April...ing

I've been neglecting the blog recently.  So time for an April catch up. Here's what I've been doing.

Visiting an exhibition of mosaic art called Constellations in Chester Cathedral.  The hanging piece above was made up of tiny mosaics in bottle tops.

Holidaying in South Wales.  We stayed in Saundersfoot near Tenby.  The weather was a bit mixed as you can see from the pictures below.  Lots of walking on beaches and up hills. The walk from the village to our holiday home was pretty steep.

One day we went to Pendine Beach (below) which is 7 miles long and the location for world land speed record attempts.  We thought it would be a good walk for Alfie.  What we didn't discover until we got there is the Ministry of Defence own the beach and access is restricted to a small section near the car park.  When we strayed too far along the beach a disembodied voice which I think came from our phones told us not to cross the line. Big Brother is watching you!. 

We also had a day in Tenby, a very pretty seaside town with more beautiful beaches. 

Saundersfoot was full of wild flowers.  The verges were covered in primroses and we found violets and wood anemones on our walks.

In the town centre park hundreds of daffodils were used to create the Ukrainian flag.  I have mixed feelings about the rash of blue and yellow flags around the country.  I suppose it shows support but then it's a bit of a futile gesture.  Like Pritti Patel wearing a yellow and blue ribbon in her lapel while making it near impossible for Ukrainian refugees to get a visa.

Celebrating Easter and eating chocolate with Kate who returned here for the holidays. It wasn’t much of a holiday for her though as she had an assignment to complete for her course and is also busy applying for teaching jobs. 

That’s it for this month. 

Recent Reading and some snowdrops

Irrelevant photo of snowdrops taken on recent annual visit to see them at Ness Gardens

It's time for a book post.  Here's my list since my last round up in November. I'm continuing with my marks out of 10 policy as used by the Waverton Good Read.

Waverton Good Read (First Novels)
'Himself' Jess Kidd  7
'Conversations with Friends' Sally Rooney (Unfinished) 4

'Fahrenheit 451' Ray Bradbury 7
'1984' George Orwell 8

Audio Book 'La Belle Sauvage: The Book of Dust Volume 1' Philip Pullman 8

Bookclub
'Midwinter Break' Bernard MacLaverty 9
'The Green Road' Anne Enright 9

I'm enjoying taking part in the Waverton Good Read which I blogged about recently.  I liked 'Himself by Jess Kidd, a kind of darkly comic murder mystery set in Ireland. Brilliant characterisation, my favourite being an elderly widow Mrs Cauley who assists the main character in his quest to find out what happened to his mother.  The dialogue is also spot on but the plot fell apart a little at the end.  My other Waverton choice 'Conversations with Friends' has been widely praised in the media - it's a debut novel by a 24 year old -and was one of the recommended Guardian books of the year.  I didn't like it at all and in the end didn't finish it because someone else had requested it in the library so I had to return it. I'm not sure I'd have finished it anyway as I found the central character and first person
narrator intensely irritating - self-absorbed and selfish.

I also reread '1984' in full for the first time since I was a teenager.  I loved it then and enjoyed rediscovering the bits I'd forgotten. The chapter about Room 101 which had shocked me so much last time wasn't so terrifying this though I found the section where Winston and Julia are discovered quite disturbing.  We saw a theatre production of the novel a few years ago which captured in full the horror of their treatment. I also read another dystopian novel 'Fahrenheit 451'.  Both written 60-70 years ago and scarily accurate in their predictions of a world dominated by TV screens, mind-numbing entertainment and our movements and actions monitored by CCTV and the innocently named 'cookies' or are they algorithms (?) that track our internet searches and shopping.

My top score goes to Midwinter Break by Bernard MacLaverty, who is a writer I've loved since reading 'Cal' many years ago.  This is his first novel for 16 years and so I chose it when it was my turn at bookclub.  It's an excellent portrayal of a marriage with the writer switching between alcoholic in denial, Gerry and Stella, who was badly injured in a shooting during the troubles in Northern Ireland and is still affected by this memory many years later.  Stella is increasing intolerant of Gerry's drinking and looking for a new direction for her life in her 60s,  There's not much in the way of plot - the couple go to Amsterdam on a break in February, visit the Rijkmuseum, Anne Frank's house, eat good meals and have afternoon naps. Stella visits a place she hopes will hold the key to her future while Gerry attempts and fails to conceal his secret drinking. There's lots of detail; maybe too much (reringing the taxi which doesn't arrive on time to pick them up, going through security at the airport).  Even so it was memorable because he really explores the complexity of the relationship and the characters are convincing. And the writing is beautiful - seems effortless. I was there with them in Anne Frank's house looking at the pencil marks on the walls.  Perhaps it's because I have done this myself - there was a lot in this novel I could identify with.  But even so this is an excellent book.  My bookclub friends last week largely agreed, though some found it slow to start.

