Sharing our nest

 

Nigel and I work from home in different rooms.  He is at the back of the house, I the front.  Both of us have been suffering from persistent tapping at the window.  Tiny, hormonally crazed blue tits have been defending their territories against their own reflections.  They have been showing an interest in the nesting boxes fastened in the sheltered nooks of our walls.

On the gable end of our house, in the dove cote, one dove had been sitting on an egg for what seemed like forever and a day.  We had assumed the egg was addled and would never hatch, but she had faith and continued to brood the egg.  Recently, her patience was rewarded by a magnificent young squab.

I would call her ‘plucky’ if ‘plucky’ did not seem rather an insensitive word to apply to a bird.

The only nest we don’t like to see is the magpie nest in a tree which borders our property – the parents rob the nests of songbirds to feed their young.  However, this year, a crow with a single white feather in its tail has been bullying the magpies and they appear to have abandoned their nest. 

Amid all the home-building around us, we have thought about sharing our own nest.  Several weeks ago, we signed up to the Homes for Ukraine scheme and are waiting now to see if our guests are granted visas.  The process seems to be taking forever and a day, but we must keep hoping, just like our plucky dove.

Fit for foraging

Growing up in Cornwall, my parents didn’t like my foraging habits. 

Entranced by Richard Mabey’s ‘Food for free’ I would gather wild hazelnuts, chestnuts and blackberries.

However, Mum and Dad drew the line at leaves.  When I plucked sorrel from the hedgerow they would grow concerned I might make a mistake and poison myself.

This Easter Nigel and I rented a house in Falmouth and stayed there with Pascoe, Perran and Carenza and friends Jamie and Hannah.  We visited my parents, but they no longer have a say in what I pick and eat.

There is no more fragrant time in the Cornish hedgerows than April, and all of it was available to us to gather.  Each day, we came back with packets of greenery in our rucksacks.  Three-cornered leeks flavoured stews, wild garlic pesto (made by my old friend Jennie) made pasta delicious.  Blossoming alexanders provided flowers which we fried in tempura batter and leaves which I steamed for greens.  Wild sorrel and fennel added savour to salads.

And at the end of all this foraging and green eating, I was suffering from the runs… and completely unable to pinpoint exactly which herbs had given me them. 

So perhaps Mum and Dad were right after all.

An opportunity to stop suffering

 

If someone offered you the chance to do something now to stop the war in Ukraine, would you say yes? If by your actions you could help stop the suffering of millions, would you?

Unfortunately, the war in Ukraine has already started, so you are not being offered that chance. However it is still possible to curb climate catastrophe.  This month's IPCC report has announced that through drought, rising sea levels, wildfires and massive storms, many millions of people across the world will suffer famine and homelessness. Widespread wars will ensue as countries compete for resources.  You are being offered the chance to do what you can to limit climate catastrophe.

Gutteres, secretary general of the UN has said in the last week, “Climate activists are sometimes depicted as dangerous radicals. But the truly dangerous radicals are the countries increasing the production of fossil fuels. Investing in new fossil fuel infrastructure is moral and economic madness.”

Have a chat with your conscience and join Extinction Rebellion this week in London as they show the Government how very much this issue matters to us.

XR - rebel now - details

Can it be right to disrupt people going about their everyday work?

The oil companies and the banks who finance them are keen for us to go on burning fossil fuels so they can continue to screw the last few billion dollars out of a dying planet. The last thing they want is for people to look up from their daily routine.

However, the argument of Extinction rebellion is that the small amounts of disruption they are causing now are nothing compared to what is very soon to hit us as a result of climate catastrophe.  Their purpose is to waken people to the threat of much greater disruption in the future.

Photo CFH - shows Claire and Rich with Claire's amazing banner

Lost time, Spring time, Mother’s Time

On Mother’s Day, we don’t go to church.  Instead, I have decreed that my children spend the whole day worshipping me, their mother.

Sissinghurst is somewhere I have had in my sights for a long time.  I remember my friend Kathryn coming back from there, beaming and full of praise for the delightful gardens, designed by Vita Sackville-West.  I too wanted to glow with pleasure after a perfect day out.

But it is quite a long drive so we have never been.

However, as Mummyzilla, I put my foot down.

