So what have we done wrong?

When a child misbehaves badly one form of punishment would be to deprive that child of a treasured possession or privilege.
Here, in the village, we are to have our Post Office taken away from us.
As a resident of only a decade I feel qualified to view the village and its residents from an outsider's point-of-view.
When the village church desperately required restoration, the villagers raised the funds and oversaw the restoration. When the village expressed its desire for a village sign the villagers raised the funds and oversaw the making and erecting of a top-quality village sign.
When there is bereavment we all give our support and when there is illness we are all there to help in whichever way possible.
We cannot be held accountable for Post Office Ltd's apparent lack of business acumen.
Our village Post Office is a treasured and integral paty of our rural way-of-life, to have it taken away from us makes me feel that we have done something terribly wrong but cannot, for the life of me, think of what that could possibly be.

Conkers v Bonkers!

Being of an impatient nature, when stuck with someone who is rabbiting-on and getting nowhere, I have for years developed the extremely bad habit of carving -up the flesh around my thumbnails using the index fingernail as a tool. This self-mutilation deters me from telling anyone to 'get on with it' or indeed screaming with frustration as some poor soul whines and whinges.

My impatience is directly inherited from my father who, when listening to someone, would rattle the coins in his pocket or drum the fingers of both hands on the arms of his chair (at least the latter was quieter!)

This Autumn has brought my cure. I have never resisted gathering conkers, - to open-up that green spiky case and extract its gloriously coloured fruit, individually designed and polished by its soft surroundings, - pure magic.

Groups of chestnuts are now strategically placed throughout the house, 'phone in one hand and a couple of conkers in the other, it doesn't seem to matter so much that I'm listening to a robot giving me instructions to press 1 to pay my account, press 2 to place an order....................

Whilst the supermarket cashier talks about absolutely nothing to the customer in front of me, there I stand, conkers in each pocket, pressing them against the palms of my hands, - no stress!

On the tree chestnuts are whacked as sticks are thrown to detach them, if they fall naturally onto a road they get runover and crushed and when collected as weapons for a championship they suffer the indignity of being skewered and threaded onto string, wielded against an opponent until one is smashed and capitulates, - but if they are gathered up by an impatient old lady they will spend their future being fondled and nurtured!

Spotted in the garden!

Just when we thought that the new fat-balls were failing to attract avian attention, I noticed the end of quite a large tail coming from behind and showing its underside. A little more came into view, - bright red, - then its owner obligingly moved to the front of the feeding station providing us with a priviledged view of a Great Spotted Woodpecker, a 1st for us in the garden.

The Blue Flower

A quarter of a century ago I was a bookdealer, ~ secondhand and antiquarian. I could not resist keeping some of my stock and one such book is "The Blue Flower" by Henry van Dyke (1852-1933) published in 1902.

I kept this First Edition for its beautiful cover, its delicate illustrations and its gilt-topped handcut pages, ~ a work of art.

For twenty-five years it sat unread until time permitted me to put that to rights. Fascinating, mystical short stories. However, when I came to turn page 203 it was uncut, ~ so it was not twenty-five but one hundred and five years that its words had waited to be read.

In the literary world the Blue Flower (Blaue Blume) was the symbol of Romanticism, ~ van Dyke followed in the footsteps of Novalis (Georg Friederich Frihen von Hardenberg 1772-1801) who, with Ludwig Tiech found the Romantic Movement. (Ludwig Tiech's sister Sophie married August Ferdinand BERNHARDI)

To strive for the infinite and unreachable is to be 'always looking for the Blue Flower'.

Opportunity Knocks!

"Every child should be given an equal opportunity"
Given? That would appear to be a little naive, ~ offered perhaps and if not used to great advantage it could then be abrogated.
Schoolchildren do not share equal attitudes, ~ some attend school with the desire to learn whilst others are there simply to 'mess about'.

PROFILE - Teannie Pirie

Born Christina, daughter of Catherine and John Pirie of Tweeddale Farm, Keithall, Aberdeenshire, on the 19th April 1871. Pictured here when a young teacher at Rathen School in the North East of Scotland c1897.

I think that she is simply beautiful, but then I guess I would, - she was my wonderful grandmother.

A Sign of the Times

The tombstone is dated 1845 and is

in memory of Elizabeth

her name written in fine copperplate

but shortened to Elizth

to save space and leave more room for

"wife of"

followed by the husband's name

carved in deep CAPITAL LETTERS.

Such a tiny instance encapsulating

a huge piece of social history.

