The time - a couple of years ago - October half term week
The place - here and up on the hills
The people - Himself, myself and two youngest children
Animals - two labs and a JRT
There we were in the really scruffy clothes one wears to carry out the cleaning of chicken sheds, these were not just untidy these were 'next stop- bonfire' type and by the time we had finished our chore they smelt pretty awful as well! We had finished our horrible task and feeling a bit sorry for the boys because it was a beautiful day, I gathered up some sandwiches, a flask and some fruit for an impromptu picnic up on the hills behind us. It was a gloriously clear day and we had great fun pointing out distant landmarks, identifying hills and distant Welsh mountains. We rooted around in the old squatters cottages and wondered how they lived in such cramped conditions- but they sure had good views!
We walked quite a way along the old roads and the sheep tracks eventually finding a hollow out of the stiff breeze, we sprawled out in the heather to have our picnic. There was not another soul to be seen, the only company we had were the partridge darting about and a couple of ravens watching us from a craggy rock nearby. The boys wandered off playing in the heather, rolling and hiding, jumping and squawking with the dogs. I think I probably dozed in the sunshine only to be rudely awoken by the boys, "What are these mum, what are these?" with grubby hands outstretched full of red berries.
The Stiperstones hills are renowned for the whinberry (or blueberry) harvest that runs from June to Setember. During those months the hills are covered with people picking away for all they are worth - ever tried Whinberry Pie? In years gone by the whinberry harvest was a way of supplementing a meagre income and whole families would spend days on the hill picking. 'You picked your clothes and boots off the hill' was a quote I remember from 'Never on A Sunday'. There is however another berry that was harvested to a lesser degree that to some is called 'cranberry' but is also known as 'cowberry'. These small, hard berries are bright red and are much smaller than the cultivated cranberry we see in bags at Christmas time. There was no market for them so they were used much more in the home than the whinberry. It was possible to simply bottle these berries in cold water, the juice would be later sweetened with honey for colds and coughs whilst the softened berries would be baked in a tart.
Now I love making preserves of all kinds, jams, jellies, chutneys -you name it and I make it - the boys renamed the kitchen ' The Pickle Factory' because of the smell of boiling vinegar in the autumn, which has become the name I use on my labels. So knowing these berries were not poisonous I set my team of pickers a task - to fill their sandwich boxes with the little red berries for mother to make something with! They are used to these sort of tasks, dread the PYO season, the blackberry season, the crab apple time - they have been picking fruit and berries since they could walk and never go out without pockets stuffed with bags 'just in case' -groan groan!
So there we were, bums pointing heavenward, picking frenetically when we were joined by a couple out walking - in all the right gear of course -not like us higgledy piggledy lot! Himself straightened up and passed the time of day - well that must have been a frightening spectre in itself - much too long red scruffy hair and hadn't shaved for days -designer stubble? Pah- this was the real Mcoy - red fur on the way to beard! It transpired that they were ever so slightly lost ....and were soon passed on to me to give directions back down the hill by a suitable path. It was then the very nice lady asked, "My deah, what on earth are you all picking?" I explained that they were cranberries for Christmas cranberry jelly to which she replied, "Oh how perfectly quaint----the travelling people gathering their Christmas lunch...!" She was very lucky not to end up sitting in the heather I can tell you!
I was still spitting after they were daintily picking their way off the hill - Oh how I wished I had given them the path through the boggy bit! Himself was absolutely hysterical as were the boys ...with tears running down his face he pointed to my tatty quilted jacket -"Just look at you!" he cried, "its no wonder they thought we were tinkers!"
I looked down and horror of horrors my jacket , not only tatty and smelling of chicken was buttoned up in the wrong holes- about as classy as tucking your skirt into your knickers I fear!
Himself practised his broadest Irish/Welsh/West Midlands accent on comments like, "Have yer got any scrap missus?" and "D'yer want yer drive tarmacing missus?" all the way home!
They passed us as we yomped down the road, they were in a pale green merc , they waved regally......we smiled and nodded - we knew our place! But I bet my Christmas cranberry jelly with port tasted better than theirs!
Friday, 18 May 2007
Thursday, 17 May 2007
Never On a Sunday
I bet you are wondering what ever is coming now......
Its just a short piece about a project we did a few years ago and the importance of recording memories of an earlier generation. There are more of us on this site delving into 'people' stories now, which I really love, they are so important to treasure.
In 1998 a small group of us hillbillies off the Stiperstones got together with the objective of producing a collection of memories of the 'elders' of the village. To those of you who have no idea about this area, the Stiperstones is a granite ridge that runs for about 6 miles parrallel to The Longmynd on one side and The Long Mountain on the other. The area was one of the most productive lead mining areas in the UK in the early 1900's but as foreign imports of lead rushed in the local businesses failed and by 1911 the mines had closed leaving the landscape scarred and pitted, the remains of engine houses and chimneys just visible above the wooded hillsides.
The Shropshire Mines Trust took over the care of the actual mine site in the mid 1990's but have kept the site very low key because the residents did not want to be overrun with coaches etc. However it is a jewel in the crown of English Heritage and they certainly threw money into preserving the site in a very tasteful way. There is a fully working blacksmith's shop, the pit head frame has been re erected, the miner's dry or dormitory, the engine houses and two mines to actually walk into for some considerable way in wellies of course. (All open on Sundays should you feel a need to take a peek)
On top of the hills air shafts and capped mine shafts do look a tad Dr Who-ish but they used local stone to try to blend them into the countryside. But also on the top of the hills are the lost and deserted villages where squatters cottages were erected to house those that travelled from Cornwall and Wales to work in the more affluent lead mines. The ruins are there for all to see but they are getting less as nature takes back the stone and covers the ruins with a cloth of green.
