Remembrance

Stained Glass Window in memory of Ivor Gurney, WW1 Composer and Poet of Gloucestershire
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Stained Glass Window in memory of Ivor Gurney, WW1 Composer and Poet of Gloucestershire

 

Ivor Gurney Window by Denny 3Ivor Gurney Window by Denny 10

In Gloucester Cathedral there is a new stained glass window created by Tom Denny, which is a memorial to the Gloucestershire poet, Ivor Gurney.  Like Will Harvey, whom I have written about before, he was a pupil and chorister at the Cathedral school before joining the Gloucestershire Regiment to serve in the First World War.  Indeed, they were great friends.  Gurney was a talented musician firstly, but in the thick of war, poetry became his creative outlet.   Like Will Harvey  he survived the war but was drastically changed by it.  So much so that his fragile mental health was totally destroyed, and he spent many years in a mental asylum where he eventually died before he was 50.  Gurney is buried at Twigworth, where his gravestone commemorates him as ‘poet composer of the Severn and Somme’.

Gurney’s poetry is beautiful and reflects his love for the Cotswolds, the countryside and the beauty of nature.  I’d like to share 2 of them with you that touch me deeply for different reasons.

Firstly, To His Love which is a poem thought to be written by Ivor Gurney when he thought his friend Will Harvey had been killed.

To His Love’

He’s gone, and all our plans
Are useless indeed.
We’ll walk no more on Cotswolds
Where the sheep feed
Quietly and take no heed.

His body that was so quick
Is not as you
Knew it, on Severn River
Under the blue
Driving our small boat through.

You would not know him now…
But still he died
Nobly, so cover him over
With violets of pride
Purple from Severn side.

Cover him, cover him soon!
And with thick-set
Masses of memoried flowers-
Hide that red wet
Thing I must somehow forget.

The second is The Bugle, written after Gurney returned from the war, a sadder and wiser man.  I include it as my grandfather was a bugler in WW1, and also because it speaks to me loudly of how ordinary life and commerce still goes on while soldiers suffer and die ‘out of sight, and out of mind.’ 

The Bugle

High over London
Victory floats
And high, high, high,
Harsh bugle notes
Rend and embronze the air.
Triumph is there
With sombre sunbeams mixed of Autumn rare.
Over and over the loud brass makes its cry,
Summons to exultancy
Of past in Victory.
Yet in the grey street women void of grace
Chatter of trifles,
Hurry to barter, wander aimlessly
The heedless town,
Men lose their souls in care of business,
As men had not been mown
Like corn swathes East of Ypres or the Somme
Never again home
Or beauty most beloved to see, for that
London Town might still be busy at
Its sordid cares
Traffic of wares.
O Town, O Town
In soldiers’ faces one might see the fear
That once again they should be called to bear
Arms, and to save England from her own.

There are many learned websites with information about Ivor Gurney, but my wish today is simply to share the beauty and poignancy of the new window and explain a little of its background.

Ivor Gurney Window by Denny 2

There are 8 lights or panes overall and each reflects something from the life and writing of Ivor Gurney.  The notes are a precis of those that appear in the Cathedral by the window.

Light 1 ~ Glimmering Dusk ~ a figure walks at dusk in a Vale landscape.  there are dark pools of rain on the white road and May Hill can be seen in the distance.

Windows 1 & 2

Light 2 ~ The Stone Breaker ~ In Flanders a chance encounter with some road menders reminds Gurney of a much earlier meeting (“Oh years ago and near forgot”), in the fresh beauty of a summer’s early morning, in a landscape of Vale orchards.

Light 3 ~ Brimscombe ~ Gurney remembers a night-time walk through the fir trees of the steep-sided Brimscombe valley near Stroud.  The “pure clemency” of the moment enables him to forget the “blackness and pain” of France.

Windows 3 & 4

Light 4 ~ Severn Meadows ~This was written in March 1917 at Caulaincourt.  As the sun sets over Severn meadows, a figure, in the shadow of a willow, looks back at the river and the willows.

Light 5 ~ Pain ~ Gurney recalls the grey-white Somme battlefield.

“Pain, pain continual; pain unending;….

Grey monotony lending

Weight to the grey skies, grey mud where goes

An army of grey bedraggled scarecrows in rows

Careless at last of cruellest Fate-sending.

Seeing pitiful eyes of men foredone,

Or horses shot, too tired to merely stir,

Dying in shell-holes both, slain by the mud.

…………………………………….

The amazed heart cries out to God.

Windows 5 & 6

Light 6 ~ To His Love ~ Probably drafted on the Somme battlefield, Gurney reacts to the news (false as it turns out) that his great friend, the poet Will Harvey, is presumed killed.  A couple walk on the Cotswold hills as their dead friend lies among the violets.

Light 7 ~ To God ~ In the intense suffering from mental illness, surely aggravated by his experiences on the battlefields, Gurney cries out for death, “I am praying for death, death, death”.