Perran and Carenza obeyed the three-line whip and arrived the night before so that we could make an early start.

We had reckoned without the clocks jumping forward.

And without that wrong turn we took when the conversation in the car got interesting.

I was beginning to fear that when/if we finally got to Sissinghurst, there would not be enough left of the day for me to achieve my full glow.

However, when we arrived, the misty lawns were swathed in daffodils, snakeshead fritillaries, scylla, grape hyacinth and primrose in all their pastel varieties.  Each border put forth its own cornucopia of spring blossoms and birds sang in the trees. Water features bubbled quietly.

The effort had been worthwhile.  We may have lost time, but somehow, in the end we had arrived at the very heart of spring time.

Power Cut

Due to the climate crisis, we’ve been told to expect the break down of systems so I’ve given a lot of thought to what this might mean and how to prepare.

When the St Albans area suffered a power cut the other evening we looked out our window and wondered what was going on.

But I was ready with camping cookers, candles, hot water bottles and even water purification tablets, in case the pumping stations were affected and we needed to resort to our water butts.

The other essential thing you need in order to survive in a crisis is a sense of community, so I grabbed a torch and knocked on the doors of older neighbours.  Having lived through harder times, they already had emergency stocks of candles.

Before I had even knocked on the last door, the lights stuttered back on, however, and the emergency was over.  I snatched back my camping cooker and went home.

We are still not sure what caused the power outage.  But I think it was just a little reminder that things will not always run smoothly as the world changes around us.  So maybe we should keep our camping supplies at the ready and be prepared to share them.

 photo - nicola-fioravanti-UrAKbpKnak8-unsplash

Peaky Blinders Walk

Every weekday morning since March 2020 and First Lockdown, I have strode out of my house for a brisk two mile walk round the neighbourhood.  I don’t wear earphones and I don’t do errands, I  say hello to dogwalkers and joggers.   It’s good for my health, both physical and mental.

I am amazed how much wildlife I see in the ‘burbs, but even so, after two years, the ritual is a little weary.

I’m a big fan of Peaky Blinders and the new series inspired me to enliven my tired routine by using the Tommy Shelby walk - head down as if marching vigorously into a strong wind. 

Okay, I was wearing a cagoule so it wasn’t quite as visually striking as Shelby’s billowing great-coat…  And I had a bobble hat instead of a flat cap.

Unexpectedly, however, I spotted some things I wouldn’t normally – with my head lowered to face the coming storm, I saw the places where people had guerilla-gardened verges near their home.  I appreciated the optimistic tete-a-tete daffodils and the purple crocuses.

In reacting to the daffodils, I felt I should stay in character as Tommy Shelby but was unsure whether he would fully have appreciated the blooms.  

After long consideration, I adopted his gravelly voice and muttered ‘Look Arthur – effing flowers.’

 

Birdsong - and how we killed poetry

Around a dozen of us who have been friends since our youth, and sometimes camp together, share a Whatsapp group.

It doesn’t have a name, but I call it the Annabel channel as she is the founder.

Sometimes it’s very serious – articles about the history of the Ukraine: sometimes we are taking our mind off life with trivia.  Or, in this case, the beauty of the world around us:-

Annabel:

I stand on the station platform and search for the birds overhead belting out their messages every morning. Yesterday I stood right underneath the loudest Great Tit I'd ever heard, hopping about in the tree above me. So active while making so much noise!

Me:

I reckon there are 2 to 3 haiku there. Get cracking.

 

Mike took up the challenge:

Dazzled by birdsong:

I wait for the morning train.

Nearby, some Great Tits.

 

Me:

I really liked the first two lines, but the third sounded weird.

 

Annabel has a go:

'Trainwaiting, workbound,

Soulsoothed by birdsong.

Treehigh, some Great Tits'

 

Annabel tests positive with covid but gamely has another go at a haiku (priorities!)

'Train-waiting, work-bound,

Soulsoothed by birdsong, I seek

Tree-high, a Great Tit'

 

Mike has meanwhile returned to the drawing board and comes up with his master work:

Waiting for the train:

stupid birds, what a racket.

Trod in a dog-turd.

 

Having succeeded in killing the poetry I retire smugly.

If there is any moral to be drawn from this ill-starred literary venture, I think it is this:

Don’t try to include great tits in a haiku.

