That’s the way to do it!

Professor Collywobbles 1
Can you guess what links the English Civil Wars (1642–1651) between Oliver Cromwell’s ‘Roundheads’ and King Charles’s ‘Cavaliers’, Samuel Pepys’ Diary, Charles Dickens’ ‘Old Curiosity Shop’, the famous Geordie inventor Robert Stephenson, a pub in London’s Covent Garden, and the Italian clown Joe Grimaldi?
Well, last night at WI we were enlightened and entertained by Professor Collywobbles, who managed to squeeze them all in to his talk on the history of Punch and Judy!
To be honest I was not keen to go. Having never been that keen on this traditional seaside entertainment, I was going to give it a miss. But I am so glad I went.
Now Punch and Judy shows would seem to be as British as fish and chips, but in fact we learned that they hark back to Italy’s commedia dell’arte, a type of improvised comedy based on stock characters. Punch is probably based on the character of Pulcinella, a nasty, aggressive fellow with a long, beaky nose.
We were told that the first reported show was seen on May 9th 1662, and was immortalized by no less than Samuel Pepys in his diary when he wrote about seeing, “an Italian puppet play…the best that ever I saw” in Covent Garden. It was performed by an Italian puppet showman, Pietro Gimonde, known as “Signor Bologna.” But they may well have started even earlier because of Oliver Cromwell. He closed all the theatres during the Civil War apparently, so sketches with puppets or Marionettes were put on at street corners and public places. These anarchic early shows were aimed at adults but children did gather to watch them with their family.
Before long, Punch and Judy shows had sprung up all over London. Judy was at that point known as Joan.
We heard how, by the 19th century, thanks in part to Robert Stephenson, the railways were taking off, and people were travelling to the seaside for days out or holidays. ‘Professors’ saw the opportunity to make money from the crowds and so they began tailoring their shows for children while still retaining some adult jokes. Thus began the tradition of Punch and Judy shows at the seaside.
Professor Collywobbles told us that early Punch plays would have been performed with marionettes, but as the show developed glove puppets were used. They were cheaper to make and easier to carry. Soon mobile booths were designed to carry everything in, and, covered in red and white cloth, these became the stage with the addition of a decorative proscenium arch. The man who operated the puppets was called a ‘professor’ and he often had an assistant who was called a ‘bottler’. The bottler would usually play a musical instrument, warm up the crowds, and collect money in a bottle. Sometimes a live dog, called Toby was used alongside the puppets.
Punch’s screeching voice was, and still is, created with the aid of a swazzle, which sits at the back of the mouth and is pushed to the side when other characters are ‘speaking’. It is quite difficult to understand all the words Punch says so the bottler or other puppet characters often repeat his lines.
I discovered that other countries have long had their own shows with the Pulcinella character. It was very popular in France. In America, George Washington is recorded as buying tickets for a puppet play featuring Punch in Pennsylvania in 1742.
I read that across Europe shows might star Punch himself, or St George and the Dragon, the Spanish Don Cristobal, the German Kasper, the Turkish and Greek shadow puppet star Karagoz, the elaborately costumed French icon Polichinelle, or the pleasant-faced comic, Guignol. Nowadays, In the USA The contemporary fan can see the Sid & Nancy Punk Punch & Judy Show in Brooklyn, or on the West Coast, catch a performance of Punch & Jimmy, which is Punch “with a Gay twist”.
The professor told us that in the UK, the storyline of a Punch and Judy show can be different in every performance, with stock characters ranging from crocodiles to policemen. Changing public taste and social awareness of issues like child abuse however, means that the traditional nature of the show is being adapted. ‘Unsuitable’ characters like the Devil or Pretty Polly, Punch’s mistress, are now less common, while Punch’s unacceptable habit of beating his wife and baby is often left out.
There is an annual gathering of Punch showmen in the grounds of St Paul’s Church, Covent Garden. In 2012 the TV reported that Punch and Judy professors from all over the world gathered at Covent Garden for “the Big Grin”, a celebration of Punch and Judy’s 350th anniversary. They performed in front of the Punch and Judy Pub. Built in 1787, this pub was thought to be named after the puppet show performances that took place in the nearby piazza for the children of flower-sellers – Covent Garden originally being a flower market.
A typical Punch and Judy show today will probably include traditional characters such as:
Mr Punch ~ a violent, rude and not at all politically correct, character who solves his problems by using a ‘slapstick’ which is where the phrase ‘slapstick comedy’ comes from, plus Judy ~ his long suffering wife and the Baby. There may also be a Policeman, a Crocodile, a Skeleton and a Doctor. Often there are props like sausages.
Joey ~ the clown, based on the real life Joseph Grimaldi (1778-1837) who was a tragic character and the world’s most famous clown, is a traditional character.
Other characters, which used to be regular but are now only seen occasionally, include Toby the dog, Hector the horse, Pretty Polly ~ Mr Punch’s mistress; the Devil, the Beadle, the Hangman ~ known as Jack Ketch, and Mr. Scaramouch.
Some characters are now only seen in historical re-enactment performances including the Servant or Minstrel, and the Blind Man.
My Collywobbles told us that he rarely uses other characters including Boxers, Chinese Plate Spinners, topical figures, a trick puppet with an extending neck (the “Courtier”) and a monkey.

