almost believe it took the heart out of some of the monks and the community itself. I have a picture of that statue and I often think that one day it will return to its rightful home. Maybe when the current unrightful owner dies he will leave it in his will to be returned to Prinknash ~ after all he can’t take it with him!
Remembrance Day falls on the same day as Armistice Day this year, Sunday 11th November. This will not happen again until 2018. Somehow as I get older it seems more special. I listened to the BBC Radio 4 Remembrance Service at the Cenotaph in London today. It was very moving. There were 2 veterans of the Battle of El Alamein speaking. They were only 21 in 1942 when the battle occurred. It is recognised as a turning point in the war. After this victory at El Alamein, Winston Churchill would write in “The Hinge of Fate”, his famous verdict: “Before Alamein we never had a victory. After Alamein, we never had a defeat.”
My grandfather, Frederick Charles McCluskey was in the Durham Light Infantry with the Eighth Army and fought in this battle. He was one of the lucky ones, he survived. But he had a tough time in this war and it left him with Malaria, which recurred throughout his life, and dreadful foot problems from his long trek through the desert. He was part of the long march through the Western desert and told me that he wore out the soles of his shoes, then the soles of his feet on this trek. His friends wrote an obituary in the local newspaper after he died in 1988:-
“Tyneside war hero, Major Frederick Charles McCluskey who played a leading role in a legendary desert trek to freedom, has died at the age of 88. In June 1942, he and 200 men from The Durham Light Infantry’s 9th Battalion evaded fierce enemy fire to escape after being surrounded by a division of Rommel’s desert army at Gazzala, North Africa. They travelled 350 gruelling miles to safety. Major McCluskey, who lived in Newcastle fought in both world wars.”
Grandad Major F C McCluskey
I also found out that my grandfather who was born in 1900 enlisted in the army for the First World War. He was just 14 years 8 months when he joined as a Bugler with the Yorkshire Regiment. He served right through the First World War. After the war he joined the Durham Light Infantry and was with them throughout his career, ending it as a Major with a commendation for the MBE. He only left the army in 1952 when my much loved grandmother, his wife, was dying of stomach cancer.
Grandad as a young bugler in the First World War
In 1952 he bought a general store in Newcastle where I spent many happy childhood hours sitting by the fire in the back of the shop, or helping myself to sweeties.
I am very proud of my granddad and it is lovely to remember him today and all he did for our country.
I also remember my dad who was in the Royal Navy. My mum and he were married during the war in 1945
My blog today is inspired by Haiku Heights prompt word for this week which is ‘Silence’
For many years I have had a quote on my shelf and I have no idea who said it but it brings me great comfort . . .
Let thy soul walk softly in thee
As a saint in Heaven unshod
For to be alone with silence
Is to be alone with God
My son used to say the most peaceful places are under the sea or on top of a mountain. He used to dive and he still climbs, so the first Haiku is for him . . .
Seeking solitude
In an underwater world
Stilled by silence
Any new mother will tell you that the most peaceful time is when her child is sleeping peacefully. As a grandmother this is still true . . .
Nestled in shadows,
In silence I watch her sleep,
An angel at rest
Sometimes, when there are no words that can help, only ‘time out’ will soothe the broken heart or the troubled mind . . .
Silence speaks softly
Solicitous to sorrow
Soothing suffering
Having travelled to Lourdes many times, I am constantly amazed that there can be 40,000 emotional people gathered in the underground basilica for a service but a gentle “Shhh!” will bring total silence . . .
Soft shushed to silence
In sickness and suffering
They stream into Lourdes
2am in the grotto at lourdes, a time for silent prayer
Pat at Christmas just a few short weeks before she died
What a strange coincidence, UK’s top cyclist, Bradley Wiggins and head coach for the GB cycle team, Shane Sutton both had cycling accidents within 24 hours. Fortunately, both men survived their accidents. Bradley Wiggins, the Tour de France winner, was discharged last night with broken ribs and a bruised hand according to the news.
