Always the same

I was out with eight friends yesterday for lunch, celebrating my birthday two weeks early. There's a little artisan cafe near me, which also doubles as a florist and we often meet there to celebrate someone's birthday. I met most of the girls when Kay was a toddler and we used the same kindergarten. We only meet about six times a year when it is close to one or two of us having birthdays.  I call the group The Birthday Girls when I note the date in my diary. My birthday is towards the end of November, so it often doubles up as an excuse for us to exchange Christmas cards. I therefore have already received the first eight of my Christmas cards for this year, together with my birthday cards.

There's one thing on the menu I love having when I am there and always order it each time - crispy bacon, brie and cranberry toasted sandwich. Yesterday the girls were laughing that yet again I had ordered it. The melted brie just drips down the side of the toast and the crunchy bacon and sweet cranberry just completes the delight.  There are so many other yummy things to choose from including some amazing gooey gateaux, which I also order as a dessert.  What is your favourite when you eat out?

My grandfather

The photo above is of my maternal grandfather William. He was born on 19 April 1895 in East London to a relatively poor working class family and was the eldest of ten siblings. I am not certain when he left school but it would have been in early teenage and he got a job at a bank  (Comptoir National d'Escomte de Paris) in the City of London as a junior working his way up. In 1914, as a 19-year-old, he was called up to the Royal Horse Artillery in the First World War. The photo is of him in his uniform.

As a child, I used to hear him speak of Mons, Ypres, the Somme and Passchandaele, but it meant very little to me until I grew older. All I know is he fought in all those battles and must have seen many horrific things, but rarely spoke about the detail. He preferred to practice his French on me, when I started learning it at school, saying that he had learned it as he passed through Belgian villages asking for food.

In the Battle of Passchendaele in 1917, he was badly wounded. He had a leg wound and lost an eye. He used to speak more of his concern for the gun carriage horse Smiler who was killed by the blast alongside him. He was moved back to England and into a military hospital until he recovered. He had a glass eye - his original one apparently donated to a museum in Northampton (so I am told). I used to have terrible trouble as a child knowing which eye to look him in, when I spoke to him, as it didn't occur to me that the glass eye was the one that didn't move. 

After the war, he returned to the bank in London to take up duties there again. However, he had to add up long columns of figures (no calculators in those days) and the strain on his good eye made it hard. One day, walking across London Bridge, a piece of grit flew into his good eye and he got a very bad eye infection which made things a thousand times worse. In the end the bank had to dismiss him, as he could no longer do the job. It was the early 1920s and the economy was not great. He moved his wife and small child (my mother) to Essex, where he set up a small-holding with goats and chickens, hoping to sell the eggs for a living, but times were hard and they often had no money coming in at all. Eventually he worked in his younger brother's electrical firm earning a pittance as a storeman. I recall he used to get very bad headaches as the shrapnel moved around his body and he was as thin as a rake. He never earned enough to afford his own home, so rented until the day he died in 1977 aged 82.

I always think of him on Remembrance Day and the sacrifices he and so many like him made. But for them, we would not be living the life we live now. 

Lowest of the low

I regularly help out at the local foodbank. It opens three times a week and  we see over 400 families a week. Fridays (when I volunteer) are probably our busiest day of all as not only do we hand out food, but also provide a 2-course sit-down meal. We have advisers  who can help with benefits or housing problems, counsellors for issues with mental health and the occasional visit of a dentist or optician to check teeth and eyes for those who cant afford the normal NHS routes.  There's also a cafe to provide hot drinks and cake on all three sessions.

I get involved with preparing the bags of food to hand out to the guests and actually handing them out to the long queue that forms. People start arriving an hour before the foodbank opens in order to get at the front of the queue and get the best pick of fruit and veg on offer. Since Covid and the general economic slump, the number of guests has swelled alarmingly, whereas the number of donations has relatively dwindled as donors pull their own belts in. We have a shipping container in the ground of the church which once was full from floor to ceiling with crates of donations, but that dwindled to a very sad few crates in no time. 

