Cold Callers at Christmas

Cold callers, those strangers who turn up on the doorstep or on the phone offering their services or flogging their wares, aren't usually welcome here.  Part of my husband's job involves protecting vulnerable people from unscrupulous callers who con them out of money by fixing things which don't need repair or distract them and then steal their purses.  So he is always wary and often rude to any stranger who rings the doorbell.

So it was a good job I answered the door to the first cold callers we had last weekend, an elderly couple offering me a copy of Watchtower and drawing my attention to its message 'Do we Need a God?' I was polite; accepted their magazine but affected a busy, distracted manner to avoid engaging in further discussion. My faith in an eternal being, who could sort out the mess in this world and provide a happy afterlife for the chosen few, has long since evaporated, despite many years of Sunday school as a child.

Then on Sunday afternoon we had another caller.  A teenager on a bike carrying a green bucket.   Struggling a bit with his words, he offered a 'pay what you like' hand car wash. My first reaction was to send him packing: he looked a bit dodgy and might be checking to see if we were in before pinching something. But it was nearly dark and freezing; he had a nice smile and didn't look much older than my daughter. She was sitting in the warm on the other side of the glass watching 'Nativity' while simultaneously stalking her schoolmates on Facebook.  It was a real 'no room at the inn' moment.  So I got him a bucket of hot water and let him loose on my grubby car. Not much cash in the house: I'd spent it all on buying presents of chocolate from Thornton's for Kate's friends which they don't need or want much.  We managed to gather up £4.88, some of it in 5ps.  He was pathetically grateful.  And he'd removed a layer or two of grime from the car even if it wasn't exactly a professional job.

Am questioning my motivation for including this in my blog.  Am I trying to portray myself as some kind of Samaritan in a world full of greed?  No - I'm as selfish as the next person, walking past the Big Issue seller with only a glimmer of guilt on my way back from Thornton's to meet husband in Costa earlier that day.  But the whole Christmas greed thing does start to get to me at this time of year. The queue outside the Pandora shop on Sunday morning snaked right along the street. Past the doorways where it's not unusual to see a homeless person sheltering in the streets of this affluent town.  My first cold callers were right.  We do need a God. But where is he?

Christmas Pinks and Blues

Inspired by beautiful skies and glorious photographs taken by Mairead in her blog As I Roved Out,  I got the camera out early one morning this week.  Can't match the quality of her photography but thought I'd share these pictures.

Pink and blue is also the colour scheme for our tree this year though I'm not that fussy really and we add things that Kate made at primary school too.  And love my little flying goose which I get out every year.

Happy Christmas to you all.

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.

Blue skies in Barcelona

Half term and we escaped the autumn wind and rain for a couple of days, taking a short break in Barcelona. In summer, Spain is too hot for us Celtic types with our fair skin;  however autumn sun and temperatures of 22-25 degrees suited us fine.  So we enjoyed exploring La Rambla, the Old Town and the Port area. Didn't really do museums - teenager not keen - or see any of the Gaudi buildings.  But lots of eating tapas, exploring the markets and people-watching.  And a guitar music concert in a building which was decorated like a wedding cake.  Will let the pictures do the talking today.

The Square near our hotel: slightly dodgy area.  Husband lagging behind us with bad ankle was approached by lady offering him a good time!

Walked to the beach.   Teenager soaked her sore feet in the sea.

Colourful market stalls.  So many varieties of mushrooms.

The ornate ceiling of the concert hall.

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.