British Cycling reported that,
Shane was taken into hospital where it was identified he has suffered bruising and bleeding on the brain. Shane was wearing a helmet. He is set to undergo more tests, and is likely to stay in hospital for the next few days. It is extremely rare that our riders and coaches are hurt while out cycling on the road, even rarer that two incidents should occur in a short space of time, and we wish Shane and Bradley a speedy recovery
Sadly, cycling accidents don’t always have this outcome. On Saturday 15th January 2011 my dear friend from college days was killed cycling on an organised 100 km club run for charity in the Severn valley. It was a foul morning, windy and pouring with rain. But Pat was a very experienced cyclist who used to be a racing cyclist and had cycled in France. I clearly remember my 60th birthday when Pat turned up in full cycle racing gear although she was a bit older than me, having ridden all the way from Berkeley to Cheltenham.
On the day she died, Pat was almost home when she was in collision with a van towing a trailer beneath a narrow railway bridge. It was no-one’s fault, simply a tragic accident. It happened near Old Westfield Farmhouse and there was a retired doctor at lunch there. He gave Pat CPR immediately; the emergency services arrived quickly, and Pat was airlifted to Hospital. It was comforting to hear from that kind doctor that Pat would not have suffered at all.
Pat was definitely one of life’s great characters and we used to have a lot of fun at college and afterwards when we shared a flat in Cheltenham. Before she came to college Pat had been a riding instructor and she continued with this in holidays from college. In the first year at college we shared a tiny bedsit behind Coventry Football Club. We had a wonderful time causing havoc in the local area with our practical jokes and outrageous (but very innocent) behaviour. We had our own favourite corner in the local pub and used to tease the local shopkeeper by asking him for exotic foodstuffs that he had never heard of.
In our second year we moved into college at Newbold Revel (the middle of nowhere) in Warwickshire, and again shared a room. Here we had more fun than ever, breaking every rule we safely could, and bending the rest. Pat loved all animals and our room was soon home to all sorts. We had snakes, guinea pigs, gerbils and hamsters, all of which Pat hid and bred from. On one hysterical occasion I remember, we had a young novice nun visiting our room ~ did I mention our college was a convent? She saw a lovely fur hat on the bed and without asking picked it up and put it on her head. Unfortunately for her, the hat was a nest full of gerbil babies. I’m not sure who got the biggest fright ~ the nun or the gerbils.
Pat’s most adventurous pet was a very young, tiny and absolutely adorable Shetland pony. I remember going to collect the pony. Pat borrowed a car and took out the back seats to put the pony in. We drove it back to college and installed it in the grounds. This Shetland pony was called Rupert and it went almost everywhere Pat went, except the Bahamas. Rupert eventually moved to Berkeley where Pat settled with her husband John and children, Lindsey and Robbie. Rupert lived for over 30 years, joined later by Old English Sheepdogs which Pat bred, and a goat called Fosbury.
After College Pat and I decided we would look for teaching jobs together. We applied in Gloucestershire because Pat had been born here in Cheltenham. Her father was the Chest Consultant at Salterley Grange when it was a TB hospital. We got a flat together and started our careers. Pat taught in a secondary school and I taught in a primary school. Every evening after school we would meet for malted milk in a Montpelier café before going back to our flat to work. We loved Cheltenham and again had a very good time and lots of fun.
Eventually we both got married. Pat’s husband went off to teach in the Bahamas and as Pat was expecting a baby, she came to live with me again. She stayed for a few months until her beautiful baby, Lindsey was born. As Pat’s husband, John, was in the Bahamas, I was allowed to be with her at the birth. Typically for Pat, the delivery started dramatically. Pat was at the dentist having her wisdom teeth out when she realised her contractions had started. When the dental treatment had finished she said we ought to go straight to the maternity hospital as she was in labour. In those days I had no car so we caught a bus!! While I got dressed in a gown and green willies. Pat was whisked off to the labour room. Before long the baby arrived. It was the most moving thing I have ever been privileged to see. When Lindsey was a few weeks old she and Pat set off for the Bahamas to join John. They were there for 5 years altogether and Robbie was born there. When they came back they lived in Cheltenham for a while before moving to Berkeley. They bought a lovely old cottage which they set about restoring. Pat was often to be found up a ladder as she personally reroofed the house. There was a large garden where Pat grew her fruit and veg. There was also a little paddock where she kept Rupert and later Fosbury. Indoors she bred her Old English Sheepdogs. Pat was an outdoor person so although she taught for a while in Gloucestershire she soon gave teaching up and became a Postwoman. This was when Pat discovered her love of cycling. She was never happier than when cycling around the villages delivering mail and chatting to people.