Windows 7 & 8

Light 8 ~ Song and Pain ~ A more optimistic end to the window as a figure emerges from an understanding of pain to enter “The House of Joy”.

As I stood and gazed at these incredibly beautiful but harrowing windows, there were people around me moved to tears by what Gurney had seen and suffered.  Tom Denny is a wonderful artist. He has captured and honoured Gurney’s genius, his love of Gloucestershire, and his suffering in that dreadful war and in his mental distress.

Meditating on a window

https://wordpress.com/post/heavenhappens.me/4977

http://www.ivorgurney.org.uk/biography.htm

http://movehimintothesun.wordpress.com/2011/04/22/to-his-love-ivor-gurney/

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Miss Margaret’s New House

When I was a student in the 1960’s I started collecting nursery rhymes and poetry which I could use once I started teaching.  I built up quite a collection in a folder.  I also got into the habit of cutting poems out of the daily newspaper if they appealed to me.  One poem impressed me so much I have treasured it for the last 50 years.  I still have the original cutting.  Brown with age, I’ve now laminated it so that it doesn’t get damaged.  It is called Miss Margaret’s New House and it chimed with me really strongly.

As regular readers of my blog will know, my much loved mum died in 2012.  She lived just a couple of doors away from me, which was really handy when I was caring for her.  But once she had died, the house being so close was a constant source of sadness which I could not escape.

The house was empty and forlorn for months but now new people have bought the house to ‘do up’ and live in.  It seems to me that there will be nothing left of the original house soon.  It now has a huge extension on the back, the lovely hardwood window frames have been replaced with white plastic and the leaded lights are gone.  The kitchen has been ripped out and a new one built in the extension.  The wall between the bathroom and toilet has been knocked through and all the fittings have been replaced.  The climbing roses have been cut down and the rambling hedgerow tamed and trimmed.  All the carpets are gone and modern wooden flooring installed and the walls have all be painted in neutral tones.

I’m sure it will all be lovely by the time they move in, but no longer will it be ‘my mum’s house’.  This is a blessing in a way as I will no longer feel those pangs of sadness as I pass by on my walks with the dog or my grandson.  Every trace of my mum’s taste and personality has gone from the house now, along with her fixtures and fittings, into the skip.

Her style was plain and simple.  She loved the soft pink on the walls, pale green on the floors ~ always Wilton, always 80/20 wool.  She loved roses in the garden, flowers in the house, and dark oak Ercol furniture.  She loved soft cushions and silver ornaments.  Her door, like her heart, was always open to visitors, especially her family.  She never forgot a birthday and was generous to a fault.  Not a day goes by when I don’t miss her.

Now to get back to the poem!  I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

 

 She never liked The Firs.  She said

‘Give me simplicity.

Pretentious roofs and leaded panes…

Lord, how they sicken me!

 

I’ll have an honest house one day.

Clean-shaped outside and in.

Where need shall take its dues, and oust

The merely finikin.

 

A downright house, a compact house;

A small house – I am small;

The lone pea in its vasty pod

Is not my role at all.

 

Nor yet for me pert painted doors,

Flame yellow, scarlet bright;

A low house with white window sills,

And trees to left and right.

 

A quiet house, a peaceful house…

Cool in the August heat,

But snug and safe when parching winds

Drive brown leaves down the street…

 

This will I have’, she said and let

It cost me what it may

I shall not grudge that dwelling’s price…

She moved in yesterday.

 

It took the sum of all she had,

But well content she seemed;

She has them all-the sheltering trees,

The quiet that she dreamed;

 

The low pitched roof, the straight bare walls-

All hers, and perfect, save

For the white window sills.  There are

No windows in a grave.

By Ana Jackson

Miss Margaret's House? No, its mine!

My mum painting in Painswick Rococo Gardens

My mum painting in Painswick Rococo Gardens

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My Life in the Glass Cabinet