 

 

 

 

Gone Hog

 

In November, we took in a young hedgehog (blogged previously).  When we found her in our garden, she was not weighty enough to survive hibernation, so the objective was to help her put some weight on and release her again.

We had done this successfully once before a number of years ago.

It was more complicated than we remembered.

For a start, should we have taken her in at all? – with warmer winters, there was a chance she would have survived without our help.

Plus, when you put a hedgehog in a pet cage, it stresses them and their parasites grow in number.

I had brilliant hedgehog mentors in Esther who runs LondonColney Hedgehog Rescue and Jill who helps hedgehogs in St Albans.

We handled the hog as little as possible and did not make a pet of her.

But when Esther gave her some anti-parasite injections, a name was required for the records – Hermione.

That was the tipping point – we began to regard her as ‘our’ hedgehog.

We acclimatised her to winter temperatures in the garage, then released her early last month.   We put her out in a snug straw-lined house with a tunnel entrance to block cats and foxes.

We left food in a similarly protected hedgehog feeding station.

We had been warned that although some hedgehogs come back every night, others are never seen again.

Hermione turned out to be of the latter type. 

It is quite possible she fell foul of one of the local foxes.  I guess we’ll never know.

However, in our imagination, she is trundling along the hedges of the nearby school field, snaffling beetles and generally leading the life of a hog in clover.

 

Please support the amazing work of London Colney Hedgehog Rescue:- 

http://londoncolneyhedgehogrescue.weebly.com/

 

The passing of the cherry buds

On my morning yomp around my neighbourhood, I’ve noted the trees which have been blown down by storms Dudley and Eunice.

There are two separate places where cherry trees have been uprooted.  What struck me most was the fact that they were packed with multitudes of rosy buds.  Until the storm, they had been preparing to burst forth in their full glory in the spring.  Even as the trunks lay beyond salvage, half across the pavement, the buds were still undamaged and ready to blossom.  Those cherry trees had not known that they were about to be felled by the wind.

A couple of days ago, we heard that Nigel’s much-loved uncle had died very suddenly.  He was still active in life in so many wonderful ways.  He had shown no signs of approaching his end.

I guess the people who will be missed most are those who had more blooms to offer.  So we all must put out our buds in hope each year and if we are spared to see them flower and fruit, we should give thanks.

 

Photo by Arno Smit on Unsplash

Green Roof

 

At February half term, we have often visited Pascoe in Edinburgh. 

Equally often, we have been assailed by snow, sleet, icy winds, hail, freezing rain… you get the picture.

However, forgetful of these drawbacks and Nigel, Carenza and I went to meet Pascoe half way, in York.

Not only did Pascoe turn up, but also our old friends, heavy rain and icy winds.

We found ourselves very interested in any attraction which could boast a roof.

And then, unexpectedly, roofs became the focus of our visit.

At York Minster, we went on a spell-binding tour inside the massive conical roof of the chapter house, all built eight hundred years ago from green oak and pine, the beams braced against one another in an ingenious design so that as they shrank and twisted with time they would pull together into a stronger structure.  At the joints, symbols were carved, showing where the end of each timber should fit, like a gigantic flat-pack assembly project.  The pegs which held it all together were wooden too.  Outside this forest in the sky, there was even the lair of a peregrine falcon.

At the Merchant Adventurers’ Hall, more medieval wooden beams impressed us, and a labelled model of the roof timbers appealed to the nurd in me.

At the end of the weekend, I discovered I had taken more photos of the inside of wooden roofs than of my own children.

But then, it really was not photograph weather UNLESS we were under a roof.

Seismic blasts

 

On Friday, Nigel and I went on our first outing since Covid.

It certainly wasn’t a 'date night'.

We demonstrated as part of Coastal Rebellion where over thirty actions were taking place simultaneously in over twenty countries including Peru, South Africa and Argentina.

Oil spills are devastating coastal wildlife, and so is seismic exploration.  Shockwaves fired from an airgun, 100,000 more intense than a jet engine, are blasted towards the seabed, revealing fossil fuel deposits. The noise emitted can travel 1000’s of kilometres. They are blasted every 10 seconds 24 hours a day for up to 4 months.  Totally disorientating for sea life that rely on sound and vibration: it interferes with breeding, hunting, escaping predators, and navigating.  