The Philip Pullman audio book 'La Belle Sauvage' helped me through the misery of my January flu virus.  I have signed up for free audiobooks and magazines at my local library and this was my first download. Great service and costs nothing at all.  I loved the Northern Lights trilogy and this book, which is the first of three in the series, is a kind of prequel with Lyra, the heroine of Northern Lights as a baby.  Lots of action and adventure in this one - perhaps too much plot and too many encounters with villains - it is a children's book. Or young adult I suppose. There were loose ends in the plot but I suppose these may be picked up later in the series.  I'm a recent convert to the audiobook and enjoy the luxury of being read to, though I am prone to falling asleep when listening in bed and then can't find my place again.

I have started a new bookclub with colleagues at school so now have two choices a month which are not my own.  Good as it widens my horizons.  School bookclub choice is 'The Ragged Trousered Philantropist' Robert Tressell which I have heard of but never read.  And I have already read my other bookclub choice, Anne Enright's 'The Green Road', another Irish novel. It was also excellent.  And there's another Waverton Good Read by my bedside: 'The Witchfinder's Sister' I'll review these next time.

Catching up with Sisters in London

Our hotel was by The Tower of London

View from the Sky Garden

I haven't written a post for ages and so I thought I'd use this rather damp, grey but quiet Saturday morning to write a brief round up of the last month or so.  I was spurred into action by a lovely letter from my cousin in Northern Ireland who says she missing reading this.

So what have I been up to? Well except for one weekend in London when I met up with my sisters, it has been a quiet time here.  No more builders and we're getting used to our new kitchen which is no longer pristine but more lived in. And a big chunk of January was wiped out because both Paul and I had flu - the worst flu I've had in years.  I had to take a whole week off work and really it was over two weeks before I was back to normal.

So our weekend trip to London cheered up a rather grim month.  It was all a bit last minute - NI sister and husband coming over for optics conference and wondered if any of the rest of us living in England could come and join them on the Saturday evening.  Turns out all of us could  - we hadn't seen each other at Christmas so it was a good opportunity.  I took Kate with me, having promised her a weekend in London. We arrived on Saturday afternoon and before meeting the others went to the British Library, a wonderful building which was full of young people of all nationalities studying or writing on laptops, and had a look at some of the historical documents stored there.  Kate was interested in Chamberlain's letters and one written by Mary Tudor.  I discovered the original handwritten draft with corrections of Sonnet 43 by Elizabeth Barrett Browning, the one that starts 'How do I love thee, let me count the ways', which I am currently teaching to year 11; they were not that impressed when I told them.

We got a good deal and stayed in a hotel with great views of Tower Bridge from its Sky Lounge where we met on the Saturday night for cocktails and were joined by the eldest nephew Matthew and his new girlfriend.  There was much talk of Matthew's recent TV appearance.  He was one of the engineers who was volunteered by his company to be involved in 'The Biggest Little Railway in the World,' a Channel 4 documentary about building a model railway track through the Scottish Highlands.  Then we walked to St Katherine's Dock and ate in an Italian restaurant.  There were 10 of us in total and I suspect we were a bit loud.  Thanks to the wonders of technology, the missing sister, Maureen, who was on a boat somewhere in the Bay of Islands in New Zealand, was able to join in the conversation for a while via Facetime.

On Sunday morning we went to the Sky Garden which is at the top of a tall tower block in Fenchurch Street.  You can get in for free though you need to book tickets in advance.  I loved it: a tropical looking indoor garden with palm trees and spectacular views of London, even on a fairly grey, overcast morning.  There's a cafe and a posh restaurant and it wasn't too busy as they restrict the numbers up there at one time.  After that we went to the Covent Garden area.  Sylvia, who is still a child at heart, wanted to go to the Lego shop.  She was disappointed as it wasn't as big as she expected. By mid-afternoon everyone was getting weary and we went our separate ways.  Kate and I had an hour or so before the train so we went to Camden Market where we purchased a Turkish lamp for her room.

A lovely weekend (it's two weeks ago now) and a break from the grim, grey routine of January/February.  One thing I have been doing a lot of  recently is reading.  I am currently enjoying 'The Green Road' by Ann Enright.  So I'm planning a book post soon.  We have a new laptop too - it is faster and easier to type on than the old one which expired last week after Paul dropped it.

Coffee in the Sky Garden

Family Holiday in Barcelona

Last week my daughter Kate and I were in holiday in Barcelona, or to be specific, Cabrils which is 30 minutes away from Barcelona.  We spent the week in a lovely villa in a quiet (or at least until we arrived) residential area with my sisters and their families.  For a few days the whole family, including all of Kate's 10 cousins, were there, with the exception of my Paul who couldn't be persuaded to join us: he doesn't like flying, the heat or, to be honest, large family gatherings which last more than an evening. 