Mr. Collywobbles certainly taught me to appreciate this art form and inspired me to go off and search the internet for more information. There is a basic plot or storyline in Punch and Judy which was actually printed in 1828. Prior to that the storylines were handed down and developed orally. But, like most good showmen, Mr. Collywobbles adapted his performance brilliantly to the audience, and kept the humour topical.
And as for Charles Dickens? Well he was a great fan of Joe Grimaldi and he loved Punch and Judy shows. In 1849 he wrote,

In my opinion the street Punch is one of those extravagant reliefs from the realities of life which would lose its hold upon the people if it were made moral and instructive. I regard it as quite harmless in its influence, and as an outrageous joke which no one in existence would think of regarding as an incentive to any kind of action or as a model for any kind of conduct. It is possible, I think, that one secret source of pleasure very generally derived from this performance… is the satisfaction the spectator feels in the circumstance that likenesses of men and women can be so knocked about, without any pain or suffering.

—Charles Dickens, Letter to Mary Tyler, 6 November 1849, from The Letters of Charles Dickens Vol V, 1847–1849
Charles Dickens referred to Punch and Judy shows in several of his books to make a point or draw an analogy. Indeed in the Old Curiosity Shop he introduces a Punch puppeteer and his Bottler in the characters of Short and Codlin. They meet and travel with Little Nell and her grandfather throughout rural England revealing a lot about life on the road.

All in all it was a great evening. True to the WI ethos it was inspiring and educational while being a lot of fun.

The Joys of Cornwall

Derelict mine building at Wheal Coates3

Old tin mines stand tall

Telling stories of the past

On Cornish coastline

I recently spent another lovely week in Cornwall. I wanted to be near the sea while still being near Truro for my hubby’s regular dialysis sessions, so I opted for a cottage in St Agnes. St Agnes is a beautiful, unspoilt little town on the North Cornwall coast. It is full of fascinating relics from the days when tin and copper mining was the main industry. It seemed strange to me to see derelict tin mines visible from behind houses and forming the boundary walls of gardens. In fact tin is still produced in St Agnes at the Blue Hills Mine, the only place in the UK that still produces it. St Agnes is an area of outstanding natural beauty and it has been designated a World Heritage Site. I can certainly see why. I just loved the rugged land and seascapes. Even in our state of unfitness we were able to walk some of the coastal path. This leads to sights that can never be appreciated from the road. One of these is Wheal Coates Mine. It is truly amazing when seen from a distance with its three shafts and its spectacular position on the side of the cliffs. In fact the mine goes all the way down to the sea and at high tide you can hear the waves crashing against rocks through a grid in the ruins. It was possible to get into this mine via a large cave at a nearby beach. There is a local legend that says Wheal Coates is haunted by the spirits of the miners who died there. I expect the eerie sounds of the sea account for the legends.
I’ve always been interested in industrial buildings. I guess this is mainly due to my father’s influence as he was a steel man from the age of 13 and he developed in me a passion for ships, bridges and buildings. The other reason could be because of where I grew up. I lived in the Felling, a shipbuilding and mining area in the North of England. I skipped past the railway station and shipyard every day on my way to school and there was a derelict engine house complete with winding gear at the end of our street of 2 up and 2 down back to back miners’ cottages. These were our adventure playgrounds. Children were never allowed to play on the grass or ride bikes in the municipal parks in those days! Parks were for floral displays and grown-ups to walk in and the park warden was fierce.
Being a traditional and romantic sort of person I regret that industrialisation almost destroyed the crafts of blacksmiths, weavers, spinners, millers and grinders. But I find there is great beauty to be found in the derelict buildings, in the machinery that drove the mines and the mills, and in the engines that turned their wheels and moved their goods

Around St Agnes there are beaches, bays and coves with caves where wreckers and smugglers, no doubt, once hid their treasures. We visited a pub reminiscent of Jamaica Inn. The pub is called the Driftwood and it has a fascinating history. It is a 17th century building which in its time has been a warehouse for the tin mines, a ships’ chandlery, and a sail maker’s loft, before becoming a characterful old pub. It is built of Cornish stone and slate and ship’s timbers and spares. Behind one of the fireplaces in the pub there is a tunnel which was uncovered during restoration. It is said that this was the secret escape route for the wreckers and smugglers of the area as it leads all the way to the beach.

The cottage we stayed in was perfect and my joy was complete when my daughter came to stay for a couple of days with my adorable grandson. He just loved the sea and sand, the horses in the paddock and the trampoline in the garden. We took him to Lappa Valley Railway, which is kiddie heaven in my book. Built on the site of yet another ruined mine, there are castles and treehouses and adventure equipment to satisfy any age. There are also 12 steam engines giving rides on trains which Stanley really loved. There is also a boating lake, café, shop and everything you could want for a fun day out. I loved it.

Home


Sadly it will be another year before I can go away again due to the shortage of holiday dialysis spaces around the country. But until then I have my photos to remind me of the fun we had and the beauty of Cornwall. Enjoy!