We carried a model humpback whale and several large banners over (a very windy) Westminster Bridge towards the headquarters of Shell.

But although, as I say, this outing was not a date night, I did learn a lesson in husband management.

In order to mimic the frequency and intensity of the seismic blasts, it was decided to blow a vuvuzela.

But who would do the blowing?

A woman who is a teacher in everyday life assigned Nigel the task: ‘Here’s a vuvuzela.  Blow it every ten seconds.’

This job kept Nigel busy and happily occupied all afternoon.

I am in the process of ordering a vuvuzela.  Whenever Nigel seems at a loose end or low in spirits, I shall utter the magic formula:

‘Here’s a vuvuzela.  Blow it every ten seconds.’

And I’m sure he will perk up.

Although I’m not sure what the neighbours will say.

For the full impact of an unleashed vuvuzela, watch this short video.

When Birds Watch You Back

Last weekend, it was the RSPB’s Big Garden Bird Watch – the biggest citizen science project.

In previous years we have struggled to fit it in amid the bustle of a January weekend.  This year, however, we were still in isolation following Covid, and it seemed like the epitome of excitement.

We picked an hour towards the end of the day when we knew the little chaps would be mobbing our birdfeeders trying to consume enough calories to see them through a long winter night. 

We spotted most of our regulars – blue tits, great tits, long-tailed tits, coal tits, dunnocks, robins, goldfinches, woodpigeons and blackbirds.

None of our more unusual visitors surfaced – the nuthatches, woodpeckers and goldcrests must have appeared on somebody else’s entry.

However, the species we saw most was our own doves.  And we also were not prepared for their reaction.  When they saw us sitting in front of the French windows, they came and watched us right back.

We could only guess at their conversation,

‘The two regulars are there – the old ones.’

‘Yes, wonder if we’ll see any of the brightly-plumaged young ones today.’

‘Doesn’t look like it – they must be in a different house today.’

‘That’s always the way – we never see anything out of the ordinary when we do the Big House Human Watch.’

A Good Time For Covid?

Nigel and I have been laid low by Covid, presumably the Omicron variant.

Since I have been working in secondary schools and he has attended the odd meeting in central London, this highly contagious variant did seem unavoidable.

Long country walks are something we consider essential to happiness, but at the moment we are confined indoors.

So I have been consoling myself that if there was one good time of year to be trapped at home, then this is it – ten dry, cold, overcast January days, with daylight fleeting early.

The very countryside has appeared dormant.

Yet as I have begun to feel better, I can see how wrong I have been.

Whenever the sun shows its face, I hear birdsong, led by our robins, but including a swelling number of other species.  Blue tits are showing a great deal of interest in our nest boxes.

Our doves have begun to vie for the best nest sites in our dove cote.

Each night, foxes rend the air with their barks.

Even the hedgehog which we have been fostering this winter seems to have no interest in hibernating.

So when I finally get the all-clear to leave the house, the first intimations of spring will be awaiting me with open arms.

Video of Nigel feeding robin by Carenza

Blue tit photo by david Griffiths on Unsplash

Swift Response

If there’s one bird for me, then it is the swift.

If I am reincarnated, that's what I would opt to be.

They barrel around our summer skies in small flocks, shrieking with delight as if our rooftops are their own personal Alton Towers.  Life through the eyes of a swift must look like one long arcade game.

But maybe being a swift is not such an idyll – every May when they arrive back from Africa, they find it more difficult to nest. 

Hundreds of years ago, they nested in vast ancient trees which furnished plenty of nooks and crannies.  However, as mankind has dominated the landscape, they have used our buildings instead, colonising holes, cracks and fissures.

But as our building techniques become better at sealing every chink and gap, swifts find it harder to find a home.  Numbers have greatly decreased and the swift is now endangered in the UK.  However, it is not hard to offer help. 

Newbuilds or extensions can have hollow swift-bricks built in.  Existing buildings can have nest-boxes fitted under the eaves.

The church I attend, St Luke’s, doesn’t have much land, but is currently planning a small wildlife garden.  When we talked to Heidi from Herts and Middlesex Wildlife Trust , we discovered we had valuable vertical real estate in the shape of a North-East facing wall, ideal for swift nest-boxes.