We had a brilliant time. The villa was a perfect location for a family gathering - it took some time to find a place that would accommodate all of us.  It was very impressive with chandeliers and a grand piano as you can see from the pictures below, but affordable since the cost was split between five families. There were eight bedrooms and three bathrooms and plenty of space including a shady balcony where I spent quite a lot of time reading and catching up with sisters including NZ sister who we haven't seen since our last reunion. I'm not keen on lying in the sun. In fact, to venture out at all in Spain I have to cover myself in a layer of factor 50, as I burn so easily, and then top than with a layer of Jungle Formula insect repellent. And I still got bitten - we all did. I had the best bedroom with a balcony and a huge painting covering one wall, not because of my status as the eldest sister, but because I wasn't bothered about air-conditioning and this room had a fan instead.

The view from my bedroom window

The painting covering one wall of my bedroom

Meanwhile the kids, big and little, spent most of the week in the pool.   The small boys enjoyed using the woggles as weapons on their 22 year old cousin. The older ones played games involving pushing each other off the lilo and an inflatable crocodile until the early hours of the morning, making so much noise one evening that the neighbours complained. There was also a table tennis table and cousin Callum organised a family table tennis tournament.  I went out in the first round, losing by one point to sister Sylvia, a good job  too as she is very competitive would not have been pleased. The tournament was won Dean, one of the older nephews, in a tense and closely matched 5 set final against his brother Callum, which we all watched one evening after dinner.

The view of the pool from the shady balcony.

Kate, warming up for her match against NZ cousin Will.

We were also fascinated by the family of baby falcons at the villa.  It seems they had fallen from the nest but the mother was still feeding them and we were advised to leave them alone as interfering or feeding them would cause the mother to abandon them. They were huddled together and looked rather forlorn when we first arrived, especially the one with a damaged leg.  But they gained strength and by the time we left some were able to fly up to higher walls.  The injured one, who eleven year old Hannah named Stevie, seemed to get stronger too though still wasn't flying.  Hannah checked on him every day.  I think this is Stevie in the picture below.

Shopping and cooking for up to 20 was a bit of a challenge but luckily we had champion BBQ expert, Simon with us, occasionally assisted by the other brothers-in-law. Living in NZ where I suppose imported food is pricey, Simon actually enjoyed going to the supermarket and was amazed by the range of food and drink available and how cheap it was. Thanks to him and sister Diane, who at one in her life was a restaurant manager, huge quantities of lovely food appeared every evening with very little effort from the rest of us beyond a bit of table laying and washing up.  One evening we had this spectacular paella which tasted as good as it looks.

We spent most days at the villa but did go into Barcelona one day.  It was too hot to walk around much so after a fairly unpleasant visit to a very busy McDonald's in Place Catalonia to get lunch for the children, we took a bus tour round the city.  Here's my one wonky phone photo of the Sagrada Familia which is like no other church I have ever seen.  We also drove past Nou Camp, Barcelona's football ground.  The younger nephews went back there the next day for a longer visit and a tour of the dressing rooms etc. We also had a day at the beach in Vilassar de Mar, with the kids enjoying the huge waves as it was quite breezy and a bit overcast that day.  I was pleased as it meant I didn't frazzle.

Both Sylvia and I celebrated our birthdays during the week and so, on the day of my birthday, us five sisters and Kate went for a meal in a shady restaurant in Cabrils, the nearest village to the villa.  The meal was nothing special but we did have very good strawberry mojitos to start and enjoyed our more peaceful afternoon out.  Here I am with my mojito wearing the necklace Kate bought me for my birthday.

So certainly a different kind of reunion than the last one I wrote about two years where we were on the beach in Portrush.  I was a bit sad we weren't in Northern Ireland and so were some of my sisters but the NZ cousins were keen to see a bit more of Europe and have a holiday where it didn't rain quite so much.  And everyone certainly enjoyed themselves. 

In Praise of Cousins

I have mentally composed this post over the past few weeks and only now finding time to write it.  This morning have been woken early by the sound of retching dog. Got up and chased him outside, but it was too late.  Clearing up doggy sick at 530ish on a Saturday morning is not fun.  But I'm wide awake now and so will use the time profitably to catch up here.  Life hasn't been much fun recently: work dominating and quite stressful; my broken arm still causing me pain; and further stress because the dog has had an operation to remove a large lump from his abdomen.  We were worried it was something nasty but it seems it was just a fatty lump, a common thing in middle-aged dogs apparently.  But it was horrible as he was so miserable after the op.  And it cost a fortune and is unlikely to be covered by insurance.