Preserved Rose from Lourdes

Preserved Rose from Lourdes

August has been challenging to say the least. We needed a new gas boiler ~ expensive but not a disaster you would think. However…one thing leads to another … a burst water pipe in the loft filled up the loft space and soaked the insulation; water came through the ceiling and the loft door soaking all the carpets in the hall, bathroom and airing cupboard. Water then came through all the electric light fittings and the alarms. The gas fitters trying to stop the water managed to put their foot through the ceiling and made a hole in the bathroom wall. We then had a gas leak where the pipes were connected to the meter!
Result ~ 2 regular gas fitters to fit the new boiler, 2 emergency gas fitters to fix the gas leak, 2 emergency electricians to change all the fittings and make it safe, 2 plumbers to change the pipes, 1 handyman to fix the hole in the wall, 2 builders to take down the ceiling and build a new one, 2 decorators to repaint the ceilings and walls in the hall and kitchen, 2 carpet fitters to lay new carpets to hall and bathroom, 1 carpenter to make new loft door, 1 man to replace loft insulation, several insurance assessors and surveyors and a very frazzled housewife!
As if all this weren’t enough my husband then had a nasty fall and injured his leg. It will take some weeks to recover and he is in a wheelchair until it does. Undaunted we decided to go away for a couple of days as it was my birthday on Monday. Not being used to worrying about access I booked a hotel which involved getting said husband and wheelchair up and down several stairs countless times daily. Finding this rather awkward I managed to jam my little finger causing a deep gash, and losing copious amounts of blood in the beautifully tiled reception.
And so dear reader as August draws to a close I am busy getting my little bungalow back in some kind of order. I had to empty the glass cabinet so I could move it for the carpet fitters and today’s job was to clean it and put everything back.
Glass Cabinet
I realised as I put things back that this glass cabinet is a treasure trove, preserving significant moments and key memories spanning almost my whole life.
There are the two little pixies that I bought in Woolworth’s on Felling High Street in 1952 for my mother with my sixpence pocket money. When she died and the house was cleared they turned up amongst her possessions. She had kept them for 60 years and I will keep them now.
Glass cabinet ceramics

Felling High Street when i was a girl

Felling High Street when i was a girl

There is a nativity scene with a painted card background and little plastic figures. This is a poignant reminder of the traumatic Christmas of 1952 when I was in the children’s hospital at Rothbury in Northumberland. It was given to me by a kind visitor and has attained a ridiculous level of significance in my life.
Glass cabinet Crib Scene
There are treasured Christmas cards from friends as far afield as Africa, Russia and Poland. For many years I was involved in an inter-cultural linking charity called Global Footsteps/Rendezvous.
We organised Conferences where young people could interact, learn from each other, share their cultures, have fun, and generally get to know each other. This led to many close friendships, and a couple of marriages, between people who would otherwise never have met. It is a joy to me that I still receive cards from some of the youth and I treasure them.

Glass cabinet Christmas cards from Russia and Poland Glass cabinet Christmas more cards from Russia
There are little things from my children such as extra items for my Christmas crib scene, glass angels, and maple syrup bottles! One of my daughters lives in Vermont where the maple syrup is tapped right from the trees outside her barn.

Glass from vermont IMG_2530
There are paperweights that my husband used to make for me with lovely pictures inside and ornaments we collected from the wonderful places we visited over the years.

Glass from Norway Glass motorbike Glass paperweights

 There are glasses from Anjou and Vezelay, which we collected during a wine tasting holiday in the Loire and Burgundy regions of France.

Glass from Vezelay and Anjou

Glass from Vezelay and Anjou

Crystal Glass from Wales

Crystal Glass from Wales

There is a decanter given to me by a very dear friend when her husband died.  He used to write beautiful poetry and was a very holy man.  So I put a little verse inside the decanter in memory of him:

Life is only for LOVE

Time is only that we may find GOD

Glass Franks decanter 2

There are lots of mementoes from Lourdes, candles, Icons, Rosary beads, statues, crosses. Some of these were given as gifts, some were my mothers, and some I bought myself. I realise that many of my readers are of different faiths, or none, and I respect that. But today I feel strongly that, although I no longer belong to any particular church community, my faith is very important to me. It has been a constant in my life, a comfort in hard times, my anchor, the rock my life is built on.

Memories of Lourdes

Memories of Lourdes

Then of course there are the assorted glasses that I have gathered from jumble sales, trips to the Welsh Crystal factory, or as gifts.  All have a safe home in my glass cabinet…  

As long as my little grandson Stanley can’t find the key!

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Pop, Poets and Plays

Community Choir at Tuckwell Community Choir at Tuckwell

It’s been quite a cultural summer so far for me in the Cotswolds. I sang in a super concert at the local open air theatre, which was amazing. There were 150 of us aged from 5 to 90 singing together in the community choir. Sometimes we split up and sang in individual choirs, and we sang such a variety of songs. It was great to listen to the other choirs, especially the children. The setting was magical. We were in a dell surrounded on 3 sides by trees and with a stream running behind. On the fourth side was a tiered seating area. All the trees were sparkling with lights and there were candles along the paths and down the steps. The theme for dress was ‘festival’ so there were flowers in our hair and lots of pretty dresses. It took me back to my teenage years in the 1960s. I loved every minute of it. Sitting in the audience were two ladies who are direct descendants of a Gloucestershire poet who coincidentally is the subject of the rest of this post, Will Harvey.

There have been all sorts of commemorative events going on to mark the centenary of the start of World War One. Here in Gloucestershire I was involved in a production of a brand new play called Will Harvey’s War at our local theatre, playing the part of a singing farmworker! The play was based on a previously unpublished manuscript written by Will and only recently discovered. It has now been published as a book entitled The Lost Novel of F W Harvey

Will Harvey, better known as Frederick William Harvey DCM (26 March 1888~13 Feb 1957), was a local man, born in a small village called Hartpury in Gloucestershire. I have very fond memories of Hartpury, as my daughter did her degree in Equine Studies there at the college. The setting was perfect. There used to be a great village pub called the Canning Arms where live Jazz was played every Monday night. My husband and I used to go regularly to enjoy the music, the food, and to chat with the great licensees, John and Jean. Sadly, like many country pubs, after Black Wednesday the Canning Arms suffered in the economic downturn and closed. It is now a private house.