When Pat was killed both of her children were expecting babies. Lindsey, who already had 3 children, gave birth to a little boy called Isaac and Robbie’s wife had a little boy called Ollie. They were both born in March 2011 so Pat did not see them. But she would have been so thrilled with them, as she was with Lindsey’s other children. The boys are delightful and I am sure they have a lot of Pat in them.
Pat’s cycling friends said she brought a touch of eccentricity into cycling. She did time-trials with Dursley RC for many years as well as road racing and taking part in numerous cycle-cross meetings. She also joined the Stroud Valleys Cycling Club competing in time trials and races as well as fun events such as ‘man versus horse’ in Wales. Pat was a brave lady, a regular Hard Rider and particularly enjoyed the hill climbs. Her forte was as a cross-country mountain biker, and she regularly featured in the national results. One season she took the National Lady Veteran’s title. The fun touch, though, was never far away.
I remember Pat once did the 58 mile London to Brighton race on a unicycle! My children had great fun learning to ride her unicycle when they were young. In later years she took up bog-snorkelling and of course won at the Llanwyrtyd Wells mountain bike event. Pat’s determination stood her in good stead some years ago when she fell out of a fruit tree in her garden and broke her back. When the ambulance men arrived she told them not to move her as she knew she could be paralysed. She made them put her on a spinal board and drive at 4mph all the way to Bristol Hospital. Once there it was confirmed that her spine was indeed broken and she had a permanent metal framework inserted around her spine. One of her party tricks after she had recovered, which of course she did, was to put magnets on her back to amaze people. In a few months bionic Pat was back in the saddle doing what she loved most, riding her bike.
Pat she taught herself to ski and to speak French so that she could join a cycling club in France where she and John had a second home.
She was a great friend and she is sorely missed. Today’s news just brings it all back for me as I am sure it does for all her cycling friends, and especially her lovely family. The world is a sadder and duller place without her.
Today is the feast day of St Luke the patron saint of doctors. It is said that he was born in Antioch in Syria. I have been so worried today by the news from Syria that I thought I would post this article about St Luke from http://www.catholic.org
Would that there was someone so wise in Syria today who could change the course of history in that troubled country.
Luke, the writer of the Gospel and the Acts of the Apostles, has been identified with St. Paul’s “Luke, the beloved physician” (Colossians 4:14). We know few other facts about Luke’s life from Scripture and from early Church historians.
It is believed that Luke was born a Greek and a Gentile. In Colossians 10-14 speaks of those friends who are with him. He first mentions all those “of the circumcision” — in other words, Jews — and he does not include Luke in this group. Luke’s gospel shows special sensitivity to evangelizing Gentiles. It is only in his gospel that we hear the parable of the Good Samaritan, that we hear Jesus praising the faith of Gentiles such as the widow of Zarephath and Naaman the Syrian (Lk.4:25-27), and that we hear the story of the one grateful leper who is a Samaritan (Lk.17:11-19). According to the early Church historian Eusebius Luke was born at Antioch in Syria.
In our day, it would be easy to assume that someone who was a doctor was rich, but scholars have argued that Luke might have been born a slave. It was not uncommon for families to educate slaves in medicine so that they would have a resident family physician. Not only do we have Paul’s word, but Eusebius, SaintJerome, Saint Irenaeus and Caius, a second-century writer, all refer to Luke as a physician.
We have to go to Acts to follow the trail of Luke’s Christian ministry. We know nothing about his conversion but looking at the language of Acts we can see where he joined Saint Paul. The story of the Acts is written in the third person, as an historian recording facts, up until the sixteenth chapter. In Acts 16:8-9 we hear of Paul’s company “So, passing by Mysia, they went down to Troas. During the night Paul had a vision: there stood a man of Macedonia pleading with him and saying, ‘Come over to Macedonia and help us.’ ” Then suddenly in 16:10 “they” becomes “we”: “When he had seen the vision, we immediately tried to cross over to Macedonia, being convinced that God had called us to proclaim the good news to them.”