There were, and indeed still are, people in the villages that could remember the squatters cottages, who went to the school that is now a thriving visitor centre, who shopped at the shops that are now houses, who drank in the pubs that sold their last pint many years ago, whose fathers and grandfathers gasped and died through inhaling the lead filled dust.......
We needed to capture all these memories and fast!
But before we could start memory gathering we took advice from those 'in the know' and underwent training in basic counselling, interviewing skills and techniques. Some of this was actually done with BBC researchers who nearly frightened us to death with the tales of what can happen when people start to unload sometimes emotional baggage they had packed well away. We were to remember their words on quite a few occasions!
Word went round that we were on our way and a few baulked and said 'no' but when they saw how painless it was and how some actually enjoyed it they began to come forward more readily. One old lady who was dead against it and said an emphatic 'no' was to be found hammering on the back door at 8.30 one morning ...."Can you do me now?" The trickle turned into a torrent and we were never at home. The standing joke being that because we went around in pairs with a black case carrying all the taping equipment, we were the 'aternative JW's'!
To actually gain someone's confidence and let them run into their memories is quite unnerving at first and leaves you feeling quite humble in that they have shared things with you that they may not have talked about for years. The floodgates would open and you never quite knew what was going to come out next! I can remember one lovely old man saying , "I've always wanted to tell someone all that - I feel better now!" He visibly relaxed in front of us - three days later he died! That happened more than once! We began to feel as though we were working for the undertakers! We stopped for six months because we were completely unnerved by the amount of material we were getting and how it was affecting us!
One lady blurted out a dreadful catalogue of abuse that had lain dormant for years, she cried buckets and we cried with her, she was able to tell her family at last and received professional counselling afterwards. One old man ,with a whiskey in his hand, decided to tell us of his sex life - hells teeth - there we were, two married women, five kids between us, thought we knew it all, totally, and I mean totally, gobsmacked! We felt like Queen Victoria's handmaidens we were so oh so innocent! We gathered recipes, old wives tales, gossip, gruesome births, blood curdling deaths, illegal relationships, poaching, working and entertainment. Two hundred and fifty hours of memories we collected and then we would listen to them all again ....and again.
Then we collected photographs, illustrations and sore fingers as we typed masses of the taped material up. Editing and choosing material took ages, then we cross checked information that could be dated, and edited again. Eventually after two years hard work 'our baby' was born a beautiful book entitled "Never on A Sunday" .... 1000 copies which sold out in a matter of weeks, the second print followed and currently the third print has just been done. We are still very proud of it 'our baby' and so glad we did it. It is used in local schools to illustrate local social history. (I did check if there was a link to it but being a computer frightened type of person I cant find one. )
A cookery book containing some of the recipes followed 'Wednesday was Baking Day'- a calender of the illustrations and the photographs and a whole TV programme with Tony Francis was made based on the book. We still have more information that will form the basis of a further book that we should have started in January this year which will centre on the murders, mysteries and things that went bump in the night and no we cannot possibly print that old man's sex life- he was so worried we would tell his wife!
We felt it was so important to collect these memories, to keep them safe and to help our children understand what went before and to love and respect their history.
Its just a short piece about a project we did a few years ago and the importance of recording memories of an earlier generation. There are more of us on this site delving into 'people' stories now, which I really love, they are so important to treasure.
In 1998 a small group of us hillbillies off the Stiperstones got together with the objective of producing a collection of memories of the 'elders' of the village. To those of you who have no idea about this area, the Stiperstones is a granite ridge that runs for about 6 miles parrallel to The Longmynd on one side and The Long Mountain on the other. The area was one of the most productive lead mining areas in the UK in the early 1900's but as foreign imports of lead rushed in the local businesses failed and by 1911 the mines had closed leaving the landscape scarred and pitted, the remains of engine houses and chimneys just visible above the wooded hillsides.
The Shropshire Mines Trust took over the care of the actual mine site in the mid 1990's but have kept the site very low key because the residents did not want to be overrun with coaches etc. However it is a jewel in the crown of English Heritage and they certainly threw money into preserving the site in a very tasteful way. There is a fully working blacksmith's shop, the pit head frame has been re erected, the miner's dry or dormitory, the engine houses and two mines to actually walk into for some considerable way in wellies of course. (All open on Sundays should you feel a need to take a peek)
On top of the hills air shafts and capped mine shafts do look a tad Dr Who-ish but they used local stone to try to blend them into the countryside. But also on the top of the hills are the lost and deserted villages where squatters cottages were erected to house those that travelled from Cornwall and Wales to work in the more affluent lead mines. The ruins are there for all to see but they are getting less as nature takes back the stone and covers the ruins with a cloth of green.
There were, and indeed still are, people in the villages that could remember the squatters cottages, who went to the school that is now a thriving visitor centre, who shopped at the shops that are now houses, who drank in the pubs that sold their last pint many years ago, whose fathers and grandfathers gasped and died through inhaling the lead filled dust.......
We needed to capture all these memories and fast!
But before we could start memory gathering we took advice from those 'in the know' and underwent training in basic counselling, interviewing skills and techniques. Some of this was actually done with BBC researchers who nearly frightened us to death with the tales of what can happen when people start to unload sometimes emotional baggage they had packed well away. We were to remember their words on quite a few occasions!