Will Harvey moved to Minsterworth and went to the King’s School in Gloucester, where he met Ivor Gurney, a chorister, who went on to become a noted Gloucestershire poet and composer. Along with Herbert Howells they became lifelong friends. Kings school, being a Cathedral school, has a strong music and arts tradition, but it was listening to Elgar’s, Dream of Gerontius that informed Will’s ideas on beauty and creativity. Coincidentally, I worked at King’s School for a time in the 1990’s and have written about it before http://wp.me/p2gGsd-Gp

After school Will trained as a solicitor, but at the age of 26, the First World War intervened in his life. Within days of the war starting in August 1914, Will joined the 5th Battalion of the Gloucestershire Regiment as a private. After a few months training, the battalion was posted to France where Will proved to be quite a hero. He was awarded the DCM or Distinguished Conduct Medal for his bravery. Will was later trained as an officer then sent back to France. Unfortunately, during another brave venture into enemy trenches, he was captured and spent the rest of the war in various prisoner of war camps. Although he made several unsuccessful escape attempts, it was in the camps that Will developed his poetry and writing skills. His most famous poem is Ducks, which he wrote after seeing a picture of ducks on the ceiling of his prison hut, drawn by another prisoner

It is often thought that The Wipers Times was the first trench newspaper, but actually the Fifth Gloucester Gazette came first and Will Harvey was a contributor. It was fortunate that Will was allowed to send his poems home for publication. His first volume was, A Gloucestershire Lad At Home and Abroad, which was soon followed by, Gloucestershire Friends, poems from a German Prison Camp. https://archive.org/details/gloucestershiref00harv

He also wrote about his wartime experiences in Comrades in Captivity. Altogether Will had about 400 poems published. He wrote of war and nature and animals as well as poetry for children.

After WW1 ended, Will came back to Gloucestershire and settled in the Forest of Dean. His poetry was so popular that he was known as “the Laureate of Gloucestershire“. But, now married to a nurse called Anne Kane, Will went back to his career as a solicitor in order to earn a living. To his credit he became known as “the poor man’s solicitor”. Indeed, Will was so compassionate to those facing prison that he often gave his services free. This was great for his reputation but not for his business and eventually it had to be sold. After that, Will joined the BBC and spent years promoting the people of the Forest of Dean, its arts’ scene, culture and heritage. Will’s friends, Ivor Gurney and Howells both set some of Will Harvey’s poems to music. Even today his poetry is set to music by local folk musicians such as Johnny Coppin. He sings of Gloucestershire, its traditions, its people and its culture.

Will Harvey is remembered on a memorial stone at Gloucester Cathedral and a new biography is being published this year.

The whole cast on set at the end of the show The whole cast on set at the end of the show
Young soldiers acting
Will’s brother Eric was killed in the war, and in the play
The whole cast after the show
Relaxing during the interval
Advertising poster for Will Harveys War
Closing scene, sunset over may Hill
The stars of the show, Will and Eric played by daniel Crane and Lawrence Aldridge
spooky photo taken by Sarah on empty stage
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A timely boost to my morale

mostibaward
I am delighted and reinspired to have been nominated for the Influential Blogger Award by Obscured Dreamer. In fact Cat has done me a great favour as I have been somewhat overloaded by life recently, which has stopped me posting. I am often inspired to write and there have been many beautiful photo opportunities I would have loved to share. But I have been too overwhelmed to focus. So,” thank you Cat”, for the boost to my morale and the renewed drive to write.
Here are the guidelines for acceptance – really very straightforward.
To accept this award, the awardees must do the following:
1. Display the Award on your Blog.
2. Announce your win with a blog post and thank the Blogger who awarded you. Do not lump this award with any other award in a “basket”, “bouquet” or “collection” etc., I would rather you didn’t accept the award.
3. Present 10 deserving Bloggers with the Award.
4. Link your awardees in the post and let them know of their being awarded with a comment (or a pingback).
5. Include an embedded video of your current favorite song (YouTube has almost everything, just copy and paste the link into your WordPress editor). If a video is not possible you can embed a SoundCloud track

At the moment I am busy rehearsing for two shows and a concert to commemorate the centenary of the first world war so my choice of songs is influenced by that. On Saturday I took part in the Armed Forces Day at a nearby military museum. It was a scorching hot day in the Cotswolds and young lads from all the armed forces were turned out beautifully in full uniform. They must have been so uncomfortable. There were even some international servicemen and women there as part of the Allied Rapid Reaction Corps (ARRC). The ARRC Headquarters are nearby. There was a flypast by Spitfires and a Hurricane which was very impressive. The song we sang as part of our mini show was written in 1915 as young men were marching off to fight, leaving their sweethearts at home.