So Luke first joined Paul’s company at Troas at about the year 51 and accompanied him into Macedonia where they traveled first to Samothrace, Neapolis, and finally Philippi. Luke then switches back to the third person which seems to indicate he was not thrown into prison with Paul and that when Paul left PhilippiLuke stayed behind to encourage the Church there. Seven years passed before Paul returned to the area on his third missionary journey. In Acts 20:5, the switch to “we” tells us that Luke has left Philippi to rejoin Paul in Troas in 58 where they first met up. They traveled together through Miletus, Tyre, Caesarea, to Jerusalem.
Luke is the loyal comrade who stays with Paul when he is imprisoned in Rome about the year 61: “Epaphras, my fellow prisoner in Christ Jesus, sends greetings to you, and so do Mark, Aristarchus, Demas, and Luke, my fellow workers” (Philemon 24). And after everyone else deserts Paul in his final imprisonment and sufferings, it is Luke who remains with Paul to the end: “Only Luke is with me” (2 Timothy 4:11).
Luke’s inspiration and information for his Gospel and Acts came from his close association with Paul and his companions as he explains in his introduction to the Gospel: “Since many have undertaken to set down an orderly account of the events that have been fulfilled among us, just as they were handed on to us by those who from the beginning were eyewitnesses and servants of the word, I too decided, after investigating everything carefully from the very first, to write an orderly account for you, most excellent Theophilus” (Luke 1:1-3).
Luke’s unique perspective on Jesus can be seen in the six miracles and eighteen parables not found in the other gospels. Luke’s is the gospel of the poor and of social justice. He is the one who tells the story of Lazarus and the Rich Man who ignored him. Luke is the one who uses “Blessed are the poor” instead of “Blessed are the poor in spirit” in the beatitudes. Only in Luke’s gospel do we hear Mary ‘s Magnificat where she proclaims that God “has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty” (Luke 1:52-53).
Luke also has a special connection with the women in Jesus’ life, especially Mary. It is only in Luke’s gospel that we hear the story of the Annunciation, Mary’s visit to Elizabeth including the Magnificat, the Presentation, and the story of Jesus’ disappearance in Jerusalem. It is Luke that we have to thank for the Scriptural parts of the Hail Mary: “Hail Mary full of grace” spoken at the Annunciation and “Blessed are you and blessed is the fruit of your womb Jesus” spoken by her cousin Elizabeth.
Forgiveness and God’s mercy to sinners is also of first importance to Luke. Only in Luke do we hear the story of the Prodigal Son welcomed back by the overjoyed father. Only in Luke do we hear the story of the forgiven woman disrupting the feast by washing Jesus’ feet with her tears. Throughout Luke’s gospel, Jesus takes the side of the sinner who wants to return to God’s mercy.
Reading Luke’s gospel gives a goodidea of his character as one who loved the poor, who wanted the door to God’s kingdom opened to all, who respected women, and who saw hope in God’s mercy for everyone.
The reports of Luke’s life after Paul’s death are conflicting. Some early writers claim he was martyred, others say he lived a long life. Some say he preached in Greece, others in Gaul. The earliest tradition we have says that he died at 84 Boeotia after settling in Greece to write his Gospel.
A tradition that Luke was a painter seems to have no basis in fact. Several images of Mary appeared in later centuries claiming him as a painter but these claims were proved false. Because of this tradition, however, he is considered a patron of painters of pictures and is often portrayed as painting pictures of Mary.
He is often shown with an ox or a calf because these are the symbols of sacrifice — the sacrificeJesus made for all the world.
Luke is the patron of physicians and surgeons.
English: Saint Luke the Evangelist. Russian Eastern Orthodox icon from Russia. 18th century. Wood, tempera. Luke is the author of the Gospel of Luke and the Acts of the Apostles. He is considered one of the Four Evangelists. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
I’m delighted to say I’ve been nominated for the Liebster Award. Thank you so much to metaphoricalmarathons . Do go and visit her blog, she writes with such sensitivity and wisdom and is just an all-round beautiful person.
The process goes as follows: I tell you 11 facts about myself. Answer the 11 questions dipitblack asked. Then nominate 11 blogs, with under 200 followers Then I ask the 11 I’ve nominated, 11 questions of my choice… I think that’s how it goes anyhow!
11 random facts about myself.