But back to the main subject of my post.

In Northern Ireland when I was growing up I saw my cousins often.  I have 20 first cousins and, as most of them lived within a 5 mile radius of our home, we visited each others houses often.  Whole families of cousins would sometimes come for tea on a Sunday afternoon and mummy would make a salad and we'd maybe have coffee cake and apple creams or a sponge flan with jelly and mandarin oranges set in it.  After tea, while the adults talked, us children would run riot, playing wild chasing games or putting on 'shows' in the sitting room.  Sometimes this ended badly - I remember one occasion when we broke the china cabinet - yet these wild afternoons are some of my best childhood memories.

During the summer holidays we would, as children, take turns stay for longer periods at our cousins' houses.  This was great fun: we played all sorts of dangerous games, my favourite being the construction of a 'ghost train' tunnel in hayshed at the Derby cousins' house in Ballynagarve.  It was terrifying but exhilarating to crawl through the precarious structure we'd made with bales of hay piled high at that time of year.  And my cousins' parents were a little more relaxed about certain rules so we got away with things we weren't allowed to do at home.  I remember riding back to the farm with my cousins on the top of a tall load of hay bales on a trailer being towed by a tractor for a couple of miles on a public road. Again I was scared and a bit guilty, as I knew this was forbidden, but such a lot of fun.

One set of cousins, on my Dad's side, lived slightly further away in Maghera.  Again we would take turns to visit, usually just one of us at a time.  I liked going there as Auntie Joy was one of my favourite aunts, really kind and lovely.  I have some good memories of visiting there too: they had geese in the back yard which was exciting for us, especially being chased by the gander.  I remember going out on the tractor with Uncle Roy; he'd let us ride beside him sitting on the wheel mud guards, another thing that was banned at home.  And I remember helping to stack the turf that they burned in the range cooker.  I love the texture and the smell of turf burning; it always reminds me of visiting these cousins. I don't know whether it is still used for fuel these days in Ireland; no one over here in England has ever heard of it.

These memories came flooding back to me recently when I heard the news that Uncle Roy, one of only two of my uncles who is still alive,  had died last October.  Unfortunately I didn't hear about his death until a few months later - my cousins were too exhausted and busy to call - and, as neither me nor any of my sisters live locally, we're out of touch with local news. I've now written to offer my condolences and will visit when we next visit Northern Ireland in the summer.

I count myself blessed to be part of a big extended family.  While other friends and acquaintances have come and gone over the years, my cousins have always been there.  Although I see some more than others, mainly those who are closest to me in age and who were among my best friends as a teenager, I am always pleased when I get the chance to catch up with them as we did when we had a cousins' party in Ballyronan in 2015.  My cousins were a huge support to us in the difficult times when our parents were ill and a source of comfort when they died.  I am sorry not to have been there to offer the same support to them.

My Kate is an only child but she is lucky to have many first cousins, 16 in total.  Unfortunately, due to a family fall out on my husband's side, she has never met some of them and has lost touch with another.  However, she does see quite a lot of the cousins on my side of the family, including those who live on the other side of the world.  This summer the NZ cousins are visiting the UK again and we have planned a family holiday, booking a villa outside Barcelona for all five families.  It's looking like all of the cousins will be there, even the adult ones.  We're very much looking forward to this family reunion.

Kate and her cousins during last reunion in 2015

Sister and cousins in Portrush July 2015

Christmas Present and Christmases Past

I've been teaching 'A Christmas Carol' to year 11 this term and this post is kind of inspired by it. As you probably know, Scrooge visits his own happier past, sees how his staff and family view him at present and is given a frightening glimpse into his potential future if he doesn't change his miserly ways. He is also taken on a journey to see  how people rich and poor celebrate Christmas.

I've just indulged in some nostalgia and reread the posts for Christmas 2015, 2014, and 2013.  It's made me realise how much my blogging habits have changed.  I used to put more effort into writing posts and the 2013 one actually says something rather than just  act as a record events.  I've become a bit lazy about it all.  So many other bloggers I used to follow have given up or moved to Instagram.  I'm going to stay on Blogger, being technically inept and preferring words to pictures.  Perhaps next week I'll try to update things a bit though.

Christmas this year is going to be fairly quiet.  We're at home mostly, though travelling tomorrow to Market Harborough to spend Christmas day with my youngest sister and her family.  We don't see them soo often now they have moved further away from here and are looking forward to seeing how excited the younger children are about Santa coming!