All of a Flutter with Real Confetti

confetti fields 17

We took a drive out on Friday to a lovely part of the Cotswolds, the village of Wick near Pershore. I was keen to see the fields of Delphiniums at Wick while the weather was good.
Acres of delphiniums are grown by Charles Hudson on the Wyke manor Estate, which are dried and sold as natural confetti for the Real Confetti Company. Apparently delphiniums, apart from growing in a range of vibrant colours, keep their colour indefinitely once they are dried, while rose petals go brown, carnations go black and marigolds shrivel up. This makes delphiniums perfect for confetti. Being totally natural, they biodegrade and don’t litter up churchyards and wedding venues, many of which have banned paper confetti for this reason.  I was told that when Prince Charles and Camilla came out from their wedding the young royals, William, Harry, Zara and others threw real confetti from Wick over the happy couple.
The village of Wick is a delight to behold. It is really ancient and retains every bit of its character. It must be the quintessential English village with its old church, thatched cottages and beautiful manor house.
The original manor was called Wyke Manor, using the ancient spelling, and it had a very long and illustrious history. It was owned by John Nevill, 3rd Lord Latimer, involved in the Pilgrimage of Grace in 1538. Upon his death in 1543, he willed the manor to his widow Catherine Parr. Catherine later married King Henry VIII (28 June 1491 – 28 January 1547) as his sixth and last wife in July of 1543. She was 31 years old and he was 52. The marriage didn’t last long as Henry died in 1547 so Catherine outlived him. A small piece of Catherine has returned to the Manor recently as a lock of her hair came up for auction. The hair is mounted in an oval frame on ink-inscribed paper which states “Hair of Queen Catherine Parr, Last Consort of Henry, the night she died September 5th 1548 was in the Chapel of Sudeley Castle”. The current owner of the manor, Charles Hudson, paid £2,160 for the hair, in order to return it to the manor.
Catherine Parr's Hair
After Catherine died, the estate passed to Anthony Babington, who was later executed for treason after plotting to kill Queen Elizabeth I! It then passed to Sir Walter Raleigh, who was also executed.
The Hudson family have owned the Wyke manor Estate since the 1760s and the current owner is Charles Hudson and his wife, the writer Cressida Connolly. I was fascinated to learn that Cressida is an authority on Ladybird Books, which I have always rated highly.

I have recently been told that the house which is now on the Wyke Manor Estate was partially rebuilt in the 1920s in the Elizabethan style.  I am grateful to Paul, a resident of Wick, for this update.

The people of Wick that I met were absolutely lovely and pointed me in the direction of the shop at the back of the manor house. This is not like any shop I have ever seen before. It is literally a part of the stable block and there are children’s bikes scattered all over the yard. Inside the ‘shop’ a lovely young lady, who must have the best job and workplace in the world, was boxing up exquisite dried petals into pretty boxes. Along one wall is a vast array of open boxes each containing different coloured dried petals. The smell and colour and atmosphere is hypnotic. I felt as if I had walked into a fairytale. Honestly, if you get the chance you just have to go along and experience it.
Well I spent so long soaking up the atmosphere that it was getting decidedly overcast by the time I headed off to the actual confetti fields. But I rushed to get as many photos as I could before the light failed, the heavens opened and I got soaked! It was definitely worth it though. Enjoy my photos.

Creative writing from the bottom of my memory

I am quite excited today because this evening I am going to the inaugural meeting of our new Creative Writing Group. A couple of months ago I was asked to come along to an Artists Way meeting to chat about my blog and how I got it started.
I was a little daunted but very pleased to be asked as I still consider myself a learner in the blogosphere. In fact, the more I delve into it and the more wonderful bloggers I discover, the humbler I get!
But I went along and found the group to be made up of lovely, enthusiastic and creative people. All of them have a story they want to tell and they were full of stimulating questions. I tried my best to encourage a lively discussion but the evening went far too quickly. So, we agreed that what we need is a writing group. There are some well established groups in our area but they didn’t fit our bill. So we decided to start our own. There is no leader or teacher, just a group of us who will hopefully be encouraging while reading, writing and discussing each others work.

Now if any of my blogging community can give me guidelines or tips that I can pass on I would be very grateful. Perhaps you have been part of a group and found a particular session really useful, I would love to know.

Of course one of the things I had to do before meeting the group is decide what makes my blog tick. I have my lovely quote from Tom Stoppard after my header and I truly believe that. However
the essence of my blog can be expressed in a quote from The Way of the World by Nicolas Bouvier,

“I dropped this wonderful moment into the bottom of my memory, like a sheet-anchor that one day I could draw up again. The bedrock of existence is not made up of the family, or work, or what others say and think of you, but of moments like this when you are exalted by a transcendent power that is more serene than love.”

This is how and why I write, I treasure memories and moments when I felt like heaven happens. I will again reblog something I wrote right at the start when not many people were reading my blog. You have to read right to the end for the little bit of transcendent power though!!
I hope you enjoy it.

 

Prayer

I thought I would re blog some of my very early posts from when I started blogging. At that time I had very few readers and I think it is a shame that some of the posts I loved were not seen. Now that I have a few readers whom I really appreciate I thought I would push my luck and see if I can get you to read my earlier haiku and ramblings. Hope you enjoy them x

heavenhappens's avatarHeavenhappens

This post is inspired by the Carpe Diem Haiku prompt for today, “Prayer”

When I first retired from my work in education, I went to work as a housekeeper at Prinknash Abbey This was a labour of love and I learned a great deal about the prayerful life from the Benedictine monks who live and work there.  I learned from Fr Alphedge that every single thing you do can be a prayer if it is done with reverence and joy.

Fr Alphedge at work and prayer

Peaceful and prayerful

monks, masters of mindfulness

sacramental lives

Fr Adhelm in the chapel at prinknash

Meaningful moments

Of quiet contemplation

simple and sincere.