If you could go one place right now, where would you go?
I would pack a rucksack and walk the Cotswold Way with a camera and a tape recorder~showing my age there!
What is your favourite thing to do to relax?
Lie in a deep, hot bath with mountains of frothy, heavenly-smelling bubbles and perfumed candles gently flickering on the windowsill.
What is your favourite flower?
The humble wild poppy, vivid red and delicate is my favourite flower. I love the way the flower head droops before it opens then reaches up to the sun. I love the seed heads after the petals fall. I love the way they grow where they will, along the weediest hedgerows or the smartest garden borders. The poppy shouts summer to me.
What do you most like to do whilst with friends?
Catch a bus to London and wander the streets or ride on an open top bus, getting off at our favourite galleries and restaurants where we would eat beautiful food, drink lovely wine and talk about our latest creative venture.
When listening to music, which track do you have on repeat right now?
Anywhere on this Road from the album The Living Road by Lhasa.
What does writing do for you?
It releases me to truly express myself ~ the real me and say whatever I want. “Those who matter don’t mind and those who mind don’t matter”.
How does blogging help you?
Blogging gives me a readership of like-minded or open-minded people who can dip in and out as they wish. It also keeps my posts available to look back at without having to hunt through journals. And I get to meet remotely some fascinating people and read all about them.
If you could be an animal, what would you be?
I rather fancy being a robin living in an old teapot behind a shed in someone’s garden. I would pop out to sit on a fencepost and sing my heart out daily then fly wherever the mood takes me.
What was the first thing you did when you woke up this morning?
It was very misty when I woke up this morning so I grabbed my camera and walked down the garden path in my pj’s to take photos of the trees in the park opposite my house.
It’s got to be George Clooney for me. Apart from being an amazing actor, film director, producer and screen writer he is noted for his political activism, and has served as one of the United Nations Messengers of Peace since 2008. George’s humanitarian work includes his advocacy of finding a resolution for the Darfur conflict, raising funds for the 2010 Haiti earthquake, 2004 Tsunami, and 9/11 victims, and creating documentaries such as “Sand andSorrow” to raise awareness about international crises. He is also a member of the “Council on Foreign Relations”. I copied all this information from Wikipedia but my admiration for George comes straight from the heart.
Now some questions for the people I have nominated:~
1. If you could be anywhere right now, where would you choose?
2. If you could travel back in time, which era would you go to?
3. What is your fancy dress costume of choice?
4.What would you put top of your gifts list if money were no object?
5. If you could choose a Master chef to cook for you, who would you choose and what meal would you request?
6. City, beach, mountain, wilderness or forest?
7. What is the city that fascinates you the most?
8. If you could study any subject now, what would you choose?
9. What is your favourite colour?
There are so many blogs I follow and admire deeply it is difficult to choose. I would encourage you to check out all those on my community widget ~ but for starters try:~
Thought you might be uplifted by reading my friend’s blog posts. he is currently doing voluntary work in Monze, Zambia, where life is much harder than here!
My mum and I in days gone by. It is 6 years since my mum died, it has gone by so quickly in some ways, yet so slowly in others. I reckon I think about her more now than ever before. Today I visited her grave and put her favourite pink flowers there. It is in a perfect setting near the hills above Cheltenham, ina lawned garden. The trees are all golden, orange and red now that Autumn is here and they look so beautiful. She would have enjoyed that.
As We Look Back ~ unknown
As we look back over time
We find ourselves wondering …..
Did we remember to thank you enough
For all you have done for us?
For all the times you were by our sides
To help and support us …..
To celebrate our successes
To understand our problems
And accept our defeats?
Or for teaching us by your example,
The value of hard work, good judgement,
Courage and integrity?
We wonder if we ever thanked you
For the sacrifices you made.
To let us have the very best?
And for the simple things
Like laughter, smiles and times we shared?
If we have forgotten to show our
Gratitude enough for all the things you did,
We’re thanking you now.
And we are hoping you knew all along,
How much you meant to us.
Gloucestershire has always had strong links with Russia thanks to a very active Twinning Committee on the County and Borough Councils. So after Perestroika, when Russia’s Education Departments wanted to link with those in other countries, it was natural for them to contact the GCC. At this time I was a Headteacher in a Gloucestershire Primary school and I was very keen to travel. I was also fascinated by different schools and their pedagogy. I had already linked with a school in Kenya and found that experience life enhancing. So, when the opportunity was offered to go to Moscow and link with schools in Sochi, I signed up straight away.