Word went round that we were on our way and a few baulked and said 'no' but when they saw how painless it was and how some actually enjoyed it they began to come forward more readily. One old lady who was dead against it and said an emphatic 'no' was to be found hammering on the back door at 8.30 one morning ...."Can you do me now?" The trickle turned into a torrent and we were never at home. The standing joke being that because we went around in pairs with a black case carrying all the taping equipment, we were the 'aternative JW's'!
To actually gain someone's confidence and let them run into their memories is quite unnerving at first and leaves you feeling quite humble in that they have shared things with you that they may not have talked about for years. The floodgates would open and you never quite knew what was going to come out next! I can remember one lovely old man saying , "I've always wanted to tell someone all that - I feel better now!" He visibly relaxed in front of us - three days later he died! That happened more than once! We began to feel as though we were working for the undertakers! We stopped for six months because we were completely unnerved by the amount of material we were getting and how it was affecting us!
One lady blurted out a dreadful catalogue of abuse that had lain dormant for years, she cried buckets and we cried with her, she was able to tell her family at last and received professional counselling afterwards. One old man ,with a whiskey in his hand, decided to tell us of his sex life - hells teeth - there we were, two married women, five kids between us, thought we knew it all, totally, and I mean totally, gobsmacked! We felt like Queen Victoria's handmaidens we were so oh so innocent! We gathered recipes, old wives tales, gossip, gruesome births, blood curdling deaths, illegal relationships, poaching, working and entertainment. Two hundred and fifty hours of memories we collected and then we would listen to them all again ....and again.
Then we collected photographs, illustrations and sore fingers as we typed masses of the taped material up. Editing and choosing material took ages, then we cross checked information that could be dated, and edited again. Eventually after two years hard work 'our baby' was born a beautiful book entitled "Never on A Sunday" .... 1000 copies which sold out in a matter of weeks, the second print followed and currently the third print has just been done. We are still very proud of it 'our baby' and so glad we did it. It is used in local schools to illustrate local social history. (I did check if there was a link to it but being a computer frightened type of person I cant find one. )
A cookery book containing some of the recipes followed 'Wednesday was Baking Day'- a calender of the illustrations and the photographs and a whole TV programme with Tony Francis was made based on the book. We still have more information that will form the basis of a further book that we should have started in January this year which will centre on the murders, mysteries and things that went bump in the night and no we cannot possibly print that old man's sex life- he was so worried we would tell his wife!
We felt it was so important to collect these memories, to keep them safe and to help our children understand what went before and to love and respect their history.
Wednesday, 16 May 2007
Murder, Mystery and My Mum!
Thought I could just face rummaging in the rose and peony (by Sanderson of course not CK) rag bag of my mad mother's legacy of memories - havent been able to go near it since the last one - bit raw for a while but OK now!
My mum was an animal lover to the extreme and quite often said she far preferred animals to people any day. She always had something somewhere 'on the mend' pigs, chickens, owls, mice, hedghogs, stray cats, the odd sparrow, ducks, you name it and I bet at some time we had it parked somewhere around the house 'on the mend'! I think she was a bit 'witchy' to be honest - it was the owl hanging upside down on the guttering to look for her in the bedrooms that confirmed that thought!
At one time we had some neighbours that bought a puppy for the kids --A German Shepherd no less - as a plaything for the kids. Well needless to say the 'kids' soon got fed up with that as soon as it became very large, boisterous and not beyond biting, the poor dog was chained up to the shed and that was where it stopped - for years,...... and years! The poor dog's name was Susie and my mum was stomping! When no one was about she would go and talk to Susie through the fence 'just to give her a bit of love and attention' she said.
We had a JRT at the same time - very much loved by us all, at 13 she passed away and mum was bereft. Dad was working a week of nights for British Rail and I had left home at this point. I was so worried about mum being on her own that I dashed into the pet shop and bought a ginger and white kitten and drove like a maniac to deliver the wailing moggy in a box. "You are not leaving that here!" she shouted at me, " I DO NOT WANT A KITTEN!" she railed, and for once Dad agreed with her."Well the shop has shut now - I'll come back for it tomorow....." as I retreated hurriedly down the path leaving them with one really angry ball of ginger fluff!
Well contrary to popular rumour I am not stupid .... I never went near for a week! When I did pluck up the courage to creep back expecting hell fire and buckets of blood....there was the kitten curled up in front of the fire in poll position and there they were like slaves answering to her every whim...'would pussykins like a dwinky dwinky then......' I could not believe it, so felt brave enough to venture, "I take it you don't want me to take it back then...?" The looks I got would have frozen a lesser mortal to a pillar of stone!"What have you called IT then?" I cherrily asked."IT is a 'she' and her name is SUSIE!" mum answered -emphasising the name very loudly."Well isn't that the dog's name from next door..... won't that cause confusion?" I asked."Oh No confusion at all," said mum, "they didnt want the dog any more so they've had it put to sleep...so I shall take great delight in going outside and calling this cat as loud as I can and as often as I can just to remind them of poor 'Susie' that poor dog they never loved!"So 'SUSIE' lived on and the name was shrieked loudly at least ten times a day for the next ten years and the poor cat would be sitting there looking up as much to say, 'I'M HERE YOU DAFT BAT!'
It was just before Susie arrived that mum, 'A' level animal lover, actually commited a terrible crime -Shhh don't tell anybody....it was .......MURDER.....honest!
Dad was again on nights and she was on her own, well the dog was there but by then she was not terribly interested in anything much. He came home early in the morning to find the back porch dripping with blood. "It looked as though there had been a chain saw massacre in there....." he told me later. He thought mum had been attacked and rushed in expecting the worst....she was fine. 'My next thought was SHE had attacked someone.....' he said, 'Well she just might....you never know....!"