I've been doing a bit of Christmas baking, making a chocolate log like my mother used to do at Christmas.  She used to do two and then give one to her friend Pat, who lived across the road in the house that was also at Hawthorne's bar, a very mysterious place to us as children, with greyish frosted glass windows hiding the interior.  I remember delivering Pat's chocolate log one Christmas and the distinctive smell of smoke and wafts of stout as the door opened.  Hawthorne's is still there and so is Pat, now well into her 90's, but we've now had 12 Christmases without my mum. I suppose that's why I make the chocolate log and use dad's stuffing recipe - keeps the memories going.

Anyway a few pictures of  a Christmas past - I think this is the last one when it was just us sisters and mum and dad without partners, the year before I got married so it's probably1985. Pretty dreadful shot of me with a bad case of red eye to match my cardi. I think Mummy looks lovely in this first one.  I thought members of my family who read this might like to see these so please indulge me other readers.

Happy Christmas 2016 to you all! 

Summer Outings: Daytrip to London

Back in July when my sister from New Zealand was visiting and staying with Brighton sister we all met up in London for the day.  I meant to blog about this at the time and didn't get round to it, but better late than never.  As her children are at the age when they are finding out about cities like London, she wanted to do the traditional tourist sights.  And actually, even though I lived in London for a few years in the 80s, I hadn't seen some of these either.  First of all we went to see the Changing of the Guard at Buckingham Palace.  Now I do have a video clip of this which I tried to add but apparently it's too big and my attempts to cut it failed but you can see it on You tube anyway.  There was a lot of standing around in hordes of people before watching the bands parade by.  'Avocado,' said the policeman on crowd control duty.  At least that's what it sounded like to my daughter, used to Northern accents.  I explained that he was simply encouraging us to move in to leave the pavement clear and to .... have a cuddle. I remarked to my sister that crowd control outside BP must be a pretty boring job and the policeman who overheard me agreed! 

After that we walked down Birdcage Walk to Westminster Abbey along the edge of St James' Park where running under the sprinkler provided more entertainment for the six year old than Buckingham Palace. Big Ben chimed midday as we arrived in the square.   Some of us were getting weary as you can see from the picture so we continued our sightseeing by river boat.

It was quite a hot day so sun cream was needed.

We travelled under Tower Bridge and all the way to Greenwich where we climbed the hill to the Observatory and had a look at the Meridian Line.  This was of passing interest to the now rather tired children as the 12 hour time difference means that they are up and getting ready for school in NZ when we ring on a Sunday evening.  

We caught the boat back and got off at the Tower of London.  Then we travelled by London bus, catching a number 15 and getting seats at the front of the top deck.  This was great as we travelled through past St Paul's and Fleet Street and parts of the city I'd not seen before.  We got off on The Strand and finished the day in Covent Garden watching the street entertainers.  

It was sad saying goodbye for another couple of years but we'd enjoyed our family day out in London.

Five on Friday: Sisters

Sisters on the Strand in Portrush 

I am one of five sisters and last week we were all together for a few days in Northern Ireland, a rare event as Sister number 4 lives in New Zealand.  She returned for a visit this month and we all gathered for a reunion in our family home in Ballyronan.  With husbands and 8 of the 11 children we have between us, that made for quite a large party and it was a bit of a squeeze.  We hired a holiday home in Magherafelt, aptly named Ronan Cottage, so my husband, accompanied by our dog also called Ronan, could, at times, escape the smaller children and watch the Tour de France.

We had a lovely week.  The weather wasn't great but there were still plenty of walks to the lough, the playground and the little beach at Ballyronan marina.  Our children range in age from 6 to 23 and while the older ones were either working or travelling the world, the others enjoyed seeing each other.  I hardly saw my daughter all week as she stayed with the cousins in Ballyronan, entertaining the little ones and hanging out with 12 year old cousin Sarah from New Zealand.  There were also football games and Mario Cart battles with the big boy cousin, Callum.

We also saw some of the extended family and invited cousins to a barbecue one evening - the sun shone even though it was a touch chilly and it was good to see everyone again and welcome them to the house which was always full of visitors when Dad was alive.  And another relatively sunny but chilly day, we took a trip to the seaside and visited Portrush, where we used to go for holidays and Sunday School excursions.

When I get together with my sisters we tend to revert to our childhood family roles. This is not something I was aware of until my husband pointed it out.  This picture of three of us taken in Portrush in about 1966 kind of illustrates this. I'm the good girl, always keen to please: look at my smile and neatly folded arms, whereas Sister 2, is the cheeky one with her tongue out.  So it was no surprise then when last week she avoided the cooking and the washing up and chose instead to entertain her small nephews by playing Dragon Trail on the Ipad with them.