We had a crash course in Russian with a wonderful lady called Sheila who had previously worked at GCHQ. She assured us that this would help us to ‘get by’ once we went into schools. Fortunately she was coming with us and would be our guide for the first part of the visit, and she made all the travel arrangements.
So it was that I finished school on the Friday afternoon and headed straight for Heathrow for a very early flight to Moscow on the Saturday morning of half term. After a delay the plane took off, flying over Denmark and the Baltic Sea. I sat next to a Mongolian man who was very quiet for the whole 41/2 hour journey!
When we finally arrived in Moscow’s rather dismal airport, it was desperately cold. Fortunately we were met by a guide with a nice warm car and we were whisked into the city. The route between the airport and the city in 1995 was very drab with grey trees (silver birch), grey blocks of flats (hardly any private houses then), trolley buses grey with grime, and a few old Ladas. Very few Russian people could afford cars at that time so the roads were very quiet. Trolley buses were the main form of transport along with the fabulous Metro system. We did see some quaint old dachas along the airport road. Like wooden summer houses, or grand garden sheds, these all had a piece of land around them. A left over from Soviet times, the dacha was where the Russian people could grow their own fruit and vegetables, and keep chickens to supplement their diet.
We were staying at the infamous Hotel Russia (Россия ) which was situated in what must be one of the world’s most exclusive building plots – overlooking Red Square. The hotel was huge, built in the 60’s, indeed at the time it was the largest hotel in the world according to the Guiness Book of Records! The hotel had 21-storeys, 3,200 rooms, 245 half suites, a post office, a health club, a nightclub, a movie theater and a barber shop as well as the 2500-seat State Central Concert Hall. It held a maximum 6000 people! It was almost the only hotel that foreigners were allowed to stay in then. The hotel was still run on Soviet principals in that there was a corridor attendant (дежурная) on every floor. These were terrifying, large ladies with no sense of humour and no social skills. They made us feel very uncomfortable as they demanded our passports and travel papers every time we left our room. They kept them under lock and key until we returned and always wanted to know where we were going and when we would be back. Inside, the hotel was a strange mixture of austere, tatty corridors and very basic rooms, complete with bed bugs and whole families of cockroaches; but the dining room was totally over the top with flashing lights and lots of gold paint, like a 1950’s ballroom. The dining room was huge but almost deserted except for a small group of very inebriated ‘businessmen’ with a ‘lady’. The hotel was demolished in 2007 to be replaced by an entertainment complex. Overseen by British architect, Sir Norman Foster, the new plans include a new, two thousand room hotel with apartments and secure parking.[
Our evening meal reminded me of a convent I used to go to. There was no choice or menu, just a salad starter then rissoles with cabbage. This was followed by tea without milk. Afterwards we congregated in the room with the most spectacular view over Moscow’s old onion domed churches, and drank lovely Russian Champagne, which at £2 a bottle was half the price of a bottle of water! I shared a room with a colleague and being very tired we slept really well hardly noticing the cockroaches.
We woke early to see snow falling lightly on Red Square. I will never forget that sight. It was truly magical. On one side there was the Kremlin, opposite that there was the Main Universal Store(Государственный универсальный магазин), abbreviated to Gum (ГУМ), at one end there was the world famous , St Basil’s Cathedral, and at the opposite end the state historical museum. So after a breakfast of Salami, cucumber and rye bread we set off to see as much of the city as we could in one day.
The best way to get around Moscow was, and still is, by Metro. It is very fast and very efficient. The stations are very deep under the city and the old escalators are incredibly long and steep, and move very quickly. They seemed to be made of walnut and formica and were lit by gas light which emitted a dim glow and a distinctive smell, reminding me of the lighting in my childhood home. Each station is different and they are all very beautiful. We got on at the Kremlin station which is decorated with sculptures and frescoes depicting characters from the Bolshoi Ballets. The ceiling was white porcelain with gold decorations; the walls, white and grey marble. The station was absolutely spotless with no adverts, no graffiti, not a speck of litter ~ just beautiful. A token to go anywhere on the Metro at that time cost 1000 roubles which was about 15p at that time.