Just over a year ago, it was decided to open a charity shop in the local high street, all profit going to the foodbank to buy in bulk things like pasta, toilet roll, tins of soup and beans, shampoo, nappies and anything else we were low on. The shop has been a godsend and I help out with that too once a week. Sometimes I sort donated clothes, books and toys, price them up and put them out in the shop. Sometimes I help on the till. A paid manageress and deputy manageress divide the shifts between them and, apart from electricity and rent, all profits are ploughed back into providing food for the foodbank. We don't put any old rubbish in the shop and pride ourselves on being the sort of shop people love to spend time in as they know they will find quality items in there. Anything past its best (full of holes, snags or stains) still makes money as they are bought by a ragman for so much a kilo. Anything in between -that is too good for the ragman but not good enough for the shop - goes into a pile which is given to the foodbank itself for guests to rummage through for free. A lot of local people use the foodbank shop as they say it represents good quality compared to other charity shops in the neighbourhood.

Unfortunately, there are some unsavoury characters who think it is OK to shoplift. We have installed CCTV cameras to spot the culprits, although we have been told not to get involved in an argument in case these people carry knives or get violent.  We just make sure, if we see them again, we ask them to leave and say why. There are also some people going round deliberately getting rid of fake £20 notes too. We know how to spot the fake notes now, so again, we have to keep our eyes peeled. I really do despair of the human race sometimes. They are the lowest of the low to shoplift from/or con a shop trying to buy food for a foodbank. 

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness

Many of us will already know this poem TO AUTUMN by John Keats. It is a celebration of autumn when the mists descend and the land is swelling with over-ripe fruit, winding down to winter. He finds pleasure in almost everything he sees or hears. For me, it is a season I hate. I do not welcome the long, dark, cold evenings when I cannot get out into the garden and feel less like going out in the car in the dark to get to choir rehearsals. I don't enjoy seeing leafless trees or being battered by the strong winds. The clocks went back an hour yesterday. It will now be dark at 5 in the afternoon. and my body clock will be all over the place for days to come.  "Roll on Spring" is all I can say. But John Keats will no doubt disagree.

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
  Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
  With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,
  And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
     To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
  With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
    For Summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
  Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
  Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,
  Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
     Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers;
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
  Steady thy laden head across a brook;
  Or by a cider-press, with patient look,
     Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
  Think not of them, thou hast thy music too –
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
  And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
  Among the river sallows, borne aloft
     Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
  Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
  The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;

    And gathering swallows twitter in the skies. 

What's in a name?

For the last 33 years, my daughter has shared my married surname. Four months ago she married. She's keeping her maiden surname for work purposes, as all her medical certificates and achievements (such as papers written and published) are in her maiden name and it is too complicated to change. But otherwise she has assumed her husband's surname for all other purposes. Seeing her now referred to as the new Mrs  ******** still hits me as very strange. I just can't get used to it. I suppose my parents went through the same emotions when I married and changed my surname. Of course it is no longer a requirement that women change their surname on marriage anyway, or they adopt double-barrelled names to incorporate both. If they have children then the double-barrelled names would become quadruple-barrelled and so on. That would make form-filling a nightmare as there'd never be enough space. Probably changing one's surname on marriage is the most straightforward, but it's still taking me a while to adjust to hers.

PORTSMOUTH (PART 3)

At the end of our first full day, we took a harbour tour (all included in the Ultimate Explorer price). As I've mentioned before, it is well worth getting the Ultimate Explorer ticket, because, for a  few pounds more, you can visit the dockyard as many times as you want over a year as opposed to just a day ticket. For us, as we were in Portsmouth for three days, it meant we could go every day and not pay an extra penny. And there was still loads to see when we left, so another visit sometime is tempting. Here is a map of the Dockyard to give you an idea of how much there is to see.

At the time of our tour, there were two massive aircraft carriers in dock for maintenance. They are the only two we currently use, being HMS Queen Elizabeth and HMS Prince of Wales. They were enormous and towered above the sea, the bows curled upwards to facilitate the take-off of planes on a short runway.

Other naval ships vied for attention  and even a humungous cruise ship (how on earth does that thing float?)