My own grandfather joined up at the age of 14 years 8 months and was sent to WW1 as a bugler. Thankfully he survived. One of the plays we are rehearsing is called Will Harvey’s War. This will be the subject of a blogpost soon as Will Harvey was a first world war poet from Gloucestershire who deserves to be better known. He wrote a poem called the Bugler

GOD dreamed a man;
Then, having firmly shut
Life like a precious metal in his fist
Withdrew, His labour done. Thus did begin
Our various divinity and sin.
For some to ploughshares did the metal twist,
And others—dreaming empires—straightway cut
Crowns for their aching foreheads. Others beat
Long nails and heavy hammers for the feet
Of their forgotten Lord. (Who dares to boast
That he is guiltless?) Others coined it: most
Did with it—simply nothing. (Here again
Who cries his innocence?) Yet doth remain
Metal unmarred, to each man more or less,
Whereof to fashion perfect loveliness.
For me, I do but bear within my hand
(For sake of him, Our Lord, so long forsaken)
A simple bugle such as may awaken
With one high morning note a drowsing man
That whereso’er within my motherland
That sound may come, ’twill echo far and wide
Like pipes of battle calling up a clan
Trumpeting men, through beauty to God’s side.

The other play we are rehearsing is called Carried on the Wind. It does not glorify war. It just shows how it affected the ordinary people in Gloucestershire.

There are many blogs that I follow regularly for their joy, wisdom and beauty. Many expand my horizons by taking me to places I will never get a chance to visit. Others introduce me to art, poetry, music, films or books that I know nothing about. In short they enrich my life. Some of them I have mentioned below.

Leaf and Twig ~ a simply beautiful blog I have been following right from the start

Campari and Sofa ~ this shared blog is just so stylish, quirky and different. I love it.

Plain Talk and Ordinary Wisdom ~ the title says it all really ~ “kitchen table stories to inspire and warm your heart” Pat writes a terrific blog

A View from my Summerhouse is Sherri Matthews’ blog and it is just a joy to read.

Easter Ellen, Overcoming to becoming ~ a gentle, sensitive and sometimes painful blog that I love

On Dragonfly Wings with Buttercup Tea ~ Becca is a prolific blogger who is so gifted. She always finds a beautiful photo to accompany her posts and poems.

Celebrating Sunshine ~ just beautiful thoughts and images that lift me up.

Source of Inspiration ~ Pat has found her place in the world and has acquired so much knowledge which in her wisdom she is gracious enough to share.

Derwent Valley Photographers ~ I love photography and I love the North East of England so this site is a pure joy.

The Inscrutable Paths of the Spirit ~ such purity of thought and expression is found in this blog, it brings peace and comfort into our troubled world.

Positive Boomer ~ it’s hard to argue with the sound advice on this blog!

Espirational ~ this blog I found recently aims to provide “a 10 minute vacation for the soul” ~ it succeeds for me

Do pop by and enjoy these inspirational, influential and just plain enjoyable Blogs!

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Fireworks for Shakespeare’s 450th Birthday

shakespeare1

Tonight there will be the start of the celebrations in honour of William Shakespeare’s 450th Birthday. The celebrations will be spectacular in Stratford on Avon, his birthplace and the home of the Royal Shakespeare Theatre. Resurrecting an old tradition, there will be a massive firework display over the River Avon behind the theatre. The display starts at 10.40 so it will be a late night for me but I am hoping to get a good view from the bridge in the Bancroft Gardens. I used to walk this way to school every day when I was a teenager so it will bring back lots of memories.

In addition to traditional pyrotechnics, the special birthday display will feature an 8 metre high frame (note this is smaller than the 1830 one!) depicting Shakespeare’s face, which will light up in ‘stars’ made of fireworks. It will be based on the Droeshout engraving of Shakespeare from the First Folio, and reminiscent of Juliet’s lines about Romeo~

Take him and cut him out in little stars,
And he will make the face of heaven so fine
That all the world will be in love with night
And pay no worship to the garish sun.

If you haven’t read my blog about the 400th Birthday celebrations you can find it at this link~ http://wp.me/p2gGsd-5c

There is also a wonderful Shakespeare blog here ~ http://theshakespeareblog.com/2014/04/fireworks-for-shakespeare/

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Food for thought

napo2014button1

Sitting round the boiler
In the old school room
We sewed as we sang
“Flow gently sweet Afton…”
Stoking memories for the future
Solid fuel for our fires
Sited next to the cattle market Early lessons in fatality
Like lambs to the slaughter, we.
Filtered by failure, our futures foretold
“You can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.

I wonder where they are now

I wonder where they are now

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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.