Tombstone Territory

Researching our Family History we discovered that my husband's grandfather died in 1942 and was buried in a Devonshire churchyard. We made the trip to Devon to visit his grave. After a morning of searching we found nothing but neglect, - graves and their monuments lost beneath a jungle of unchecked growth.

In our own village most tombstones have been set against the churchyard's surrounding wall, - a directive from the H & S Dept no doubt! We decided to list them and draw a plan for any genealogists searching for their 'roots'. When we thought that we had finished we noticed dips in the ground, - grave-size!

Having started on this project, it is now a daily event, - up to the churchyard armed with edger, rake and broom. Removing years of turf and grass is rewarded by the the revelation of beautifully carved slate, individual works of art to which their engravers were justly proud to sign their names.

Village View

Almost a decade ago, on a sharp January morning, we came to the village looking for somewhere to live.

At the top of the hill we silently 'took-in' the panorama. Winding down the incline we rounded the last bend and the village was revealed; nestling there, not quite awake, exuding a contentment and an air of sanctuary. I recall saying to myself "Oh yes! Please let the house be OK".

Recently on TV we have been shown and invited to vote for Britain's Favourite View. We watched 'celebrities' climb mountains, slosh through bogs, run over fields and cross city bridges in their efforts to persuade the viewers that their particular choice should be everyone's favourite view.

We are still living in the house that turned-out to be OK on that January morning. We have been enveloped by the village and the warmth of its people. Not once have we rounded that last bend without my thinking "Yes! We're home".

That's my favourite view.

Fluttering by.......

Extract from this week's local newspaper "A butterfly walk to highlight the decline of their numbers in the region will take place on Sunday at.................".
My imagination went into overdrive as to how one would highlight the decline! In our garden, butterflies provide a fleeting moment of magic, - closed dark wings open up to reveal glorious colours and a mirrored design. We grow every plant to encourage their visits and then wait for a 'butterfly day' when peacocks, tortoiseshells, holly blues, commas and whites all dance on the breeze, - it is so easy to believe in fairies.

Mine Host!

Went to a 'thank-you' Tea Party a 'reward' for some contribution to the community. About twenty of us sat at tables and were plied with tea, coffee and cakes.

Nobody rose to 'thank' us and the hosts never moved from their table.

Being a good host is surely simply showing consideration for ones guests, - welcoming them and circulating among them. If I hadn't known the other guests at the table I had had to choose to sit at, I should have been sitting there like the lemon in my lemon curd tart!

After forty minutes, a sufficiently polite time to leave, I sought out the 'host' and in my best 'sugary' voice said "That was lovely, thank you so much". Walking home I muttered to myself all the way to the effect that I could give lessons on how to be a host or be considerate of others!

To Paradise.........and back

Whilst protagonists of TV travel/adventure programmes strive to travel further and be more adventurous, - our own 'door-step' or 'back-yard' should not be left untrodden.

Take my hand and I will lead to to Paradise, - and back.

There is a slight incline up Chapel Lane, past the shop/post office, to The Green. An 'In Memorium' seat allows us to sit and study the great Turkey Oak, a landmark for first-time visitors.

No traffic in sight, so cross the main road and into Church Lane. A year ago we would have been hailed from behind the first hedge, but Charlotte and Robert moved to Cornwall and the 'new' people have yet to 'surface'.

The church stands on an elevation, as churches do, - nearer to Heaven and visible to all. Its original congregation must have been super-fit or extra-devout to ascend the steep path to its door. The clock strikes the half-hour and its four faces watch us turn the corner. Alabaster effigies sleep in the cool of the Lady Chapel.

We will lean against the five-bar gate and gaze over the field. Fantasmas of the Knights Hospitaller can be imagined where once stood their Preceptory. Beyond is the bluebell wood where we have measured three Ancient (over three hundred years old) trees.

Further along the lane houses stand to the left and trees on the opposite side where squirrels bound from branch to branch. Birds, unlike Victorian children, and heard but nor seen. Butterflies flitter in the hedgrow.

"morning, lovely morning!" Two riders pass by on horseback, their steeds maintaining a steady 'clip clop' over their familiar route.

We'll call-in at Richenda's and she will share with us her passion of the garden. Then past Salex Cottage with its tiny Gothic windows and we rejoin the main road; before crossing we read the sign, proof of where we've been, - Paradise Lane.

Over the road, check that the sapling oak is thriving, planted and vicar-blessed to commemorate the 50th Anniversary of the Coronation of HM The Queen. Over the brook, looking for the kingfisher which is never there, past the school in its Summer-holiday silence and past the cemetary, - forever silent.