Incense is made at Prinknash

Alone with your thoughts

humbly open your heart, and

Let healing begin

Stained glass window from Gloucester cathedral

Drowning in despair

from the core of your being

you cry to the Lord

Peace dove made…

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St George’s Day

Fascinating information about the mysterious St George

Faith Unlocked's avatarFaith Unlocked

Today is St George’s Day!

St George is the patron saint of England (and many other places). He wasn’t English and almost certainly did not slay a dragon.

It is likely that Saint George was born to a Greek Christian noble family in Lydda in Palestine, during the late third century between about 275 AD and 285 AD. He died in the Greek city of Nicomedia in Asia Minor. His father, Gerontios, was a Greek from Cappadocia, an officer in the Roman army; and his mother, Polychronia, was a Greek native of Lydda. They were both Christians from noble families of the Anici, so their child was raised with Christian beliefs. They decided to call him Georgios (Greek), meaning “worker of the land” (i.e., farmer). At the age of fourteen, George lost his father; a few years later, George’s mother, Polychronia, died.

Then George decided to go to Nicomedia, the…

View original post 452 more words

Its a Perfect day

Stanley finds pegs fascinating

Stanley finds pegs fascinating


One of the songs sung by the choir I belong to at our recent concert is Perfect Day.
Laughter and Lyrics Choir

Laughter and Lyrics Choir

Today has been just perfect. It is usually called Grandma day as I look after Stanley on Wednesdays and Thursdays. But today it was Turtle Day as I had bought a turtle shaped sand pit for him to play in.
Stanley really is a delight in every way and just spending time with him makes me feel wonderful.
It was especially good today for two reasons
1. We have both been feeling very unwell until today, with chest infections followed by throat infections
2. The sun was shining in a clear blue sky and it was lovely and warm.
Stanley usually arrives at 8am to be greeted by my little dachshund, Dayna who races out of the front door to greet him. They both then race in to get to the best armchair ~ Dayna, and the Chuggington corner ~ Stanley. Now when my children were little it was all Thomas the Tank engine and I do feel a bit disloyal saying this but Chuggington is just so much more exciting! I have collected all the trains ~ wooden and die-cast, some track, two carrying cases, a hard back story book and a floor layout for imaginative play. Now Stanley is only 16 months old but he plays with Chuggington things for hours. He ‘rides the rails’ around, across and under furniture whether or not the dog is sitting on it, he builds tunnels with mega bricks (or grandma’s legs), and he drives the trains in and out of their sheds in the carrying cases endlessly. He just never seems to tire of it. At lunchtime as a special treat he gets to watch an episode of Chuggington which I have pre-recorded while he eats what I have prepared. I have 78 episodes recorded now so that pretty much guarantees peaceful lunchtimes until he starts school!
I jokingly say to my daughter that if I were to go on Mastermind, the BBC high brow quiz show, my specialist subject would be Chuggington ~ I know so much about it I have started creating new storylines as I watch. I also make pictures for Stanley by cutting out the card trains which come with each new toy and building a scene around them with the train names written on. I then laminate them. Stanley loves these and it is how we both learned all the names.
But today, even Chuggington came second to the TURTLE sandpit. I sited it on the patio near a gazebo so that Stanley would have some shade and Grandma would have somewhere to sit. Having forgotten to buy buckets and spades etc., I gathered old plastic containers, a colander and a jug, spatulas and wooden spoons, which worked almost as well. And then the fun started.
When Stanley had enough of that exercise he thoroughly inspected the garden. Being his first Spring at an age where he could make sense of his surroundings it was a joy just to follow him watching and listening. But the highlight for me was sharing the discovery that two of the birdhouses my daughter made for me are occupied by nesting blue tits. Stanley adores watching birds in the trees and bushes, in the sky or on the ground, at the water table or on the feeders. So to show him where they are nesting was a joy.
After that he toddled up to my shed. Now anyone who has read my post “Windows” will know that my sheds are very special places for relaxation and meditation and usually no-one else ventures in there. However, today Stanley looked at the shed, pushed at the locked door and said, “Open, Yea?” in a voice that would totally melt the polar ice cap. Of course I said yes and in no time at all the nicknacks in my sanctuary were all rearranged. There was a moment when I looked at him, ancient toy car in one hand and orange wooden rosary prayer beads in the other and the happiness I felt took my breath away. And I realised that at that moment Stanley and I were both in that place where ‘heaven happens’.

Palm Sunday 2014

I have celebrated Palm Sunday in many different countries, Kenya, Spain, France, Poland, Italy and UK and it is a church tradition that I love. When I was at work (teaching primary children) one of our jobs was to make the palm crosses for the local church each year. It was an eagerly awaited treat for the 10/11 year olds in their final year of primary school, to learn how to weave and fold the crosses from simple palm leaves.
I have written about other Palm Sundays before and the links are below if you would like to read them. I hope you do.
This year I am laid up in bed with a very nasty case of tonsillitis on antibiotics so I have not even seen a palm!
But I did look at the Vatican website to see the celebrations in St Peter’s Square. My overriding impression is that this Pope, like Jesus, is adored by the people because of his common touch and understanding of what it means to be poor in this world. But my fear is that like Jesus, he is rattling too many cages and there will be those who plot against him. I also see in his face that after only a few months in the job he is looking exhausted and strained.
Two Haiku I wrote last year sum up my fears.