Sometimes people say we are similar and I suppose in some ways we are. I'm more aware of differences than similarities.  I'm the only teacher and the only Arts graduate, most of the others leant more towards Science or Maths. Two are opticians(or optometrists, the official term) but are very different personalities. The other two are very organised (unlike me) and have the kind of managerial jobs which require them to travel abroad at times. One sister has a very lively social life, I prefer a quieter life with some time on my own, just as I did as a teenager when I was the only one to have a bedroom to myself. Three of us read similar kinds of books, recommending writers to each other; one prefers fantasy- Game of Thrones type stuff, and one doesn't read very much at all.  I could go on....

When we are together, it is very loud.  Husband says we all talk at once and shout each other down. There was quite a lot of that last week - sitting around drinking wine after dinner and talking.  There was also a bit of bickering over the chores and other stuff - as there always was - I'm not painting a picture of a perfect family here.  But we don't fall out for long.  I love my sisters and count myself lucky to be part of a close family.

Linking again with Amy at Love Made my Home.

New Year; Kate and the Big Boy Cousins

When Kate was younger one of our favourite books to read at bedtime was the 'Katie Morag Island Stories' by Mairi Hedderwick. So we were pleased to hear that a television adaptation of the books was being shown over Christmas on CBeebies.  It's great - the little girl playing Katie is very convincing and the Island of Struay looks just as it does in the books.  The two grannies are also portrayed perfectly.  Completely charming, just like 'Balamory' which we watched when she was small.  Programmes like these make me grateful we still have the BBC.

Our favourite story was this one, 'Katie Morag and the Big Big Boy Cousins', who visit the island and get in lots of trouble for playing Chickenelly - knocking on doors and running away.  We liked this one because Kate also had some big boy cousins who were equally naughty. And one was a redhead, just like Katie's cousins.  Here she is with them at Christmas 2004.

Today is the bigger boy cousin's 21st birthday.  Last week I returned to Northern Ireland for a few days to spend time with my sisters at Dad's house in Ballyronan, where this photo was taken.  We lit the fire; cooked a chicken with stuffing the way he did it and played Scrabble like we used to.  And on Saturday night we celebrated Cousin Dean's 21st birthday.  Now at university in Dundee, he's still fairly naughty:  he certainly enjoyed his party.  Before we went out he showed off his newly acquired skill at university and made me Strawberry Daquiri.  Happy Birthday Dean!

Christmas Carols with the Songsmiths

I haven't really felt much like preparing for Christmas this year.  I'm missing dad and as we are staying at home, it may feel a bit lonely with just the three of us.

But one thing has helped  me feel a bit more positive has been taking part in several performances with my choir, The Songsmiths.   Christmas is our busiest time and we've performed at three events in the last couple of weeks.  The first event was the Tree of Light Service organised by the local hospital for people who have lost friends and family.  It was a bit of an emotional occasion and I was doing fine, singing all our prepared choir carols, until we all sang 'Away in  a Manger'.  Must be the association with childhood.  I wasn't the only one who got a bit tearful, so it didn't matter so much.  Good to remember.

We also sang on the bandstand by the river in Chester last Sunday for the Santa Dash,  in aid of a local hospice.  Loads of people dressed in Santa suits waving as they went past. Then there was a charity carol service in a local church for the Countess of Chester Babygro appeal.  We enjoyed singing and our audiences responded positively too.  Our repertoire ranged from 'O Holy Night' to 'AWinter's Tale' by David Essex. Other favourites include 'Hallelujah' and 'Let it Snow'

It's a lovely choir - not too serious.  We have words, usually, rather than sheet music and our talented leader works out harmonies by ear.  We are loosely divided into Highies, Lowies and Tune.  I sing Tune, the easiest option of course.  I have no illusions about my musical abilities but absolutely love singing.  You can find us on You Tube by looking up Songsmiths, Chester.

Tonight is choir Christmas night out so I'm going to put on my new sparkly jumper from M&S and join the others for some food and wine and a bit more singing.

The Songsmiths performing for the Babygro appeal last year 

Remembering Jim Ferguson

Just over two weeks ago on Saturday 9th November my father, Jim Ferguson, died.  He'd been in hospital after several weeks of illness but was on the mend we thought: sitting up and out of bed; doing the Mirror crossword again and asking for chocolate as his appetite was back.  Everyone who'd visited said he was on good form.  So it was a shock for my sister who lives in Northern Ireland when she was called by the hospital in the middle of the night and told to come right away. By the time she arrived he was dead - a heart attack.  Not wishing to call her me or my other sisters in England in the middle of the night, she shared the news first with the only sister who was awake on the other side of the world in New Zealand. When the phone rang here at 720 am I knew the news wasn't good. And now back in Chester two weeks later I'm still finding it hard to believe he isn't there on the other end of the phone asking for help with tricky crossword clues.