The following day we returned to look at another historic ship, The HMS Warrior, launched in 1860. Again, it was incredible to see how shipbuilding had progressed in the century since HMS Victory. The ship seemed wider, the ceilings higher and somehow with more comfortable conditions, although probably not when all 800 men were on board! The dockyard staff on board, whom we could approach to ask questions, were actors dressed in Victorian sailors' costumes and played their part well. At one stage, we were in the officers' dining cabin and I spied two paintings on the wall. One was of Victoria and I assumed the other was of Albert. My friend and I were musing over this when one of the officers approached us and confirmed that it was indeed Albert. "He died two years ago", the man said. Other crew members addressed us both as "M'am". It  was a lovely touch and got us into the spirit of the time. Here are some pictures taken of HMS Warrior (the first one is the first thing you see as you step outside Portsmouth Harbour train station!)

Officer's cabin

Officers' dining room

I thoroughly enjoyed my visit to Portsmouth Historic Dockyard and can recommend it. Sadly we didn't have time to see everything in three days, but we still have the option to return within the year. Watch this space!! Why don't you give it a try too? I can recommend the Premier Inn Hotel which is literally a two-minute walk from the Dockyard.  It is also a ten-minute walk to Gunwharf Quays - a modern harbour-front shopping mall with loads of pubs and restaurants to eat out at in the evenings, as well as the famous Spinnaker tower.

I apologise that the photos are not great - the weather, as is always my luck was not great. Thunder and lightning were forecast most days but thankfully it did not rain for long. so we were still able to get about and cover most things we wanted to do.

PORTSMOUTH (PART 2)

The following day, we returned to the Historic Dockyard, intending to get everything done in a day, but there is just so much to see, it is impossible to do in a day. In fact, if I'm honest, you probably need a week.

We started off with the Mary Rose exhibition and that in itself is worth at least 3 hours. Henry VIII's flag ship, The Mary Rose, sank in 1545 fighting off the French who had reached as far as the Isle of Wight with their fleet. Henry VIII later tried to have it pulled up with ropes attached to the mast, but the mast snapped and it lay at the bottom of the sea for many centuries, despite attempts in 1836, when it was discovered by fisherman and later professional divers who also failed to bring it to the surface. It was rediscovered in 1971 and this time a project to bring it to the surface was successful in 1982. Since then a museum has been built around it and attempts to recover more of the ship continue. You can read more about it here.

Half of the ship is beautifully restored behind glass to preserve the temperature and right humidity for the timbers. Hundreds of artefacts found on board have given great insight into various aspects of Tudor life and even the nationalities and medical conditions of those found on board, including a little dog. Video projections onto the ship show life on board ship. It was really interesting.  The climax of our tour, ended in a realistic theatre experience with 3D glasses to experience the dive down to the bottom of the seabed, when they found it in the 1970s. You got the sensation of diving yourself, the wind on your face as you resurfaced. It was truly amazing. Here again are some pictures of that morning. Incidentally, the ship was named after Henry's sister Mary and the Tudor emblem of a rose.

cross-section of the decks which would have housed 500 men

Figurehead of the Mary Rose

The afternoon of that day was spent going on board HMS Victory, Nelson's flagship at the Battle of Trafalgar, where he lost his life in 1805. It was another fascinating experience to see how shipbuilding had advanced in the centuries between Mary Rose and Victory. The ship seemed more spacious, luxurious even for the officers such as Captain Hardy and Admiral Nelson. Most men slept in hammocks strung from beams, whereas Nelson had a proper bed which was easier for him to get in and out of, as he only had one arm by then. The decks were wider and longer, giving the impression of more space, although with 800 men on board it was probably unbearably overcrowded with noisy smoky cannons being fired at the enemy.  Here are some pictures of HMS Victory.

The officers' 'luxury' quarters

below deck

Nelson's quarters

Nelson's bed

There was still some time left in the day to do a harbour tour, but, so as not to overwhelm you with photos, I'll write more about that another time, together with a visit to HMS Warrior, a Victorian naval ship. I did say there was so much to see and how lucky we were to get a ticket that would enable us to visit the dockyard as many times as we wanted (for a whole year) and not be constricted to just one day.