Pope Francis Pope Francis

Cheering throngs gather

In Messianic fervour

Fronds fall at His feet
~
Calling for His death

Crowds that cheered Him now decry

Innocent, He’ll die

You can see the Palm Sunday in Rome here http://www.news.va/en/news/pope-to-celebrate-palm-sunday-mass-in-saint-peters
And my previous Palm Sunday posts are here:~

Palm Sunday 2012

Krakow today

Lenten memories of Lourdes

Comings and Goings

Mothering Sunday

Mothering Sunday


It was Mothering Sunday in the UK yesterday and I had a wonderful day. Having accidentally dropped a hint on ‘What’s App,’ my three children who live abroad remembered to send me cards, flowers, text messages and most importantly, their love. I am very fortunate though to have my youngest daughter and my adorable grandson living very near me. They came round for lunch bearing flowers and a beautiful gift that little Stanley had personalized. It is a ceramic train that he painted red and it has his little finger prints all over it ~ I will treasure it always.
As usual Mothering Sunday brings a mixture of feelings. It is less than 30 months since my mum died and my emotions are still very raw. My mother lived in the same road as me, which was great when I was caring for her. But now that the house is empty and up for sale, I find it sad to go there and deal with its disposal.
The house is on a corner plot. At the front there is a lovely park with a stream and woods beyond where my children played when they were young. In the distance there are the beautiful Cotswold Hills. After my mother became unable to move around, she sat at the front window literally 24 hours a day. She loved her views and the constantly changing scenes being played out ‘over the park’. The sequence of events has varied little over the years, although the main characters grow, move, die and are replaced.
Early in the mornings there is the noisy clatter of the milkman who still delivers pints in glass bottles to his customers of many years. When my son was a teenager he used to get up at 4am to help the milkman with his round to earn his pocket money, before going to school.
This is followed by the dog walkers who go out in all winds and weathers to exercise their dogs before going to work.
Next, the many locals who work at the Government Communications Headquarters (GCHQ) pass by. GCHQ is a major local employer and is housed in a magnificent building nicknamed ‘The Doughnut’, because of its unusual shape.
Sometime later, the mums, dads, grandparents or carers taking children to the nearby schools pass by, the children happily skipping and chatting as they rush along the pavement. The parents are usually struggling with pushchairs, schoolbags, toys and umbrellas. It is noticeable that no-one seems to use prams now, just very complex buggy systems.
Later the local retired men gather on the corner of the field having collected their daily newspaper. They sit on the bench, put there in memory of a previous resident, and put the world to rights.
Once the children are settled in school, the dog walkers come out in force. Some are on a mission and walk briskly from one end of the field to the other. Others gather in little groups to chat while the dogs run about, sniffing each other warily before chasing each other and playing boisterously together. There are professional dog walkers who bring 4, 5 or even 6 dogs at a time to get their daily exercise. Then there is the dog trainer, a very serious young man, who displays an impressive control over his beautiful sheepdogs as they sit, lie, wait, come or fetch at the sound of his voice or a brief series of whistles. His praise is their only reward.
Much later the local postman, Gary, comes and parks his little red van opposite the house. He must walk miles in a day but he is always cheerful and concerned for everyone on his round.
Occasionally, in an ageing community, there will be a paramedic’s car or an ambulance outside a house. News of this travels fast, usually via the hairdresser, which is how most local news is carried round the estate.
There have been a few dramas and terrible tragedies on the park in the past. Some years ago a distressed young man sat in the local pub talking to himself and having a pint of beer alone, with a rope beside him. Although people thought this was strange no-one thought to interrupt him, get involved, or get help. Later of course he was found hanging from a tree in the park. I do wonder if a well-chosen word, a friendly face, or an offer of help might have saved him. But people don’t like to intrude on others’ privacy.
Another young man was found dead in the playground after an apparent accidental overdose of drugs. Such a waste of a life, and so sad. The night does strange things to people and young men seem to be particularly at risk I think.
But most of the time the park is a happy, friendly place and the scene of a lot of fun and games.
Four years ago it was noticed that there were daffodil stems growing in a strange pattern on the grassy field. Now virtually every grass verge in the Cotswolds is covered in daffodils each March, either wild or cultivated. In Cheltenham it is the first thing that greets visitors to Cheltenham races. In the forest there are so many wild daffodils that there is a dedicated daffodil walk.
But it was very unusual to see them growing in this spot and they had appeared so mysteriously. As I walked my dog each day I noticed the pattern growing but it was not until the flowers appeared that the message was clear. The daffodils spelled out “MARRY ME”.
The local newspaper begged for details of who the romantic person was who planted this unusual proposal and eventually a young man owned up. He also revealed that his girlfriend had said “Yes”.
I walked there last night and the words are still visible. Isn’t that a lovely way to propose? I find it very touching.
I have lived opposite this park for 30 years and I never tire of it. It brings me a great deal of comfort to know that in her later years when she couldn’t get out and about, my mum was able to sit and enjoy this bustling and beautiful little corner of the world.
The house is empty and silent now except for prospective buyers being shown around it. No doubt they will renovate the whole place with new bathroom and kitchen and decor. My mum’s home will be unrecognizable and the past will be obliterated, every trace of the lovely couple who lived there will be gone. But they will never be forgotten.