"I'll tell the story- if you dont mind!" there's mother taking centre stage again!
It appears that she had gone out into the back porch to shut and lock the door before retiring to bed, there is no light in there other than what comes from the kitchen and she had closed the kitchen door to stop the moths dashing in as they were wont to do. As she locked the door she felt something rush round her ankles and duly shrieked, as you would! Both doors were now shut and she was in a small space with something furry rushing round her ankles! What would you have done?
She reached for anything she could find - the coal hammer on the window sill -and lashed out repeatedly with it- how she didn't smash every bit of glass in the place I shall never know! She was convinced that it was a rat that was shut in there with her and it sure as hell was not getting into the house! When the creature was obviously not rushing about any more she fumbled over it with thick newpaper parcelled it up, went back into the house and stuffed the gory parcel into the Rayburn.....and went to bed!
After Dad had been treated for shock the next morning he set to and repainted the porch, "well you couldn't leave it like that!" he said.
Later that day they were relaxing in the back garden and a neighbour from along the lane called,"Just wondered if you had seen Glyn anywhere?" he asked looking around as he stood there, "Errr......who is 'Glyn?" asked my dad as my dear mother started to shrink to half her normal size!
"Glyn is my prize ferret!" he said proudly,"He's ever so friendly, I let him out for a run last night and he hasn't come back!"
"If I see him I'll let you know" said dad ushering poor unsuspecting neighbour down the path as fast as his feet would carry him so he wouldn't see the strange woman weeping and moaning,"Omigod, Omigod I killed a pet, I thought it was a rat, Omigod what shall I doooooooo!"
Well there was nothing she could do- the dastardly deed was done.........!
I have no idea whether she ever confessed, or used discretion as the whatever, but she remained guilt ridden for years about that ferret. If I really wanted the last word with my mother - all I had to do was murmur "murderer" and off she would go again, "Oh don't remind me pleeeease dont remind me of poor Glyn ...he was only tring to be friendly and I killed him oooooooooh!"Poor mum - Poor Glyn more like!!
My mum was an animal lover to the extreme and quite often said she far preferred animals to people any day. She always had something somewhere 'on the mend' pigs, chickens, owls, mice, hedghogs, stray cats, the odd sparrow, ducks, you name it and I bet at some time we had it parked somewhere around the house 'on the mend'! I think she was a bit 'witchy' to be honest - it was the owl hanging upside down on the guttering to look for her in the bedrooms that confirmed that thought!
At one time we had some neighbours that bought a puppy for the kids --A German Shepherd no less - as a plaything for the kids. Well needless to say the 'kids' soon got fed up with that as soon as it became very large, boisterous and not beyond biting, the poor dog was chained up to the shed and that was where it stopped - for years,...... and years! The poor dog's name was Susie and my mum was stomping! When no one was about she would go and talk to Susie through the fence 'just to give her a bit of love and attention' she said.
We had a JRT at the same time - very much loved by us all, at 13 she passed away and mum was bereft. Dad was working a week of nights for British Rail and I had left home at this point. I was so worried about mum being on her own that I dashed into the pet shop and bought a ginger and white kitten and drove like a maniac to deliver the wailing moggy in a box. "You are not leaving that here!" she shouted at me, " I DO NOT WANT A KITTEN!" she railed, and for once Dad agreed with her."Well the shop has shut now - I'll come back for it tomorow....." as I retreated hurriedly down the path leaving them with one really angry ball of ginger fluff!
Well contrary to popular rumour I am not stupid .... I never went near for a week! When I did pluck up the courage to creep back expecting hell fire and buckets of blood....there was the kitten curled up in front of the fire in poll position and there they were like slaves answering to her every whim...'would pussykins like a dwinky dwinky then......' I could not believe it, so felt brave enough to venture, "I take it you don't want me to take it back then...?" The looks I got would have frozen a lesser mortal to a pillar of stone!"What have you called IT then?" I cherrily asked."IT is a 'she' and her name is SUSIE!" mum answered -emphasising the name very loudly."Well isn't that the dog's name from next door..... won't that cause confusion?" I asked."Oh No confusion at all," said mum, "they didnt want the dog any more so they've had it put to sleep...so I shall take great delight in going outside and calling this cat as loud as I can and as often as I can just to remind them of poor 'Susie' that poor dog they never loved!"So 'SUSIE' lived on and the name was shrieked loudly at least ten times a day for the next ten years and the poor cat would be sitting there looking up as much to say, 'I'M HERE YOU DAFT BAT!'
It was just before Susie arrived that mum, 'A' level animal lover, actually commited a terrible crime -Shhh don't tell anybody....it was .......MURDER.....honest!
Dad was again on nights and she was on her own, well the dog was there but by then she was not terribly interested in anything much. He came home early in the morning to find the back porch dripping with blood. "It looked as though there had been a chain saw massacre in there....." he told me later. He thought mum had been attacked and rushed in expecting the worst....she was fine. 'My next thought was SHE had attacked someone.....' he said, 'Well she just might....you never know....!"
"I'll tell the story- if you dont mind!" there's mother taking centre stage again!
It appears that she had gone out into the back porch to shut and lock the door before retiring to bed, there is no light in there other than what comes from the kitchen and she had closed the kitchen door to stop the moths dashing in as they were wont to do. As she locked the door she felt something rush round her ankles and duly shrieked, as you would! Both doors were now shut and she was in a small space with something furry rushing round her ankles! What would you have done?