So we’ve ordered them now, in time to put up before May.  

Let’s just hope the swifts make those lovely excited shrieks when they see them.

For more about helping swifts:

https://www.rspb.org.uk/birds-and-wildlife/wildlife-guides/bird-a-z/swift/

http://actionforswifts.blogspot.com/

https://www.swift-conservation.org/

photo by Vika Strawberrica, Unsplash

 

 

Getting on with it

Christmastide has always had the quality of being a magical island, rising above the drab grey seas of midwinter, twinkling with fairy lights and warmed by mulled wine.  Even more so since the children grew up and left home - now it is a time when they return and we re-form the nuclear family we once were.  We do the Christmas baking, read the Night Before Christmas together, watch old films, play daft games and go for endless muddy walks guided home by the glow of early sunsets.

Nowadays, as soon as the last child has left, without waiting for the 5^th or 6^th of January, I take the decorations down.  I guess it draws a clear boundary between the fresh start of the New Year and the precious island of Christmastide, a country which has sunken below the horizon for now. 

But next December, we shall set sail again, navigating towards Christmas, guided by its winking lights and the hope that our children will journey to be there with us once more.

Covid Does it Again

This Christmas is a real cup-half-full/cup-half-empty moment for me.

Christmas 2019:- Nigel, me, Pascoe, Carenza and Perran had assembled at our house, the tree was decked, the food prepped, the gifts wrapped.  But on Christmas Eve, I was felled with a mystery virus, like flu but much worse.  I was out of it until well after Christmas.

Christmas 2020:- Nigel, Pascoe and I had assembled at our house, the tree was decked, etc, then the sudden lockdown eliminated Perran and Carenza from Christmas at home.

Christmas 2021:- seeing the way Omicron was spreading, Pascoe arrived early at our house, then Carenza, although somewhat delayed, waiting for the outcome of one PCR after another (both negative).  We hadn’t even done anything about the tree and food at that point.   

We were within just a few days of having the complete family Christmas when a PCR result meant Perran wasn’t coming home after all.

Cup half empty – it won’t be a proper Christmas without him.

Cup half full – he’s not too ill.

Cup half full - we should be able to catch up immediately after Christmas.

Maybe, 2022…

How to name a Hedgehog

We are sheltering a young hedgehog until it gains weight and can safely be allowed to hibernate.

I am reluctant to name it since it is a wild creature.

However, Nigel and Carenza insist it should have a name.

And that the name must begin with H.

Nigel favours Hodgkins, but it reminds me of Hodgkin’s lymphoma.

Carenza advocates Hannibal, but its far too Silence of the Lambs.

I continue to call it ‘The hedgehog.’

The other evening when Nigel was in a meeting, I went to the bathroom (where its cage is) to give the hedgehog its brimming dish of catfood.

Only to discover that the cage door was open and there was nobody at home.

I stared at the open door catch.  Was this a ‘Clever Girl’ moment as in Jurassic Park when the velociraptor learns how to work doorhandles?

Or was it just another sign of my own decrepitude – had I perhaps failed to lock up after mucking the cage out that morning?

On hands and knees, I peered under every bed, seeking Hannibal-Hodgkins.  But I did not call its name as it would freeze, curl up and go silent. Which is exactly how a wild animal should behave.

And, more importantly, calling its name would also have alerted Nigel to the fact I had let the hedgehog escape.

Eventually, a slight rustling led me to a cosy nook beside the chest of drawers in our room.

With garden gauntlets, I returned the thwarted hedgehog to its cage, and the compensations of  nest-box and catfood.

But I do at least now have a name for it.

Houdini Hedgehog.

Photo by Alexas_Fotos on Unsplash

A hedgehog lodger

 

Late on Friday night, Nigel went out to the compost heap, as is his habit.  I know he is having a wee on the compost (‘to nitrogenate it’) but neither of us chooses to mention this.

He was gone longer than usual.  I began idly to wonder if a compost monster had reared up and grabbed him in its grassy jaws.

But no, he burst in saying ‘Guess what I’ve found!’

I accompanied him into the dark garden to find…nothing.

Apparently, there had been a hedgehog snuffling about by the compost bin.  Hedgehogs are not quiet creatures, so we caught up with it by the fence. At first I was delighted but soon realised the hedgehog was undersized – a young one.