Decision time now, return up the hill and through Badgers' Walk or past the chapel? Past the chapel on the, more or less, flat. The 'chapel' is now a private dwelling. A dwindling congregation necessitated its closure and sale to which, ironically, crowds flocked. I'm not sure that I could live in an 'ex-House of God'. Even though deconsecrated , the spirits of those lustily singing Methodists must surely live-on within the red-bricked walls.

Whilst the valient and intrepid doggedly continue to surmount their obstacles to record their forays on film, we have quietly been to Paradise................and back.

Frog-blog!

And I always thought that frogs were 'cool customers'! But, as soon as the thermometer registers 21 degrees they are all pond-side basking in the sunshine, each one (and there are a dozen of them) sitting in the same spot they occupied last time. Immobile and unblinking they sit for hours with only a visible pulse beat as proof of life.

Trill of the day!

In a small hawthorn tree, a tiny bird systematically goes from flower to flower, its wings continuously flicking as though it were a humming bird, - but the yellow slash on its wings and its bright yellow crown proclaim it to be a Goldcrest.

In the news

Thursday - or Twopapersday as we call it! Not only the Telegraph today but also our local newspaper. It boasts 2" headlines proclaiming "WE'RE OFF TO No 10!" Having for the past 50 years or so unsuccessfully begged for our market town to be by-passed, the citizens can no longer look-on as it is choked to death with traffic.

A quick glance at the Letters Page, more by-pass opinions. On to the pictures, - schools breaking-up for the Summer holidays, teachers and dinner-ladies retiring and being sent home in stretch-limos. Smiling folks receiving awards/rewards for their various good works, - once charity is rewarded surely it is no longer charity?

The Employment Page usually provides some entertainment! A school advertising for a "Bridge Coordinator", - would that be to teach Engineering or a game or cards? Reading the smaller print and translating it from Jargon into Plain English, seems that the purpose of the job would be to get delinquents back into school.

Then come the Property Pages, - always a subject for village chat. "I see they're asking a fortune for that little place on the corner, - picked it up for a song only a few years ago, - greed, that's what it is! I'm glad we're not starting out, don't know how young people manage now-a-days." After a short pause there will surely follow "I wonder how much our place would fetch?"

On to the Telegraph, read the Court Circular, glance at the Obits, then launch my attack on the Sudoku, Codewords and Crosswords. If there's an article that interests me, it will get my attention, however I only read what I want to know and not what someone else thinks I should know

Passing By

Ruth and her mother-in-law walk by en route to catch the 9 o'clock bus. Each carries a large empty shopping bag. They are on their way to the market, - so it must be Wednesday!

The little bus fairly bats its way along the narrow country roads, cows stop, cud in mouth, to witness its passing. The vehicle weaves its way through the last village stopping for the last "good mornings" to board. The passengers are all known to one another, either coming from the same village or simply because they ride on the same bus at the same time on the same day every week. The chatter could be likened to a hen coop when its occupants have been disturbed!

12.05pm and this morning's two shoppers return, as they do every Wednesday. Walking a little slower than when they left, Ruth now carrying both bags bulging with fruit and vegetables, their weight almost skimming the path. Her arms appear to be longer than they did 3 hours ago!

In passing

Denis walks past on his way to collect his morning newspaper, his measured stride unvaried day to day. The time must be 9.20am. I note that he is wearing a jacket so the air will be chilly this morning. Village regularities can serve as time gauges and weather guides, momentarily making clocks and barometers redundant.

The children have already passed by on their way to school, perfectly illustrating Shakespeare's "whining schoolboy, with his shining morning face, creeping like snail unwillingly to school". Today's children are also snail-like in appearance with huge bags on their backs, they bend forwards as if against a storm. The bags are packed full of their school belongings with which they traipse about the building throughout the day, like nomads wandering from one classroom to the next. Forty-minute lessons are greatly reduced in time "it's such a big place, takes so long to find the classroom, then the teacher spends at least ten minutes vainly trying to get order among the pupils, - teaches us something for about fifteen minutes and then it's time for us to pack our bags and go in search of the next room".

Now listen here, - and hear!

"Talk is good for you" so they say, - especially if they're selling mobile 'phones, - and some people like to do themselves a lot of good! Yap, yap, yap, - does anyone ever spare a thought for those poor souls who have to listen to them?

Thoughts for Tomorrow

When evening comes I'm quite relieved to draw the curtains, shut out the world and retreat. Come the morning I am equally happy to open the curtains, letting-in a new day, - another chance at life, - another opportunity to make something good happen.