We travelled around the city stopping at various stations just to see them. One was a 1920’s art deco style. The walls were made of Onyx and there were alcoves with fabulous standard lamps made of bronze. Chandeliers hung from beautiful ceilings. The Metro stations were used as air raid shelters during the war as were our own in London. One of the Moscow stations has scenes from the war painted in huge cameos on the ceiling like modern day icons, in deep rich colours and sparkling gold. Eventually we returned via the Bolshoi station and walked to the Kremlin.
The word Kremlin means fortress and it is actually a walled city. There are 20 watchtowers on the walls, one with a famous clock. The Kremlin dates back to the 14th century, and the walls to the 16th; it was home to the Czars. On the way we passed the monument to the Unknown Soldier. This is a very beautiful and moving tribute sculpted in bronze. There is a cloak, sword and helmet, and an everlasting flame.
Once inside the Kremlin we were in awe. At that time we were not allowed to take photos so those that I have of the spectacular buildings are from a later visit. There are so many churches all topped with gold domes and icon painted walls inside and out. We went into the Church of the Assumption, which, like most of the churches had been turned into a museum, but services were held 5 or 6 times a year. Every inch of the walls, ceiling and pillars was covered in exquisite icons. The old icons were painted on prepared wood using paints made from natural materials including crushed gemstones. The finished icons were covered in olive oil to preserve it. Unfortunately, over the centuries, the olive oil darkens and the icons get very dull. Many have been restored. Centuries ago, icons were the only Russian art and they all had a religious theme.
Leaving the Kremlin we walked back into Red Square and visited Lenin’s tomb. Lenin died in 1954 and for a long time he was revered. However the cost of keeping his body in good enough condition to be on display to the public is enormous and, while we were there, people in Moscow were questioning whether it should continue. The body was almost luminous and we were rushed through by the guards.
After a fleeting visit to the fabulously luxurious department store that is GUM, we were rushed to Sheremetova 1 airport for our domestic flights to Sochi by the infamous Aeroflot airline!
I will write about that tomorrow.
Travel was free on buses in Moscow for Russians in 1995 Church of the Assumption in the Kremlin Churches in the Kremlin Statues of workers in the underground in Moscow Metro station in Moscow 1995 Steep and fast moving gas lit escalator in Moscow underground 1995 Memorial to the Unknown Soldier behind the Kremlin. Moscow’s Brides leave their wedding bouquets there as a mark of respect A typical dacha Cathedral inside Kremlin Gate at the end of Red Square St Basil’s Cathedral Red Square by Kremlin Walls. Lenin’s mausoleum in the background Inside the Kremlin
Free Trade ~ there has to be a way found to share the earth’s resources more equitably. It is unsustainable for the majority to live in dire poverty while the minority consume without conscience.
Free trade or fair trade
Ethical extremities,
Conscience compromised.
Free people ~ I find it ridiculous that different ethnic peoples can not respect each other’s differences and reach compromise. Will conflict never end?
Trapped in tradition,
Hostages to history,
Future’s foreboding.
Free food ~ I find it amazing when I walk in the countryside, that there is an abundance of fruit on the trees and in the hedgerows, and people don’t seem to pick it. They prefer to go to a supermarket and buy inferior stuff at inflated prices in polythene bags. Why?
Renee is a life affirming baby boomer with a heart of gold and loads of common sense. Do visit her blog ~ it will lift your spirits and enrich your life.
The rules for this Award are as follows:
1. Thank the person who nominated you and link them back. Thank you dear friend!
2. Share a little bit about why you started blogging.
I started blogging as an extension of the daily journal I was keeping for The Artist’s Way. I enjoy thinking, researching and writing. The wonderful thing about blogging is that over time you become part of a community of people whom you would never normally meet, who are interested in your posts and interesting in their own right. It is inspirational.
3. Copy and Paste the award onto your own blog.
4. Nominate up to 10 other bloggers you think are addictive enough to deserve the award.
That is a hard one as there are so many fascinating and addictive blogs out there.
Please know that I totally understand if you are not interested in Awards. I only want you to know your blog is addictive!
Heavenhappens 