She reached for anything she could find - the coal hammer on the window sill -and lashed out repeatedly with it- how she didn't smash every bit of glass in the place I shall never know! She was convinced that it was a rat that was shut in there with her and it sure as hell was not getting into the house! When the creature was obviously not rushing about any more she fumbled over it with thick newpaper parcelled it up, went back into the house and stuffed the gory parcel into the Rayburn.....and went to bed!
After Dad had been treated for shock the next morning he set to and repainted the porch, "well you couldn't leave it like that!" he said.
Later that day they were relaxing in the back garden and a neighbour from along the lane called,"Just wondered if you had seen Glyn anywhere?" he asked looking around as he stood there, "Errr......who is 'Glyn?" asked my dad as my dear mother started to shrink to half her normal size!
"Glyn is my prize ferret!" he said proudly,"He's ever so friendly, I let him out for a run last night and he hasn't come back!"
"If I see him I'll let you know" said dad ushering poor unsuspecting neighbour down the path as fast as his feet would carry him so he wouldn't see the strange woman weeping and moaning,"Omigod, Omigod I killed a pet, I thought it was a rat, Omigod what shall I doooooooo!"
Well there was nothing she could do- the dastardly deed was done.........!
I have no idea whether she ever confessed, or used discretion as the whatever, but she remained guilt ridden for years about that ferret. If I really wanted the last word with my mother - all I had to do was murmur "murderer" and off she would go again, "Oh don't remind me pleeeease dont remind me of poor Glyn ...he was only tring to be friendly and I killed him oooooooooh!"Poor mum - Poor Glyn more like!!
Tuesday, 15 May 2007
My name is...........
Another hysterical moment involving friend J......
When working at the local chicken farm, egg packing -(hands up who has done it!) a handful of agency workers were expected - usually of Polish, Lithuanian, Latvian origin. J, always the friendliest of souls, a very motherly figure made straight away to introduce herself.
MY......NAME.....IS ........J******. (very loud voice with big pauses apparently aids translation!)
grasping hand of bewildered looking male individual with much shaking and inane smiling.
She is only 5 feet tall and he must have been 6'3"!
I.......HOPE...........YOU..........WILL...........BE ...........HAPPY ........HERE!
More smiley, smiley, shakey, shakey!
WHAT..........IS....................YOUR..............NAME?
pointing repeatedy at her ample chest then at his..
ME....... J******............YOU...?
Poor man was completely gobsmacked and was standing there transfixed by this strange apparition!
WHERE........DO......YOU........COME..............FROM?
"Errrr my name's Alan and I come from Craven Arms!" he replied backing away at an amazing speed!
ooooops!
When working at the local chicken farm, egg packing -(hands up who has done it!) a handful of agency workers were expected - usually of Polish, Lithuanian, Latvian origin. J, always the friendliest of souls, a very motherly figure made straight away to introduce herself.
MY......NAME.....IS ........J******. (very loud voice with big pauses apparently aids translation!)
grasping hand of bewildered looking male individual with much shaking and inane smiling.
She is only 5 feet tall and he must have been 6'3"!
I.......HOPE...........YOU..........WILL...........BE ...........HAPPY ........HERE!
More smiley, smiley, shakey, shakey!
WHAT..........IS....................YOUR..............NAME?
pointing repeatedy at her ample chest then at his..
ME....... J******............YOU...?
Poor man was completely gobsmacked and was standing there transfixed by this strange apparition!
WHERE........DO......YOU........COME..............FROM?
"Errrr my name's Alan and I come from Craven Arms!" he replied backing away at an amazing speed!
ooooops!
Sunday, 13 May 2007
Another Hammy RIP
Recently read Muddie's blog re the poor dead hamster and remembered a rather cautionary tale about a 'dead' hamster which you might like. It is entirely true - I was there!
I have a friend J who is a bit scatty (in good company then!) anyway other than horses, which she is very good with, she doesn't really 'do' animals. She was a tad shocked when daughter turned up at the end of term with Hammy the school hamster " I said we'd look after him".... in pitiful voice......"well no-one else offered..."
First few days were fine and by chance I met J in the shop, " How's Hammy?" I asked laughing.
"Don't ask!" she replied, "Bloody thing died - I buried it this morning - I'll have to get another for her to take back to school.... she hasn't noticed yet!" .......Teacher of Hammy's class enters shop....."Oh s**t!" says J trying to hide behind a display of dried fruit, "Hide me - I cant tell her I've killed the bloody hamster...!"
Too late, across comes Teacher and in happy dulcet tones, ..."and how is our dahling little Hammy getting along in your household? ..Isn't he just a sweetie...so cute and the children just ADORE him!!"
"Errrr slight problem there." stutters J, by now visibly uncomfortable wishing for big hole in ground to open up right now!
Teacher adopts that ' well tell me now or else' look, and folds arms across large chest!
By now J has shrunken to half her normal size.
"Its dead!" she mutters, "PARDON?" trills teacher,...... this is where I got the giggles thinking of the John Cleese sketch of the dead parrot...
"Hammy the hamster is DEAD and I've buried him!" J's getting a bit of confidence back now and is starting to brazen it out!
"ARE YOU SURE?" shouted teacher!
"'Course I am, I can recognise a bloody dead hamster when I see one!" retorted J
whole shop now at a standstill watching the proceedings.... like Wimbledon!
"Well I just wondered.... because they do go into hibernation if there is a sudden drop in the temperature and seeing as how you have half your windows out at the moment.........!"
We were out of that shop and running down the road like a couple of whirling dervishes, J shouting, "Omigod, omigod I've buried the hamster and he's still alive.....Yikes!!!"
Spades and earth flying everwhere, shrieking women -its a wonder we weren't lugged away in straight jackets!