So all five of us sisters and our families travelled back to Ballyronan for the funeral,  assembling for a sad occasion this time after our last happy reunion there for Dad's 80th birthday.  In Northern Ireland funerals tend to be much bigger than those I've attended in England. Before the funeral there is also the wake where people from the local community come to pay their respects.  So Dad was brought home in his coffin on the Monday evening and we put him in the room which once was Ballyronan Post Office.  So many people came: aunts and uncle and cousins who moved furniture and bore gifts of food and extra kettles, since it is the tradition to provide tea and buns for those who visit.  And then other people from the village and the surrounding area:  those we knew well; old faces from our childhood and some we didn't know at all.  Older people and  younger; Catholic and Protestant; members of the Orange Lodge and a local SDLP politician, whose father was an old friend of Dad's.  For everyone loved Dad and he had time for everyone - the back door was always open and people would turn up in the yard to ask for a favour or just come in for a bit of craic.  Many of those who came had stories tell about Dad. We found some old scrapbooks Mummy had kept: pictures cut from the Mid Ulster Mail of them at Woods Bowling Club dinners and him with his prize-winning bullocks. We talked; we cried but at times we laughed too.  It did really feel like a celebration of his life.

As is the tradition the coffin was carried through the village on the day on the funeral, the local shop and post office closing as we passed as a mark of respect.  Two of his older grandsons, aged 18 and 21, helped carry the coffin, and we walked behind.  Kate's first funeral and now her last grandparent has gone.  Little Anna aged 4, the youngest grandchild from New Zealand, came too though she didn't understand what was happening.  She said as we walked, "What's in the box? It looks very heavy." She was right Dad was no lightweight, but still men were queuing up for a lift of the coffin, another way of showing respect.  Later, perhaps grasping what was happening, she said so simply what we were all thinking, "I don't want Granda to be dead.'

Later in the week we began the grim task of sorting the farmhouse.  Dad had lived there all his life and nothing has ever been thrown out.  There are teasets which they'd received as wedding presents; unused sets of cutlery; Sunday School prize winning books belonging to my aunt.  My wedding dress, Mum's wedding dress.  My sisters and I approached this task in different ways.  Right now I just want everything to stay as it is - for a while at least.  But some of the others wanted to get on with things and that's fine with me. Whatever happens we won't fall out about it - Dad wouldn't want that.

So I came back to Chester with just one thing I wanted.  On the wall when we were small was this scroll dedicated to the memory of James Ferguson, my grandfather's brother, who died aged 21 in the First World War. My father was christened James in memory of him.  It always fascinated me, even before I could read the words We also found the medal commemorating him in the china cabinet among the teasets and the Whimsie animal figures we collected as children. On Remembrance weekend it seemed fitting to remember this James Ferguson too.

The big house on the corner as you go into Ballyronan is empty now we've all gone back to our own homes. The stove in the kitchen, the heart of the house, is out.   We'll light it again when we return in the Christmas holidays.  But home will never feel like home again.

Birthday Celebrations in a Giraffe Onesie

My daughter, Kate, turned 14 this week. In addition to most of the contents of Boots, she requested one more sensible (and warm) present - an animal onesie from Primark.  I choose the giraffe, always my favourite animal from our visits to Chester Zoo when she was little.  Here she is blowing out her candles on Monday, posing with the usual teenage Facebook expression.  Last  night,  the celebrations continued with 10 of her school friends in a local Italian restaurant.

I can hardly believe she is 14, an age that I recall being very significant - a kind of limbo when you are no longer a child, but not an adult either.  It doesn't seem so very long since they were wheeling me back to the ward with her in my arms and asking me her name.  Kate, I said. Not Katie, too girly..  Chose the name because Shakespeare tended to use it for feisty, strong women.  She's on her way to living up to it.

Rainey Endowed School 300th anniversary celebration: '50 Shillings and a New Suit of Clothes'

I returned to Northern Ireland at the weekend to attend a concert at the Grand Opera House in Belfast which celebrated 300 years of the Rainey, the school which I attended in

Magherafelt.   My sister, other members of my extended family; and some old acquaintances from my time there in the 70's were singing in the old pupils' choir.

It was a wonderful occasion.  The show was produced and directed by former pupil Ashley Fulton, a very talented young man: he also wrote four original songs for the production and came up with idea which provided a kind of story framework for what otherwise would have been a random collection of songs.   Other talented ex-pupils returned to take part: actress Laura Piper read Heaney's 'Station Island '; accomplished musician Rhoda Barfoot played the violin and Ian McLernon, who has been in West End shows, performed several of the solos.