We googled the weight at which a hedgehog may safely hibernate – 600g.  Below that, it may well die in its sleep.

We put our young friend on the kitchen scales – 475g.

We would hold onto it until it reached fighting weight and could successfully doze through the remainder of winter.  We had done it once before, a decade ago.

Tricia very kindly lent us a dog crate and Duncan brought it round.  We fussed about hedgehog food and bedding.

Carenza, who had taken charge of our previous hedgehog lodger had another preoccupation –

‘What will you call it?  Hannibal?’

‘We don’t know the sex yet.’

‘Well, I think Hannibal is a pretty name for a boy or a girl.’

But we haven’t named it yet.  After all – it’s not a pet, but a little creature who must be returned to the wild one day.  And that is what we are working towards.

Photo by Alexas_Fotos on Unsplash

Golden Tree Moment

I always look forward to one particular Autumn moment – as you walk through a narrow gap between our street and the main road, straight ahead is a beautifully shaped maple tree which turns completely golden, just before its leaves begin to descend. 

Last year, the moment never came – a gale stripped the foliage before it had yellowed. But this year it was back in its full glory.

EXCEPT,

When I went to photograph the tree to send to my children, I discovered something new and even taller growing there.  There is now a huge and hideous 5G telecomms mast sprouting amid the Autumn splendour.

Our neighbours have been fighting this excrescence, although Nigel and I were a little ambivalent since we would appreciate better phone reception. 

There is probably Somebody’s Law that where Residents’ Associations are strong, phone masts are few and far between. 

However, there’s a rumour that instead of supporting a variety of different networks, this new mast will serve only one, and one none of us uses at that.  If such proves to be the case, it will be very sad indeed as even more 5G masts will need to be built, and we shall not be the only ones with an unwelcome addition to our Autumn treescape.

Autumn Quick Green Crafts

 

Out walking at the moment, I am often literally stopped in my tracks by the lavish beauty of the season.

The combination of exquisite leaf shapes and crackling colours sends me creative.  My head floods with ideas and I’m in danger of being overwhelmed and undertaking nothing. 

This year I salvaged two quick craft projects from the Autumn parade.  One is to take the prettiest small leaves and press them in old encyclopaedias, as my mother taught me.  In two weeks, they will be ready to glue onto seasonal birthday cards.

The other is to dry hydrangea heads.  Hydrangeas spend the summers putting out innocent candy-coloured flowers, but they take on a more subtle blushing and tinting in autumn.  I have hung them upside down in my larder and when they are dry, they will fill vacant vases round the house.  Dried hydrangeas always remind me of my art teacher who would keep them in her draped and jumbled art room, ready for us to paint a still life.

Whether it is the slight melancholy of the falling season, but carrying out these small acts makes me feel a connection with days and people from my past, a sensation which even as it saddens, comforts.

Autumn acer leaf cards

 

Autumn acer leaf cards

The Return of Fun

Fun has come back, but frankly I’m not sure I’m ready for it.

For many months I have barely been into London except to participate in peaceful protests about climate change.

However, at the weekend, Carenza took me to a play at the Sam Wannamaker Theatre – the candlelit theatre next to the Globe.

What caused us to chance our health in this way?

The strapline – ‘Forget about Covid – Let’s have some Ovid.’

Years ago, I had taught Ovid to Carenza – my first Latin pupil - and now here was the chance to watch an imaginative retelling of some of his Metamorphoses – tales of shape-changing.

We hadn’t attended the Wannamaker before and its crowded benches are euphemistically described as ‘intimate’.  All the adults were wearing a mask, but even so…

However, when the play started, with its four talented actors changing roles faster than you could remove a hat, we were entranced.  For ninety minutes, we forgot all about Covid.

 

Afterwards, in buoyant mood, we strolled along the South Bank to Vaulty Towers where we had a table booked for dinner.  Old theatre sets made the interior of this pub fun, and it served only vegan barfood.  No wonder it was popular.  No wonder it was crowded….

Once again, I had to wrestle with my Covid fears.  Luckily my ‘Fun’ side won

 – and a good thing too as it has been leading rather a quiet life lately.