We got Hammy out of his coffin and into the house and warmed him gently through, no not in a microwave! By next morning he was fine and J took him and his box to teacher for safe keeping! Guess what - second day of new term the ungrateful little varmint died and had another funeral!
I have a friend J who is a bit scatty (in good company then!) anyway other than horses, which she is very good with, she doesn't really 'do' animals. She was a tad shocked when daughter turned up at the end of term with Hammy the school hamster " I said we'd look after him".... in pitiful voice......"well no-one else offered..."
First few days were fine and by chance I met J in the shop, " How's Hammy?" I asked laughing.
"Don't ask!" she replied, "Bloody thing died - I buried it this morning - I'll have to get another for her to take back to school.... she hasn't noticed yet!" .......Teacher of Hammy's class enters shop....."Oh s**t!" says J trying to hide behind a display of dried fruit, "Hide me - I cant tell her I've killed the bloody hamster...!"
Too late, across comes Teacher and in happy dulcet tones, ..."and how is our dahling little Hammy getting along in your household? ..Isn't he just a sweetie...so cute and the children just ADORE him!!"
"Errrr slight problem there." stutters J, by now visibly uncomfortable wishing for big hole in ground to open up right now!
Teacher adopts that ' well tell me now or else' look, and folds arms across large chest!
By now J has shrunken to half her normal size.
"Its dead!" she mutters, "PARDON?" trills teacher,...... this is where I got the giggles thinking of the John Cleese sketch of the dead parrot...
"Hammy the hamster is DEAD and I've buried him!" J's getting a bit of confidence back now and is starting to brazen it out!
"ARE YOU SURE?" shouted teacher!
"'Course I am, I can recognise a bloody dead hamster when I see one!" retorted J
whole shop now at a standstill watching the proceedings.... like Wimbledon!
"Well I just wondered.... because they do go into hibernation if there is a sudden drop in the temperature and seeing as how you have half your windows out at the moment.........!"
We were out of that shop and running down the road like a couple of whirling dervishes, J shouting, "Omigod, omigod I've buried the hamster and he's still alive.....Yikes!!!"
Spades and earth flying everwhere, shrieking women -its a wonder we weren't lugged away in straight jackets!
We got Hammy out of his coffin and into the house and warmed him gently through, no not in a microwave! By next morning he was fine and J took him and his box to teacher for safe keeping! Guess what - second day of new term the ungrateful little varmint died and had another funeral!
Saturday, 12 May 2007
Shopping and shopping...
We were heading out of Welshpool
a couple of hours ago when we spotted this mother and her brood! I moan at three, she must be on the verge of throwing herself in the lake!
this has been the week of 'shopping' very unusual for me because I do not do 'shopping'.
I have found that I now get quite fazed in crowds, cannot abide the shopping malls with air conditioning and piped music - Sainsburys finished me off a few years back - all that dark blue and orange, narrow till isles and hot as hell. Guess who calmly left a full trolley in the aisle and left never to return! Their loss was Tesco's home delivery gain and now I only shop when I really really want to and that doesn't happen often!
But today was lovely even though we have April showers (at last). We went to Bishops Castle my very favourite quirky market town to the bank and a quick mooch for nothing in particular then back to Harvest Wholefoods , a lovely farm shop full to the brim of herbs, honeys, breads, every dried fruit and seed known to man and a few more besides! It was then off to Welshpool eating carob covered ginger as we went- zig zagging backwards and forwards over the Welsh border- one minute in England next second in Wales! We followed a valley that was so green and lush there was no other colour visible, When we climbed out of the valley we could look down onto another fertile vale with a tiny airport in the bottom. The little white planes and helicopters looked toybox size. We crossed the River Severn and Powys Castle stood out above the tree in red sandstone on the hillside, where Charles and Camilla stay when in Wales. Youngest son's cycle deposited for desperate repairs we duly headed for the market hall and the veggie stalls, the cheeses, stalls now selling Eastern European foods for the migrant workers, plants and more plants of every colour and size - now this 'shopping' I can cope with. On to W H Smith to order a Harry Potter for youngest while I found the new Joanna Trollope and another Jodi Picoult, a get well card for one of my favourite old shepherds ( I love the old shepherdy men with weatherbeaten faces, few teeth, bent and gnarled as a tree in the wind, but with bright sparkly eyes, a wicked sense of humour and a crumpled hat full of tales to tell) A spot of lunch in a busy cafe and it was off again homeward bound, via the shop that sells sheep troughs, back across the border to the local butcher/bakery for bread and a joint of local beef and a slow chug back up the hill to home full to the roof with goodies.
Earlier in the week I had a lovely annual pilgrimage to Ikea with T and her sister and grandson Toby 6 weeks old now. Poor Toby he soon disappeared under boxes of cutlery, curtains, throws, saucepans, bedlinen, glasses but he didn't seem to mind - he just slept. We do not go often just perhaps once or twice a year to replenish stocks of the necessary items that Ikea do so well. Remember they used to say 'chuck out your chintzes'? They have crept back in - flowers everywhere! When we were going through the building phase of this house I decided to have an Ikea kitchen - a lot of people looked aghast! I had an Ikea kitchen and I have to say 5 years on - I was right! I love it! Still! The downside about a trip to Ikea has to be the M6 only about 10 miles of it but it is horrible.