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Pilgrimage

This post is inspired by the February theme of ‘Pilgrimage’ on  Carpe Diem

Seeking solitude
I journey into my soul
A Prayerful Pilgrim

I have written about my idea of pilgrimage before and have posted links to these posts so you can read them again if you wish. I am aware that a number of my readers have no faith or a different faith from myself. I respect that and hope you will read with an open heart and mind, and enjoy the photographs

Inner Journey http://wp.me/p2gGsd-Lv
Pilgrimage to Lourdes ~ http://wp.me/p2gGsd-i

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Happy New Year

Happy New Year to all the lovely, talented, thoughtful and spiritual people who read and comment on my humble blog.  I have had so much pleasure from your posts and feel that I have got to know most of you personally.  2013 was such a busy year that I have not always managed to write as much as I would wish to, but in 2014  I will aim to be more focused!

The greatest joy of 2013 was watching little Stanley, my grandson, grow.  He was 1 year old on 1st December and he now walks and is a delight in every way.

If you want to see just how much he has changed and what he means to me you could re-read some of my posts about him.

 

I am a grandma!

Wishes and a quilt for Stanley

Pain

Small Stones 5 ~ Stanley’s first smile

Stanley’s growing up healthy ~ Haiku

New baby

Small Stones ~ Starry Night Haiku

Modern Madonna ~ Haiku Heights Day 7

Ripples


See how he has grown
Stanley with his first toolset 1

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The Remembering Tree, 2013. Bancroft Gardens, Stratford upon Avon

Well it has been a strange and wonderful weekend with its usual ups and downs.

The weather was so lovely today that I set off for Stratford on Avon, where I spent my teenage years, to see the spectacular Christmas lights and decorations.

I always enjoy the walk from Holy Trinity Church, Shakespeare’s final resting place, past the Dirty Duck pub where I spent many a happy evening in the 60’s hobnobbing with the likes of Eric Porter, John Hurt and David Warner, through the park, across the Royal Shakespeare Theatre balcony, along the riverside towards the Bancroft Gardens.  I love to pop into the theatre just to see what is coming up ~ Peter Pan and Wendy starts this week (tickets still available), as does the stupendous Wolf Hall and Bring up the Bodies (totally sold out before opening night)!

I usually drift over to the canal basin to see the houseboats before heading into town.  Today however, I was stopped in my tracks by a spectacular tree which seemed to be covered in one of those blankets made out of colourful knitted squares, which is exactly what it was!

I discovered that it was called the Remembering Tree and people had worked from 4am to 11am to fix all those squares in place in memory of someone they loved.  Money raised by this venture was going to a charity which you can read about here.

As it got dark I headed up Bridge Street to see the colourful lights before reaching my destination ~ Shakespeare’s Birthplace.  This year the house is transformed by a laser light show accompanied by some excerpts from Shakespeare’s plays being enacted from inside the house.  It is truly worth seeing.  I apologise in advance for the poor quality of my photos which is partly due to the crowds, partly to my excitement and partly to my battery failing!

Leaving the light show I was stopped in my tracks by a busker singing the most beautiful songs in a tenor voice which flowed like warm chocolate on a cold and frosty night.  After singing his own songs, he sang requests from the small crowd that gathered.  he then sang Christmas Carols.  His name is Karl Loxley and the crowd were deeply disappointed to find that he had no CDs to sell!  Hopefully he will soon and I will certainly be listening out for him.  Listen to Karl sing Bring Him Home.

So those are all the ups in my day ~ only one down to report ~

I was so excited to arrive in Stratford that I forgot to pay for parking!  Of course Stratford wardens are like Rottweilers and they don’t miss a thing ~ so I got a parking ticket.  Do you know it was worth it because I felt as if I had been to a free concert and I had a lovely day!

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Garden of Remembrance

Prompted by Haiku Heights theme of ‘grass’, I decided to write about the beautiful garden of remembrance I visited in London this week.

