Category Archives: Life

Shrinking

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I was small and the world was big.

 

One morning recently I awoke early after a restless night of feeling hungry and shrinking. Yes shrinking! I was about half way through the “Catherine’s  Cabbage Soup Diet” and I could feel changes (even if nobody else could see them). So I was awake and the first thing that came into my mind made me laugh…

 

Strangely, I was remembering back to a time when I really was small, three years old I guess, and Henry was a baby in the pram; my sister Mary must have just started school because she wasn’t with us as we were walking home down Molle Road. Now I happened to be an excruciatingly shy little girl who wouldn’t speak to strangers; I’d run away or hide, often under Mum’s skirts if there was nowhere else to hide. However, on this occasion I didn’t run away when we met a group of ladies coming out of Mrs Cottrell’s place… and one of them had a pram.

 

I didn’t speak of course but I stood by the pram, just as Mum did, and looked inside at the new baby. Young as I was, I knew what a beautiful baby looked like – my baby brother Henry was soft, round and bonny – so I hadn’t been prepared for the sight of the alien little creature in the pram. The baby was bald and pale with a face and skin so thin that all his veins showed through as blue as his sad watery eyes.

 

“Mum,” I whispered as I tugged on my mother’s gathered skirt to get her attention,”Isn’t that a funny looking baby?”

 

My  mother wouldn’t answer so I tugged again.

 

“Mum,” I whispered slightly louder. “Isn’t that a funny looking baby?”

 

My mother reached down and pushed my hand from her skirt but said nothing. I couldn’t understand why she didn’t seem to hear me.

 

“Mummy!” I shouted whilst pulling at her dress. “Don’t you think it’s a funny looking baby?”

 

Silence. Oh dear! Everybody looked at me. Mum squirmed and I realised I had said the wrong thing. I was too young to make amends so I did the next best thing and disappeared inside Mum’s voluminous gathered skirt where no-one could see me. I knew my mother’s legs quite well in those days… when I small.

 

Nowadays the world doesn’t seem nearly so big and, after a week on “Catherine’s Cabbage Soup Diet”, neither am I. I’ve lost seven pounds. The tricky thing will be to keep it off, especially as we’re on holiday in Spain at this very moment. Actually, I’m hoping to shrink a bit more.‍

 

 

 

How is Noel?

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“Have you seen Noel recently?” I asked my mother, who was sitting in the back of our car.

Long ago, when I was single and lived at the gallery, Noel was my neighbour; and when I left, and Mum bought the property, he became my mum’s neighbour for a couple of years until he moved into another house that had been left to him by a dear friend. At the time of our friendship Noel had been retired early from his teaching post in Exeter.

He was a clever, witty and good-looking man of around sixty, and he had a soft spot for me. We shared a love of art and books. He had a vast library and helped me with research for my Art History course (well before I had a computer). We went together to art galleries and yacht clubs. Many was the occasion I had dinner with Noel and his bachelor friends, Frank and Walter – both old enough to be my grandfathers (and then some!). He had urged me to go to the town of Bath (Somerset) with him. I didn’t go.

 

“No, I haven’t seen Noel for years,” answered my mum.

“Nor me,” said Chris, “I used to see him around the town… but not for ages. Of course, he never acknowledged me. He just couldn’t accept me. It’s a shame because I would have enjoyed his company – an interesting man.”

“I wonder if he’s alright,” I said, not expecting an answer.

“He was very fond of you – wasn’t he?” Mum observed.

“Yes, and I of him but he was too old for me…”

 

That conversation took place last Sunday, just three days ago.

Yesterday evening Chris and I were driving home after visiting a friend in the Royal Devon and Exeter hospital, and we were discussing food – we were hungry. The car rounded the corner at Cockwood Harbour (one of our favourite places) and we noticed with astonishment that the harbour was full almost to bursting with the high tide.

“We could scrap the idea of fish and chips… and have a bowl of chips at the Anchor?” I suggested.

Chris agreed and took a side road which brought us back to Cockwood. We parked and walked around the harbour – the light is beautiful on summer evenings – and the reflections on the water were wonderful last night. It was too cold to sit outside and eat so we decided to go home for beans on toast instead. I continued to take photos as we dawdled back to our starting place. A man, standing alone by the harbour wall, had his phone camera out also.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” he began with a broad smile. “I love it here!”

“So do we!” I enthused.