When autumn starts to appear a group of us will congregate very early on a misty Saturday morning like birds about to migrate, once shared around two or three cars we drive off in convoy with serious shopping in mind! Where are we off to? ---The Potteries, Stoke on Trent, to the factory shops of Spode, Aynsley, Port Meirion, Royal Worcester, Moorcroft, Dudson, Coalport and Wedgwood. But first a necessary stop in Newcastle under Lyme down a back steet of terraced houses to jostle with builders and labourers as they queue for their breakfast of Staffordshire oatcakes. Di used to live in this area and knows it like the back of her hand and introduced us all to Staffordshire oatcakes. Now there is a place in all our freezers where the oatcakes are! Fanatstic for quick snacks stuffed with bacon and cheese and topped with a tomato.
The factory shops are getting less now, foreign imports are ruining the pottery industry but there are still enough for us to fill three car boots as full as possible. I adore china, nice fine china and can be found literally whimpering in Spode, drooling in Aynsley and totally speechless in Moorcroft. My ambition is to own some Moorcroft china - I love it with a passion. I love going to antique fairs and asking how much the Moorcroft bowl is just to watch himself visibly pale in front of me when he thinks I am going to buy it! One day I will!
So that is me and shopping - clothes shopping, when absolutely necessary may mean a trip to M & S if I can't find what I want locally, but I usually can.
a couple of hours ago when we spotted this mother and her brood! I moan at three, she must be on the verge of throwing herself in the lake!this has been the week of 'shopping' very unusual for me because I do not do 'shopping'.
I have found that I now get quite fazed in crowds, cannot abide the shopping malls with air conditioning and piped music - Sainsburys finished me off a few years back - all that dark blue and orange, narrow till isles and hot as hell. Guess who calmly left a full trolley in the aisle and left never to return! Their loss was Tesco's home delivery gain and now I only shop when I really really want to and that doesn't happen often!
But today was lovely even though we have April showers (at last). We went to Bishops Castle my very favourite quirky market town to the bank and a quick mooch for nothing in particular then back to Harvest Wholefoods , a lovely farm shop full to the brim of herbs, honeys, breads, every dried fruit and seed known to man and a few more besides! It was then off to Welshpool eating carob covered ginger as we went- zig zagging backwards and forwards over the Welsh border- one minute in England next second in Wales! We followed a valley that was so green and lush there was no other colour visible, When we climbed out of the valley we could look down onto another fertile vale with a tiny airport in the bottom. The little white planes and helicopters looked toybox size. We crossed the River Severn and Powys Castle stood out above the tree in red sandstone on the hillside, where Charles and Camilla stay when in Wales. Youngest son's cycle deposited for desperate repairs we duly headed for the market hall and the veggie stalls, the cheeses, stalls now selling Eastern European foods for the migrant workers, plants and more plants of every colour and size - now this 'shopping' I can cope with. On to W H Smith to order a Harry Potter for youngest while I found the new Joanna Trollope and another Jodi Picoult, a get well card for one of my favourite old shepherds ( I love the old shepherdy men with weatherbeaten faces, few teeth, bent and gnarled as a tree in the wind, but with bright sparkly eyes, a wicked sense of humour and a crumpled hat full of tales to tell) A spot of lunch in a busy cafe and it was off again homeward bound, via the shop that sells sheep troughs, back across the border to the local butcher/bakery for bread and a joint of local beef and a slow chug back up the hill to home full to the roof with goodies.
Earlier in the week I had a lovely annual pilgrimage to Ikea with T and her sister and grandson Toby 6 weeks old now. Poor Toby he soon disappeared under boxes of cutlery, curtains, throws, saucepans, bedlinen, glasses but he didn't seem to mind - he just slept. We do not go often just perhaps once or twice a year to replenish stocks of the necessary items that Ikea do so well. Remember they used to say 'chuck out your chintzes'? They have crept back in - flowers everywhere! When we were going through the building phase of this house I decided to have an Ikea kitchen - a lot of people looked aghast! I had an Ikea kitchen and I have to say 5 years on - I was right! I love it! Still! The downside about a trip to Ikea has to be the M6 only about 10 miles of it but it is horrible.
When autumn starts to appear a group of us will congregate very early on a misty Saturday morning like birds about to migrate, once shared around two or three cars we drive off in convoy with serious shopping in mind! Where are we off to? ---The Potteries, Stoke on Trent, to the factory shops of Spode, Aynsley, Port Meirion, Royal Worcester, Moorcroft, Dudson, Coalport and Wedgwood. But first a necessary stop in Newcastle under Lyme down a back steet of terraced houses to jostle with builders and labourers as they queue for their breakfast of Staffordshire oatcakes. Di used to live in this area and knows it like the back of her hand and introduced us all to Staffordshire oatcakes. Now there is a place in all our freezers where the oatcakes are! Fanatstic for quick snacks stuffed with bacon and cheese and topped with a tomato.
The factory shops are getting less now, foreign imports are ruining the pottery industry but there are still enough for us to fill three car boots as full as possible. I adore china, nice fine china and can be found literally whimpering in Spode, drooling in Aynsley and totally speechless in Moorcroft. My ambition is to own some Moorcroft china - I love it with a passion. I love going to antique fairs and asking how much the Moorcroft bowl is just to watch himself visibly pale in front of me when he thinks I am going to buy it! One day I will!
So that is me and shopping - clothes shopping, when absolutely necessary may mean a trip to M & S if I can't find what I want locally, but I usually can.
Thursday, 10 May 2007
'Deck the halls with boughs of..............
LILAC'??????????.........................
well I did see a few of you Suffolk ladies proclaiming that it was 'bad luck' to bring lilac into the house .... so I've just about filled every vase and non vase with the biggest bunces of lilac I can find!
We have got to the stage in this household when any more 'bad luck' will actually cause us to reach saturation point! If I had kept a diary it would read like a 'Mr Bean 'script!
January 2007
within the first 10 days we had attended two funerals!