Wreathed in fallen leaves

A sea of wooden crosses

And scarlet poppies

~~~~~~~

Lawned garden of grief

A moving memorial

Heroes remembered

This week I have been in London, and I was fortunate to be passing Westminster Abbey at just the right time to see an amazing spectacle.  Wreaths were being laid to mark all those brave men and women who fought and died in the service of our country.  Several members of the Royal Family were there to honour their sacrifice.  Movingly the Duke of Edinburgh and Prince Harry laid crosses of remembrance in front of two wooden crosses from the Graves of Unknown British Soldiers from the First and Second World Wars.  Every conceivable branch of service was represented by wreaths and crosses of all shapes and sizes.  This year there are 388 plots and 100,000 crosses. 

There were poignant photos on some of the displays.  Particularly moving were the crosses to mark those who have died in recent conflicts in Afghanistan and Iraq.

I was very impressed by the huge wreaths made up of hundreds of poppies representing our Army, Navy and Air force.  My father and my husband’s father were both in the Navy during WW2.  But, I spent a long time searching for the display to commemorate the Durham Light Infantry which my grandfather, Frederick Charles McCluskey, belonged to for almost 40 years.   He was born in 1899 and he joined up at the age of 14 years 8 months to fight in the first world war.  He was sent to France at the age of 17 as a bugler!  He survived that war and went on to fight in the Second World War.   He was one of the Desert Rats  and fought with the Durham Light Infantry at El Alamein. He wrote an account of that battle, a copy of which I still have.

Grandad never talked about the war but he kept wonderful photo albums of the places he visited during the second world war.  It wasn’t until after he died that we read in the newspapers of some of his exploits when they called him a hero:~

“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 Milvain Avenue, Benwell fought in both world wars.”

I am very proud of him.

Related articles
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Ballet

Inspired by Haiku-heights September Challenge ~ Day 5 ~ Ballet

In the 1960s I was still living in Stratford on Avon studying A Levels at Shottery Manor, which was the Girl’s Grammar School.  I have written a post before about the unforgettable year that was 1964 ~ Shakespeare’s quartercentenary.  I was totally immersed in the Shakespeare memorial Theatre at that time and met many very interesting and exciting people.  One of those who stands out for me was Rudolph Nureyev.  He had only recently begun his life-changing dance partnership with Margot Fonteyn.  Who could ever forget their performance of Romeo and Juliet ?  It could be that he is responsible for my deep connection with the Russian culture, language, and people.

Devoted to dance

A picture of perfection

Two souls become one

Rudolf Nureyev and Margot Fonteyn in La Bayadère.

September started off very busy for me so posting my haiku has been a challenge too far!  However I think I have caught up now so if you have time you can read my earlier posts here:

http://wp.me/p2gGsd-Ou Shepherd

http://wp.me/s2gGsd-silver Silver

http://wp.me/s2gGsd-guardian Guardian

http://wp.me/p2gGsd-11m Frog

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The Spanish City

The inspiration for my blog this week is the Haiku Heights prompt word “Sugar”.    My readers know that my mind moves in mysterious ways so please bear with me on these haiku ~ they truly are connected to sugar!

Memories caught in

spun sugar clouds, on sticks

At the Spanish City

When I was a little girl I lived in the North of England.  Holidays were unheard of, but days out were de rigeur.  As we had no car we used to catch the train from Newcastle to the coast, usually South Shields or Whitley Bay.  They were equally wonderful.  South Shields had sand dunes and miles of white beaches while Whitley Bay had the “Spanish City”.  It was actually named the “Whitley Bay Pleasure Gardens”, but to us and everyone else who went there, it was the “Spanish City”.  It was the most exotic and exciting place in the world with carousels, coconut shies, waltzers, ghost trains, magic mirrors, and any number of other ways to lose what little money we had.

Spanish City with Dome restored

Spanish City with Dome restored

I was obviously not the only person bewitched by the Spanish City as Mark Knopfler and Dire Straits had a hit record called “Tunnel of Love” in 1980 which is all about the place.   They too had their origins in Newcastle.   If you listen carefully you will hear it mentioned many times.  This is the chorus

And now I’m searching through these Carousels and the carnival arcades

Searching everywhere from steeplechase to palisades

In any shooting gallery where promises are made

To rockaway, rockaway…. Rockaway, rockaway

From Cullercoats and Whitley Bay out to rockaway

And girl it looks so pretty to me just like it always did

Like the Spanish City to me when we were kids

And girl it looks so pretty to me just like it always did

Like the Spanish City to me when we were kids

Mark Knopfler with Dire Straits

Mark Knopfler with Dire Straits

The link with sugar comes from the Candy Floss which is forever in my memory.  Made of spun sugar, it was huge and soft and fluffy, like a cloud on a stick.  So here are my Haiku

Candy floss

Capturing childhood

In pink and white sugar, spun

Into candy floss

spanish city

Memories meld, of

Days by the coast, sea-mist and

Fairground fantasies

Sadly the Spanish City is no more. The last I heard the dome had been restored and there were plans for a four star boutique hotel,  a care home, new public spaces and an outdoor performance areas on the 7 acre seafront site.

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Remembrance Sunday

Poppy Day in UK

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.”

Field Marshal Montgomery and Rommel

Grandad
With Durham Light Infantry in the Western Desert

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

Mum and Dad’s Wedding 1945

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The Dangers of Cycling