If you still have parents, or anyone who is special to you, do tell them before its too late.
This poem was included in the funeral sheet for a dear friend of mine who used to travel ACROSS to Lourdes with us on the Jumbulance. I have written posts about our trips to Lourdes before. The poem was written by Susan M Greenwood of North West Hosanna House Group

If with pleasure you are viewing
Any work that I am doing,
If you like me, or you love me, tell me now.
Don’t withhold your approbation
Till the Father makes oration
And I lie with snowy lilies o’er my brow.
For no matter how you shout it,
I won’t care so much about it,
I won’t see how many tear drops you have shed.
If you think some praise is due me.
Now’s the time to slip it to me,
For I cannot read my tombstone when I’m dead.

More than fame and more than money
Is the comment warm and sunny,
Is the hearty warm approval of a friend.
For it gives to life a savour
And it makes me stronger, braver,
And it gives to me the spirit to the end.
If I earn your praise bestow it,
If you like me, let me know it,
Let the words of true encouragement be said.
Do not wait till life is over
And I’m underneath the clover,
For I cannot read my tombstone when I’m dead.

Big River ~ Rescue

It was St David’s day on 1st March and my friends with Welsh roots were rightly proud. It got me thinking about the North of England, where I was born and jokingly I suggested that we Geordies should have a patron saint too! There can be few people prouder of their roots than Geordies!

The word Geordie is believed to be a corruption of the name George, which was the most common name for pitmen in the North. It is a slang word for anyone born and raised in the area of the River Tyne, just as Cockney is a slang word for someone born within the sound of Bow Bells.
I certainly qualify as Geordie because I was born in Gateshead, very close to the Tyne. Sadly no blue plaque for me as the house was demolished when the Felling Bypass was built near Gateshead International Stadium!
I was born in the scorching summer of 1947 which followed a record breaking winter. My mum recounted being trapped indoors for weeks by the snowdrifts which were piled up outside the house. The war had recently ended and times were hard for everyone. There was destruction all around from the bombs which had been aimed at the shipyards, coalmines and factories around Gateshead. Food and clothes were still rationed and jobs were in short supply and poorly paid. My father was in the navy during the war then went back to work in the shipyards as a welder. He had to cross the river and cycle many miles each day to get to work. Housing for the majority of working people was atrocious. With gas lighting, tiny kitchens which we called a scullery, and outside toilets, there were no mod cons. There was no central heating, just a gas or coal fire in the living room. Only the local doctor and policeman had a phone or a car as far as I knew. Entertainment was provided by the wireless or the newspaper which had cartoon strips in it. There was no TV for us, and computers hadn’t even been invented. On the rare occasions when we travelled to the seaside at Whitley bay or South Shields for the day, we went by train. To go to the city (of Newcastle), we went on a tram or trolley bus.
Life was tough in the late 40s and early 50s. But Geordies were tough too, reflecting their industrial surroundings ~ whatever their age.
I was certainly a determined child. One of my earliest memories is of telling my mum that I wanted to go and show my favourite aunty my new slippers. My mum must have been busy because I managed to dress, put on said slippers and get my doll and her pram down the 15 steps which led to our back yard. From there I walked the cobbled lanes pushing my little pram onward through Felling Park to Sunderland Road. Now Sunderland Road has always been busy so I sensibly waited at the crossing. In those days there were policemen directing traffic on main roads and this was my downfall. Naturally the policeman on duty was surprised to see such a young child crossing the road alone. And so my trip to show my aunty my new slippers came to a very sticky end. I was taken to the police station where I sat eating chocolate cake until they traced my distraught mother. I was just 2½ years old at the time!
I guess I was lucky to have been picked up by such a kind policeman. But I wasn’t the luckiest child ever rescued in the North. That award definitely goes to Mary Leighton.
Mary was born in 1771 in Wylam, a village on the banks of the River Tyne. She was christened in St Peter’s Church that April. According to newspaper reports, on the night of 16th November there was a dreadful flood which washed away bridges all along the Tyne. The village of Wylam was devastated and many houses were washed away. Baby Mary was asleep in her wooden cradle when the flood reached her home. Her cradle was carried away on the floodwaters with her inside it. Miraculously the cradle complete with baby Mary, alive and well, was picked up by a ship near the mouth of the Tyne.
There are many famous people who were Geordies. The Newcastle University website is a mine of information http://libguides.ncl.ac.uk/content.php?pid=462634&sid=3833544
And many talented people today are proud of their northern roots. Jimmy Nail who is a bit younger than me but his memories are closely aligned with mine. He expressed just what I feel in his song ~ Big River

Some of my other blogposts about the North are here:

Bridges http://wp.me/p2gGsd-Sk
Spanish City http://wp.me/p2gGsd-Kz
Durham Light Infantry http://wp.me/p2gGsd-tT

My 80/20 Rule

My 80/20 Rule

I do agree with this very useful guidance on common courtesy on social networks. I don’t use twitter but I love Pinterest. I have found some rather strange boards but if you are selective it can be brilliant. I’ve been looking for home decorating tips and ideas for transforming my very sad garden! I also collect Zentangle patterns and photographs that remind me of places I’ve been. I think the photographers are wonderful to share their pictures-in all Pinterest, like blogging enriches my life. I do plug some of my blog posts too of course!

J.A. Hennrikus's avatarLive to Write - Write to Live

pinterest2 I dove into Pinterest this past weekend. I’ve used it for a bit, but like many things social media, my first impulse was “this is fun, but what’s the point?”. And then a few friends talked me through it, and how they find it helpful. And one of the Sisters in Crime New England board members started a SinCNE site, and I tried to help. Turns out that half of the Wicked Cozy Authors already use Pinterest to engage readers with their series in different ways. So I started to poke around a bit. And I noticed that the sites I was most drawn to followed the 80/20 rule.

