Modern slavery

On Saturday night, a blonde woman was sitting in a darkened kitchen, forced to work by candle light.

In front of her was a huge bucket of muddy windfall apples. 

She had been asked to peel, core and slice them.

She was many miles from her home, and she was sniffling.

So where was this sad scene?

I am sorry to say, it happened in our kitchen.

Charlotte was visiting from Glasgow – she was in the South East to give a talk on Martin Luther.

At our house, that Saturday, all the lights went out.  Peering through the window at the entire street in darkness, we deduced a power cut.

We lit the candles in the warm kitchen and began to cut up the cooking apples which Chris and Christine had so generously given us. 

Charlotte came and joined us. 

Unfortunately, the eighties music we were playing gave her a head-ache.

Plus I had forgotten she was allergic to raw apples.

And there were an awful lot of apples.

All I can say, Charlotte, is sorry.  

But on the bright side, when you next campaign or speak on social justice you will have extra knowledge of how modern slavery can exist even in seemingly respectable homes.

University Reunion

As we drove up the A1 for the reunion, I said to Nigel,

“I can’t believe that all that time, next to our hall of residence, there was that great big orchard and we never scrumped the apples.”

“I suppose we were too busy with our friends.  Well, the apples should be ripe now.  And there are carrier bags in the boot.”

“We’ll get some after the reunion.”

We had a companionable dinner with old friends.  The next morning we attended chapel and then over breakfast, Rosie suggested we collect the key and climb the stairs to the tower. 

I have thirty-three year old photos of a whole gang of us standing up there in front of the low parapet, arms round each other, our hair blowing in the strong wind. But nowadays only four of us were allowed up at a time and a metal bannister stopped us from accidentally toppling over the edge.

When we looked out over the view, there were more changes.  Beneath us our redbrick college still glowed and its grounds stretched out green.  But beyond, in nearly every direction, new buildings were going up, including a whole new village called Eddington.  I felt like a creature from a bygone era.

Afterwards, amid embraces and farewells, we went back to the car park where there had once been a sheep field, and drove away.

“Darn it,” I said, “I forgot to pick any apples.”

“Well.  Clearly then, some things never change.”

Postscript:

I reconnected with Andrea Skevington who also has a blog. Her amazing poem about spiders has resonated with me in the days since.  You can find it here:

https://andreaskevington.com/2017/09/21/spiders/

Then

Now - photo by Rosie

Now - Photo by Rosie