And that was beginning of a long conversation. Earlier, the jolly stranger with the nice face and smile had been feeling unhappy and decided to lift his mood by going to the harbour and having a beer at “The Anchor”. It transpired that Alex came originally from Norfolk but, quite by accident, one and a half years ago he fell in love with a house he saw for sale in Dawlish and he bought it, although it is his second home. It is a large house with a wonderful garden… along West Cliff Road… The house belonged to Noel, and before that, Walter.

How is Noel?

The new owner didn’t know the circumstances, only that Noel was revered and missed by all his neighbours. To me, Noel will be forever charming, witty, generous and gentlemanly… in loving memory.

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Lavender Hill

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I didn’t know there was a song called “Lavender Hill” by the Kinks – it was a bit before my time (even if I was alive) – and actually, I was thinking there was a song called “Lavender Fields Forever” by The Beatles… but, of course, it was “Strawberry Fields Forever”! Nevertheless, the inspiration for such a title to this blog post comes not from any song but from a real lavender field at the top of a hillside on Rosie’s farm.

Zumba class had been cancelled and Rosie and I decided to take a different form of exercise. We walked the dogs up the field, zig-zagging our way in order to pull out the yellow ragwort flowers (which are poisonous to some animals), to the top and the French lavender. The sky was overcast but the air was mild and the colours rich; and the sun broke through intermittently, and for a time it was “the only place” we wanted to be… “Lavender memories”.

I found also this pretty piano piece called “Lavender Hill” by Brian Crain. Chris says it is akin to the works of Debussy and Eunardi – what Chris would call “impressionistic” music.

  50+VIDEOS PLAY ALLMix – Lavender Hill – Brian CrainYouTube

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The Kinks- Lavender Hill – YouTube

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KrEzi28yga0

Lavender Hill

I want to walk eternity,
In through the land of make believe.
And watch the clouds roll over me,
And let the sun shine down on me.
The only place that I want to be,
Lavender Hill for me.
Wish I could live on sugar and milk,
Then I could live on Lavender Hill.
Then I could raise my head to the sky,
And let the sun saturate me with love.
I want to walk you up Lavender Hill,
Everybody loves Lavender Hill.
Even the bird that sits in the tree,
Seems to sing sweet melodies.
Even the breeze is whispering,
Lavender Hill for me.
While people eat their biscuits with tea,
They dream of daffodils that sway in the breeze.
And every Sunday afternoon,
Tidy ladies shine their shoes.
And every little lady dreams,
Lavender memories.
Lavender Hill for me.
Lavender Hill for me.
I want to walk you up Lavender Hill.
I want to walk you up Lavender Hill.

Songwriters
DAVIES, RAY

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Read more: Kinks – Lavender Hill Lyrics | MetroLyrics

Brown Water

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Things can’t always go smoothly – can they? There has to be a balance between good and bad, light and shade – yin and yang. Without contrast life would be dull and flat, happiness would have no reference point, likewise the opposite; we’d all be like dummies enduring the sameness of somebody’s version of utopia. Would we even remember anything?

Yesterday was a day to remember that I’d really rather forget. For the most-part it was a yin, dark trough of a wave, sort of day. I had struggled for hours, unsuccessfully trying to get my super duper art printer to recognise instructions from my computer; and I was deep in frustration and bad temper when Chris came, ashen-faced, into my studio.

“What’s the matter?” I asked.

“I don’t know whether or not I should tell you,” he said, “but someone has been run down and cut in half outside.”

“On the pavement?” I queried, unable to grasp how such a thing could happen.

“No, on the other side – on the railway line,” answered Chris solemnly, “the police are there. Don’t look.”

And I didn’t look but I was haunted by the horror in my imagination. I was angry at Chris for looking and angry at the person who threw his or her life away on a yin day and, in so doing, also damaged the train-driver and policemen and family and friends… and the people walking along the seawall and the folk who happen to live in the houses above the railway line. Even so, I worked until late, until the printer responded and I had several fine prints to show for the miserable day. Neither Chris nor I could eat our fish fingers at dinnertime and I dared not step too close to the balustrade on our balcony whilst I watered the plants in the evening…

Then, before bedtime, when I went into the bathroom I saw that the water in the pan was brown, also the water running from the taps in the sink.

“Don’t worry,” said Chris, “it’s just the mains supply. I expect it will be clear in the morning.”

The brown water cleared at around eleven o’clock this morning, at around the same time that the sun came out and cheered the flowers and the lonely table and chairs on our terrace. We’re not expecting anything particularly earth-shattering to happen today. Uneventful would be good. I’d be happy just to finish the task of printing and framing in readiness for Mamhead village fete on Sunday.