What, you may ask, is the 80/20 rule? It is simple. My definition in this context is that 80% of your social media use should be about other people (or organizations). 20% can be in service of yourself. Only 20%. 10%…

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Snowdrops

Thanks to reading one of my favourite blogs I remembered that the flower of the day is the snowdrop. I already have snowdrops and hellebores appearing in my garden as the weather is so mild here so I thought I would repost some of the photos I have taken of these flowers in the past. I live near the Rococo gardens at Painswick, a place I have blogged about several times. According to The Independent Newspaper in 2008,

The Rococo Garden has one of the largest naturalistic plantings of snowdrops in the country and is in many ways the spiritual home of Galanthus Atkinsii.

Although many believe the Romans introduced snowdrops they are more likely to have been brought to England in the early 16th Century. Galanthus nivalis is native to a large tract of mainland Europe from the Pyrenees in the west, through France and Germany to Poland in the north, Italy, Northern Greece and European Turkey.

Most of the other species Galanthus come from the eastern Mediterranean, though several are found in South Russia, Georgia and Azerbaijan. Galanthus fosteri comes from Jordan, Lebanon, Syria, Turkey and Israel.
More photos are at the following links:
Springtime http://wp.me/p2gGsd-MW
Snowdrops and Hellebores http://wp.me/p2gGsd-ET

Tin and China Clay Mines in Cornwall

This post is for Alice who wanted to see my photos of mines in Cornwall.

I was very excited to see the remains of mines scattering the skyline during our recent holiday in Cornwall.

I’ve always been interested in industrial buildings.  I guess this is mainly due to my father’s influence as he was a steel man from the age of 13 and he developed in me a passion for ships, bridges and buildings.  The other reason could be because of where I grew up.  I lived in the Felling, a shipbuilding and mining area in the North of England.  I skipped past the railway station and shipyard every day on my way to school and there was a derelict engine house complete with winding gear at the end of our street of 2 up and 2 down back to back miners’ cottages.  These were our adventure playgrounds.  Children were never allowed to play on the grass or ride bikes in the municipal parks in those days!  Parks were for floral displays and grown ups to walk in and the park warden was fierce.

Being a traditional and romantic sort of person I accept that industrialisation almost wiped out the jobs for blacksmiths, weavers, spinners, millers and grinders. But I find there is great beauty in the  machinery that drove the mines and  the mills, and in the engines that turned their wheels and moved their goods.

The Redruth and Camborne area was the central tin and copper mining district of Cornwall.   The area is now part of the Cornish Mining World Heritage Site and has made the most of it’s heritage by opening up the old tramways and railways as trails for walking, biking or horse-riding.  Along the trails there are the remains of the historic mines.  And along the way there are spectacular views of the coast or  gorgeous countryside.  I was amazed to learn that Gwennap and the mines around it was once the richest copper producing area in the world.

One or two of the mines are now restored.  For example Geevor Tin Mine, Gwennap Pit and King Edward Mine are open as visitor attractions but we avoided those preferring to walk around and discover the remains of derelict mines.

We did however visit Wheal Martyn.  This place is amazing being almost a complete Victorian China Clay works.  Thousands of people made their living here in its day.  It is brilliantly preserved with its huge waterwheel, tools, machinery, vintage vehicles, pits and tunnels all in working order.  Walking round, it feels as if the workers have just left their labours for the day.

There is still a great china clay industry in Cornwall but it is not just used for ceramics now.  Mostly it is used in the production of paper, cosmetics and toothpaste, as well as in the farming, building, medical and chemical industries.

Enigma

Inspired by haiku heights

Inspired by haiku heights

At the dialysis unit where my husband is a patient there are some really interesting old characters.  If you take the time to chat to them, all manner of fascinating facts emerge about their lives.  One such dear man was called Peter.  I knew he had been in the navy during the war, and so had my father and my father in law, so we had a lot to chat about.  He loved to read and, knowing I enjoyed books, he brought one in for me one day.  He told me that he was in this book!  It was a naval adventure book based on true incidents.  On reading the book I found that he was indeed in it!

During the war Peter had been 2nd Lieutenant on HMS Hero, a naval destroyer.  Coincidentally, the ship had been built in Newcastle on Tyne in 1936 at the Vickers Armstrong shipyard where my father had started work as a 13 year old lad in 1936.  Who knows, he may even have worked on The Hero!

Anyway, the reason this story fits in with today’s Haiku heights prompt word “Enigma”, is that the Hero was actually the ship that torpedoed the German submarine U-559 which was carrying the Enigma machine and the code books.  These were of vital importance to the allies during the war as they enabled the codebreakers at Bletchley Park to give advance warning to the ships in the Arctic Convoys, which were suffering terrible casualties.