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.

Pat on her much loved bike.
Related articles

My mum and I in days gone by

My mum and I in days gone by

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.

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Battlefield ~ Haiku

Todays Haiku Heights word is Battlefield.  This stirred up lots of poems in my head ~

My father in law was in the Arctic Convoys.  He served on the destroyer HMS Liverpool guarding merchant navy vessels taking supplies to the beleaguered Russians via Murmansk.  His ship was torpedoed twice in the Mediterranean but he survived the war.

Foes in the fjords

Death lurks in depth for Allied

Atlantic convoys.

My uncle Robert fought and died in Burma as part of the “forgotten army”.  Because they had no supplies and no radios they didn’t even know that the war was over so kept on fighting.  Uncle Robert was killed after the official end of the war so his widow did not get a war pension!

Forgotten fighters

in the jungles of Burma

fought and died in vain.

Of course people at home in the UK fought their own battles and lived through countless air raids.  The things they feared most were the doodle bugs which made a dreadful whining noise overhead.  But the most worrying time was when the whining stopped, as that meant the bombs were falling! 

Air raid warning as

Doodle Bugs whine overhead.

Silence brings despair.

Many young children were evacuated from cities to relative safety in the countryside which brought its own terrors.

Evacuated!

Human fish out of water

blitzed from city homes.

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Hummingbird hawkmoth ~ Haiku

Hummingbird hawkmoth

In Autumn hedgerow

Hummingbird Hawkmoth hovers

Foreign visitor

Humming Bird Hawk Moth (Macroglossum stellatarum)

  • Wingspan 40 – 50 mm
  • Not a native to the UK.
  • Description: large proboscis and antenna, fan tailed thorax, orange hindwings and grey-brown fore-wings, marked with two black lateral stripes.
  • Takes its name from the habit of flitting between blooms collecting nectar with its long proboscis, with a flight pattern resembling that of the humming bird.
  • Although it has occasionally been known to overwinter in southern counties, this day flying moth is largely a migrant from the continent, flying any time from  spring to October.
  • A prolonged spell of warm summer weather and a southerly prevailing wind, can result in a fairly large presence of the humming hawk moths in the UK.

I have spotted these exotic visitors to England only twice; once in my garden, and once at the nursing home where my mum lived for the last 18 months of her life.

I read somewhere that the hummingbird hawkmoth is considered a good luck omen in malta and Italy.  Apparently a swarm of them was seen crossing the English Channel flying towards England on the day of the D Day landings in 1944.  My sighting was not such a good omen as I wrote in a previous post amended below!

“Just last year we sat in the garden on a sunny autumn Thursday, my mother and I.  We saw a hummingbird hawkmoth, a rare visitor to the UK.  Like a large bee crossed with a moth, it hovered over the flowers like a hummingbird.   We were at the The Owlpen, mum’s care home, enjoying the last warm days of the year.  Sitting with us were Diana, Phyllis, Agnes and a lovely Welsh lady who didn’t speak at all.   Agnes spotted a plane with four wings flying round and round in circles.  A training flight we thought or maybe a pleasure flight.  No-one else noticed it.  Diana was earnestly knitting hats for merchant seamen.  She has made hundreds over the years from wool that people bring her.  She says it keeps her mind alert and her hands busy.  She doesn’t need a pattern now, she knows the stitches so well, but she has to concentrate on counting the rows.   Phyllis is a large lady with sparkly eyes, very little hair, and sorely swollen legs.  She has difficulty walking and forgets where she has put her stick.  She loves to chat about her grandchildren and to hear about other people’s.  Agnes is mum’s best friend at the Owlpen.  She is a lovely cultured lady who reads the Times from cover to cover every day to ‘keep abreast of the news’. Agnes enjoys good conversation but gets cross with herself when she can’t remember the words she wants to say.

Mum’s eyes do not sparkle today.  They look milky and dull like an aged pet.  She is not joining in the conversation and does not appear to be enjoying the lovely day.  It worries me that she seems so quiet and a bit confused.  I fear she is fading in mind and body so I ask the nurse to make an appointment for the doctor to visit.

On Monday I arrive early to be there when the doctor comes.  He is young, gentle and kind and asks mum lots of questions.  She is overawed by him and doesn’t want to be a nuisance so she says she is fine.  I gently coax the symptoms out of her.  Didn’t you have a pain in your tummy mum?  “Yes, a little bit”.  Doesn’t it hurt your back when you are moved mum?  “Yes, a little bit”.  Haven’t you gone off your food because it makes you sick mum?  “Yes, a little bit”.  Bless her, it breaks my heart to see how dependent and deferential she has become.  Where is the proud, strong, creative lady?  What happened to the northern matriarch who watched over the whole extended family for the last sixty years?

The doctor says he won’t distress her further as she seems a bit down.  So I stay for the whole day.  We read the book of Old Gateshead and go down ‘memory lane’.  We have coffee and share a bit of cake.  At lunchtime I sit with her and she manages to eat a whole bowl of soup.  She is so animated now that we decide to have a girlie afternoon.  Fortunately I had brought my manicure set and some nail varnish.  I cut her nails and massage her hands with Wild Rose Beauty Balm from Neal’s Yard.  Then I buff the nails to smooth them and paint them Midnight Bronze.  By the time I leave she looks relaxed and radiant, and the room is filled with the smell of roses.  I have never felt closer to her and I will treasure the memory of that day forever.  My mum died before the week was out.

I would give the world to be able to see my mum today, take her for a drive, or make her a special lunch.”

http://youtu.be/4SI6Lu9LeBI