PORTSMOUTH (PART 1)

I've not long returned from what will probably be my last trip away from home this year. My old friend from uni days (we've known one another 55 years this month) offered to go away on holiday with me for a few days. She had suggested Portsmouth as a possible destination and, as I have never been there, I decided "why not?", although I must confess I did not really think there would be much to see. How wrong was I?

We booked into a hotel right down by the harbour and my train arrived at Portsmouth Harbour station, despite engineering works on the outward journey on a Sunday which involved a bus service between Arundel and Barnham. The train station was a few minutes' walk to our hotel and a few minutes' walk to the Historic Dockyard. My friend had arrived by car and we met up in the hotel foyer at 2pm.

Now, I don't know if any of you know Portsmouth well, but the Historic Dockyard is a must to see.  My friend had researched it well and had discovered, if we booked online and bought Ultimate Explorer tickets, which only cost a few pounds more than the day ticket, we could visit the dockyard for a whole year. It was certainly a wise move as a day is not enough to see everything there is to see. Having arrived in Portsmouth at 2pm, we immediately strolled to the dockyard at 3, only to discover that one of the things I wanted to see (a submarine) was not open on Mondays or Tuesdays. As I was returning home on Wednesday, I only had that day to see it. So I caught the 15.30 free crossing over to Gosport where the submarine is docked and was the last on board for that afternoon.

I wanted to get a feel for what it is like to be on board a submarine and it was a wonderful experience. I got to chat with one of the guides all to myself. He told me had worked on the Polaris submarines in his youth. There were normally 65 people on board and I tried to imagine how cramped and claustrophobic it must feel particularly when submerged under water. Here are a few pictures of it.

The following day, it took us all day to look around the Mary Rose exhibition and HMS Victory. More about that next week. There are so many photos to put on one post and I was absolutely blown away by what there was to see. If you have never been, I can thoroughly recommend Portsmouth's Historic Dockyard, but don't imagine you can see it all in a day - you need at least two days if not more to see a fraction of it. I'll get together more photos for my next post.

Holidays

I may have mentioned once or a million times before, that, being a widow with no close family whatsoever (siblings or cousins), holidays are now a thing of the past for me. I cannot really expect my loved-up daughter, Kay, and her husband, Darcy, to accompany me while I play gooseberry, so have accepted that, unless I go away on my own anywhere, I shall never go anywhere abroad any more. I don't have the courage to go on singles holidays, although various people have advised me to and said they are just fine. I would find eating out on my own in restaurants stressful and attract sympathy and curiosity from every corner, which I would hate. I have thought about doing trips to UK cities on my own for a few nights here or  there. Wandering around cities on my own would present no problems - after all I live in one of the biggest in the world and can negotiate myself round that - and snacking at cafes and room service would probably deal with the eating alone problem. So that is the way forward for me.

I have been very much absent from blogging myself in the last month mainly because, now that Kay's wedding is over, I have been able to turn my thoughts to escaping for mini breaks. First I went down to Salisbury for the day to visit an old school friend as well as the widowed husband of another schoolfriend. It was nice to travel on the train and see something different, as well as chat with old friends. Then over the August Bank Holiday weekend, I went up to the Midlands to visit my sister-in-law Jill, Greg's sister. She has been going through a very tough time as her partner has dementia and has gone into a care home. He was diagnosed as "end-of-life" a month ago, but has miraculously bounced back, but still causing worry as he seems to like standing on chairs near windows to get at imaginary things on the ceiling! It was lovely to stay with her and help her with household chores and the garden. Our drives through the countryside to get to the care home were lovely and I think Jill appreciated chatting to someone who does not have dementia! Finally last week, I went down to Brighton for the weekend to visit friends there. I had some spare time on the Sunday before I got my train back home, so went along to Brighton Pavilion. I had been there before as a child, but remembered little so wanted to make an effort to go now. I was not disappointed.

It was the plaything of George IV who wanted to enjoy the Brighton sea air and invite guests down there to relax and be frivolous. He was obsessed with the Orient, so the design and interior decoration is very heavily influenced by China with original hand-painted Chinese wallpaper; Chinese lamps and lanterns; dragons everywhere and Chinese furniture. The Pavilion was later used by William IV and Victoria, before being sold to  the town of Brighton in 1850. Here are some pictures of my memorable visit.