Briefly, what happened was that on 30th October 1942 an RAF patrol aircraft spotted the German submarine and alerted HMS Hero by radio.  When the sub realised she had been spotted by hero, she dived but too late.  Hero dropped depth charges which cracked the sub’s pressure hull.  This caused explosions and flooding on board the sub and 4 crewmen died.  The rest of the crew evacuated the sub as it was forced to surface. The U-559 sub was known to be carrying the Enigma machine and code books so the youngest, fittest and slimmest crewmen from HMS Petard, a nearby ship, were sent to board the stricken sub through the holed hull.  These were Lieutenant Fasson, Able Seaman Grazier, and improbable but true, a 16 year old NAAFI canteen assistant, Tommy Brown.  They managed to swim to the abandoned sub and get inside.  They located the Enigma machine and the code books with all the current settings for the Enigma key and retrieved them.  Sadly only one of these brave men survived to tell the tale.  Grazier and Fasson drowned when the submarine sank as they tried to get out.

The Enigma machine and codes they retrieved was immensely valuable to the code-breakers at Bletchley Park, who had been unable to crack the codes.  For details of how Enigma works and photos of the three brave men who gave so much, click this link http://www.nww2m.com/2012/10/sci-tech-tuesday-70th-anniversary-of-enigma-capture-from-u-559/

Peter, was 2nd Lieutenant on HMS Hero and there is a photo of him in the book.  It shows a tall, fit young man with dark hair and a bushy beard looking very smart in his uniform on board ship.  Peter died recently, elderly and frail, but thanks to the book his story will never die.

Orders were scrambled

Unbreakable codes concealed

In the ocean’s depths

 ~

Running the gauntlet

Torn apart by torpedoes

In Arctic Convoys

 ~

HMS Hero

Retrieved the Enigma, when

Able seamen dived

 

HMS Hero

HMS Hero

Unbreakable codes

The ultimate enigma

Cracked at Bletchley Park

During World War II, the Germans used the Enig...

http://www.bbc.co.uk/history/worldwars/wwtwo/enigma_01.shtml

Ripples

This post is inspired by Haiku Heights prompt word ‘Ripples’.

Little plastic ducklings

Little plastic ducklings

Ducklings bobbing as

Babies learn to swim, making

Ripples in the pool

Stanley learning to swim

Stanley learning to swim

~

Fishermen despair

As dipping ducks surface in

Ripples on the lake

~

With muscles rippling

She races to complete the

London Marathon

My daughter did the London Marathon in 2010.  She said it was the most fantastic and memorable day ever. The 26.2 miles were long, gruelling and emotional but she completed it in a respectable 4 hours, 20 minutes and 33 seconds. She raised £2032 for Myeloma UK.

~

Recession’s ripples

Spread round the world.  The poor are

The first to suffer

~

Wireless waves ripple

“War is over”.  Not heard in

Jungles of Burma

~

Deep in the Burmese jungle in 1945, the “forgotten army”, including my uncle Robert, had no idea the war was over.  News took a while to filter through; some had no radios and others had no time to listen to the BBC.

Mountbatten said, “You call yourselves the ‘forgotten army’, well you are wrong.  At home they haven’t even heard of you”.

~

My tribute to Nelson Mandela

220px-Nelson_Mandela-2008_(edit)

This week’s word prompt at haiku heights is the word “Chivalry”.  My understanding of this word for the modern age is an honourable person with strength ~ of mind, body and soul, who is courageous and disciplined and uses their power to protect the weak and defenceless.  This defines Nelson Mandela perfectly in my opinion.

Cherishing freedom

He fought with true dignity

And changed the whole world

~

With perseverance

For freedom and harmony

He gave his whole life

~

On Robben Island

Prepared to die for his cause

He rocked the whole world

My grandson, Ben, was reading a book about Nelson Mandela for his homework on Monday and it was wonderful to have the opportunity to discuss this living legend with him.  Someone once said “If you can’t explain it to a 6 year old, you don’t understand it yourself”.  I hope I gave Ben and Rosie a clear view of just how extraordinary and special this man is.  In fact I said that in my opinion he is a living saint!

I can’t imagine a world without Nelson Mandela, I am sure it will be a poorer place.  All my adult life he seems to have been in the news or making the news.  I remember the protest marches, the Sharpeville Massacre which took place on 21 March 1960 and shocked the world.  And how could anyone forget the fabulous song, “Free Nelson Mandela”, by the Specials.  You can listen to it here and I bet you can’t keep your body still ~ you just have to dance!  It reminds me of the cricket club I went to near Kisumu in Kenya with some friends in 1985.  The Tanzanian band played all night until the early hours and the dancing was out of this world.  I was lucky enough to go to one of the original tour concerts of Ladysmith Black Mambazo in 1987 too.  I will never forget that night, especially the township jive!

So, while the irreplaceable 94 year old, is still struggling for survival in a Johannesburg hospital, I thought I would pay tribute to him in my blog.  Firstly I would like to honour him by using his own name!  He was named Rolihlahla Dalibhunga by his parents but was given his English name, Nelson, by a teacher on his first day at school.  He is fondly known by his clan name – “Madiba” among his own people.  It is from the Xhosa tribe to which he belonged.

He wrote his own story in a book called Long Walk to Freedom.
Mandela expressed his goal so eloquently from the dock in court in 1964 thus:

“I have cherished the ideal of a democratic and free society in which all persons live together in harmony and with equal opportunities,” he said. 

“It is an ideal which I hope to live for and to achieve. But if needs be, it is an ideal for which I am prepared to die.”

I think that he achieved his life’s ambition and he has left a great legacy in the form of the Elders.  They give me hope that the world will one day be a free, fair and just place for all people regardless of creed, colour or politics.

You can find all the facts and figures about Nelson Mandela’s life on the wonderful BBC site just click the link.

ladysmith Black mambazo band