A Bit of a Bash

One of the effects of covid has been fewer outings and get togethers.  There is an upside. It means that within the quiet beige landscape of our lives any celebratistands out like a faceted jewel gleaming in a precious setting.

I was so thrilled that all three children came and stayed for my birthday.  We pushed the boat out and went for two outings.  We spent Saturday at RHS Wisley where the Autumn colours were kindling along the avenues. Then on Sunday after church we visited the Royal Academy (belated) summer exhibition.  It is a measure of my euphoria that just for one brief moment I even considered buying something.  

We also caught up with our great friends Ethan and Dan at points over the weekend. 

And now it is over. But for a long time I shall be turning over the memory of this bright jewel until it becomes as smooth as sea glass in my pocket.

The Time of Year For Action

I remember my Latin teacher at school explaining that Autumn was her favourite time of year – it marked the start of the academic year and for her it was a time of new beginnings.

I agree.  In addition, Autumn russets are the colours which suit me.  Not only that, but I have an Autumn birthday. 

As the leaves turn gold and the clocks shift back, there is usually an anticipation of cosiness and hibernation.

This year, however, the UN’s climate conference, COP26, is about to take place in Glasgow, and it means we must not settle into the inertia of winter just yet. 

If we want to see more golden Autumns, it is vital that we try to influence the world leaders in any way we can to curb Climate Catastrophe. 

So get involved in signing petitions, campaigning and marching.  Politicians only act when they can see how important an issue is to their electorate.  Please help convince them.

Take part in the Global Day of Action, November 6^th.

https://cop26coalition.org/gda/

For readers in St Albans, Friends of the Earth is organising a peaceful rally, meeting St Albans Arena, midday Nov 6^th and marching to the Clock Tower for speeches.

Elsewhere, google or consult the Facebook pages of your local Friends of the Earth, Greenpeace and Extinction Rebellion.

The Best Medicine

We have felt blue and weary during the weeks surrounding Nigel’s sister’s death.

Fortunately for us, our old friends David and Carolyn did what they could to help.

Months before all this happened, Carolyn had booked a house in the Peak District where we were to meet them for a long weekend.  As the date approached, it seemed unlikely we would make it.

When the date for Sandy’s funeral was set for that Friday, it looked as if our trip was off.

Except that other family members were supporting Nigel’s mother following the funeral, so our presence wasn’t needed after all.

David and Carolyn gave up their Friday to attend the funeral and then went ahead of us to Derbyshire where they had dinner waiting for us when we arrived.  They took us on a long rainy, muddy walk on Saturday.  Then Carolyn and I found a creche in which to leave the menfolk (The Queen’s Head) and raided the charity shops of Bakewell – a form of retail therapy which is both green and socially responsible.

And we talked.  How we talked!

By the end of the weekend we were making silly jokes and laughing again.

That doesn’t mean we are now fine. 

But it was a welcome oasis along the path of bereavement.

Thank you to David and Carolyn for the gift of your friendship.

Some gladness in the goodbye

As I mentioned last week, Nigel’s sister Sandy died.

She had suffered for many years from anorexia and died well short of the years she might have expected.  Undeniably this has been very sad,

However, this week we have found so much in her life to be grateful for.

The reason has been the funeral.

People get excited about weddings, but to me a funeral is the superior rite of passage:

Paul organised the ceremony around the grave.

Afterwards at the church, Pascoe and Benjy read lessons, Jo and Nigel remembered the amazing things Sandy had achieved in spite of her difficulties.  Perran read praising emails from colleagues in the NHS where Sandra did very effective voluntary work.

Carenza read a letter from a new friend whom Sandra had made in hospital the very day before she died.  Abbi sang a beautiful song anticipating Sandy’s future life in Heaven.

Women from Sandy’s church served the tea afterwards.

Friends and relatives got together and reminisced about Sandy and caught up on family news.

God Himself contributed rainbows throughout the day and especially at the interment.

 

As a churchgoer, I find myself at funerals fairly regularly, especially those of elderly members of the congregation.

It is always a chance to appreciate the life lived, to give thanks and to start the process of healing. 

But the best thing is the intense spirit of goodwill which, for a few hours, glues together a temporary community made of the disparate band of friends and relatives who loved the person who died.

 

 Photo by Andrew Johnson on Unsplash