The title for the performance comes from the will of Hugh Rainey who founded the school back at the beginning of the 18th century.  He wanted a school to be built to educate eight boys from the local community who would otherwise have few opportunities.  Their education was to be Christian its ethos but not linked to any particular creed.  (This has continued until the present day - the Rainey was an integrated school even in the 70's - there were many Catholic boys in my year, though few girls as they went to the local convent school).  When the 8 boys had completed their time at the school they would be given 50 shillings and a new suit of clothes before they were sent out into the world.  Ashley Fulton had seen a copy of the will displayed in the school and it gave him the ideas for the production. 

The songs he wrote and those he selected to be performed by current and old pupils' choirs shared the theme of love of home along with the desire to move on and make the most of the opportunities education offers.  There were a range of old favourites: 'Danny Boy', 'Bridge over Troubled Waters',  'To Feel the Rhythm of Life', 'Time to say Goodbye'.   And then that rather sentimental song from  Mamma Mia, 'Slipping Through my Fingers'.   I wasn't so sure about the bit where current pupils in uniform sat on stage with suitcases gazing wistfully into the distance while the choir sang.    Presumably they were meant to represent the boys leaving with their 50 shillings and new suit.   However, they looked a little uncomfortable and I am sure were suppressing giggles.

I gatecrashed the cast after-party so I could catch up with a few people I had not seen since I left school 35 years ago.  A very strange experience.  Those, like my sister,who were able to take part in the performance really enjoyed it, returning to the Johnson Hall for Saturday rehearsals and renewing old friendships.   A wonderful experience for all who took part and for the appreciative audience.  And a fitting tribute to a great school.

Birthday Blues in Ballyronan

I've been in Northern Ireland this week visiting Dad.  Took the camera and snapped away as usual for the record.  And could now put together another 'happy' post with what I gathered.  But...
that wouldn't be a true reflection of my week because the reality was not that happy at all.

This week Dad had his 81st birthday.  A year ago on his 80th we had a big celebration.  All his 5 daughters and 11 grandchildren ages 3-20 gathered in Ballyronan, a rare occurence since we are scattered widely around Britain and beyond.  It was wonderful - the extended family got together in a local hotel.  A friend who was was in a band provided the entertainment.  Clever crafty sister created a cake reflecting Dad's love of crosswords and included all the grandchildren's names; I wrote a poem about his life; Kate and her cousins did a dance.  Unfortunately this year's birthday wasn't so happy.

Dad has always remained optimistic in the most difficult of situations. And there have been a few of these.  But this week he was as low as I have ever seen him.  His legs have let him down: one arthitic hip and an infection in the other leg have left him almost immobile, struggling to shuffle between the bedroom, bathroom and kitchen with the aid of a zimmer frame.  He's in a lot of pain with his leg. And he can't even do his crossword properly anymore as he has cataracts growing on his eyes so can't see the clues. He conceded defeat after a recent fall and the infection and has finally agreed to have some help beyond that provided by kind friends, neighbours and members of our extended family.  So carers now come and help him wash and dress each morning.

It breaks my heart to see him like this.  It seems no time since he was hoisting bales of straw for the cattle on his shoulder and whistling as he went about his work on the farm.  And barely a year ago if we arrived on a Sunday, he'd have cooked a full roast dinner.  And a trifle for pudding. 

The carers I saw last week were without exception kind and compassionate.  It's not always the same one but the lady I saw a few times was lovely - chatting away to him as she worked about her family as he told her about us.  Yet it's all so undignified.  She called him 'pet'.  He hates feeling this useless and is frustrated and unhappy about his situation.  He's hoping that the hip replacement that he's on the list for will improve his mobility.

It wasn't all bad.  He has a mobility scooter which helps him get out of the house.  So we went up and had a look at his garden which is tended by another cousin.  Leeks and beetroot doing well.  So were the scallions (or spring onions to you English people).  Plenty of tomatoes in the greenhouse, but none ripe yet, but he was cross as his lettuces had been eaten by rabbits.  And a blackcurrant bush heavily laden with ripe fruit, unlike my barren bush at home.  I picked some and made a pie.   And we took a trip to the marina, Dad, me, my sister and Kate.  We walked to the 'lighthouse' and through the woods.  He bought us Mr Whippy ice creams.

View of Ballyronan Marina from Dad's house

I'm not much use. I'm not comfortable doing the physical care and too far away to help with everyday stuff.  So I tried to help by cooking him proper meals with local new potatoes.  Put some in the freezer. For his birthday I made a rhubarb tart the way mummy used to do it.  Memories of better times.

My Rhubarb Tart

He's lucky I suppose to live in a community where people still look out for the elderly who live alone.  I suspect I won't be so lucky when it's my turn. Found myself checking out my pension this week after another birthday brings me closer to the age where I can claim it.  Like dad I'm wondering where the time's gone.