Saturday 20th January - a shooting day - himself went off as true 'hunter gatherers' do at this time of year, with trusty labrador to bring home plump pheasants and rabbits for the freezer no doubt partaking in the normal sociable activites that include lunch and the drinking of alcohol! I returned home after a foray around the farm shops and answered the phone to our vet saying..."I think we have saved the eye.. but she will have to stay under sedation for a couple of days because of the pain.........." What on earth was this man going on about!
It transpired that Kim, trusty labrador and mother to Skye -village thug, had chased a pheasnt under a fallen tree and had embedded a piece of wood nearly four inches long half an inch wide in her eye! Makes me squirm even now. Yuk!
She came home on the Monday night, with tablets, and firm instructions 'no bright lights!' We happily lived in gloom for days. The eye was saved- thank goodness- but Kim doesnt appear to have any intention of moving back out to the shed with the other dogs
'I am a house dog now, thank you very much, and I am not slumming it out there with my thug of a daughter and hormonal Aunty Lucy ( who is preggers)!'
Monday 22 January 2007
There we were creeping round fussing the dog in the gloom- the phone rang at 1am - it was middle son's team leader at the school where he works as a houseparent
" have just brought J into hospital, he is very ill and had collapsed at work - they think its appendicitis.... I'll stay here and ring you when its confirmed"
"Whaaaaaaaaaaaat?"
Wednesday 24 January 2007
J eventually has his operation -- Yes - that was a long time to wait but I shall not go into a long tirade about the NHS here!
Friday 26 January 2007
Himself ill with sickness bug - green apple quickstep, two bob bits - what ever you want to call it! Just drop into hospital to tell them J cannot come home with illness in the house. They tell me he has to be discharged as soon as poss! Will have to go to big brother - where there is big job in hand decorating spare room as nursery for baby due in 8 weeks! Oh great!
I came out of the hospital and walked towards car park - tripped in a pothole and thought, as you do, ' Oh sh*t - hope no one saw this!' and attempted to writhe about like beached whale to get back to vertical! Not a hope - right arm was at rather a funny angle and was as dead as the proverbial door nail! Could not get back to vertical so lay there in the rain, in a puddle thinking..'this is a road, will I now get run over as well?'
The Good Samaritan, a man in a car, came upon me and all was well- and with the help of two nurses I was unceremoniously deposited in casualty! There follows a party political broadcast on behalf of the raving loony party -or- my experience of the NHS- which again I shall not go into here! Other than to say that I am still without the use of my right arm/hand!
....One week later Friday 2 February 2007
I had taken to walking the 2 miles each afternoon down the hill to meet himself on his way home from work to get some exercise for me, with arm in plaster, and Kim recovering from her ordeal. Met him at 4;45pm and proceeded to drive down to the next village to Chip shop - himself was fed up with cooking duty by this time....
As we passed the garage it became obvioul there had been an accident with a car and a van directly in front of us. Dust was settling and people were running about and phones were being shouted into! Horror of horrors, any mother's nightmare - was that my eldest son in a heap on the side of the road? Yep -of course it was!!!
We followed the ambulance to Casualty...... while we were sitting there waiting for news...Himself turned to me, "Do you thik it might be a good idea if G, youngest son, and I booked ourselves into Casualty next Friday night - it may just cut out the middle bit?"
(Eldest son was OK other than whiplash and a bad back)
...it continued with minor mishaps through March, a big blip at the birth of 1st grandson which would involve the NHS again...lambing.... an unexpected death of a work mate in late April..... and we arrive in May...
We are back as we were, with middle son in plaster after breaking his thumb! He is off sick with me again - fighting for the computer etc!
At lambing himself delivered a beautiful big ewe lamb which he straight away said we would be keeping - she was perfect! He could see himself in white smock leading her around Burwarton Show....... He watched her grow and put on weight........ yesterday morning - she was as dead as dead can get! Unbelievable!
Then this morning I have to concede that the fourteen Buff Orpington Eggs that have been in the incubator the required length of time are simply not goung to hatch - this means that Malcolm is infertile----oh wailey bl****dy wailey!!
I am due to see the consultant on Monday - the headlines may read .....
' An Irate Woman has been Arrested after Attempting to Murder Consultant with One Hand'
..... she was seen to be clutching a ginger cockeral of large proportions under her arm and a bunch of lilac in her teeth and seemd a little fraught!'
well I did see a few of you Suffolk ladies proclaiming that it was 'bad luck' to bring lilac into the house .... so I've just about filled every vase and non vase with the biggest bunces of lilac I can find!
We have got to the stage in this household when any more 'bad luck' will actually cause us to reach saturation point! If I had kept a diary it would read like a 'Mr Bean 'script!
January 2007
within the first 10 days we had attended two funerals!
Saturday 20th January - a shooting day - himself went off as true 'hunter gatherers' do at this time of year, with trusty labrador to bring home plump pheasants and rabbits for the freezer no doubt partaking in the normal sociable activites that include lunch and the drinking of alcohol! I returned home after a foray around the farm shops and answered the phone to our vet saying..."I think we have saved the eye.. but she will have to stay under sedation for a couple of days because of the pain.........." What on earth was this man going on about!
It transpired that Kim, trusty labrador and mother to Skye -village thug, had chased a pheasnt under a fallen tree and had embedded a piece of wood nearly four inches long half an inch wide in her eye! Makes me squirm even now. Yuk!
She came home on the Monday night, with tablets, and firm instructions 'no bright lights!' We happily lived in gloom for days. The eye was saved- thank goodness- but Kim doesnt appear to have any intention of moving back out to the shed with the other dogs
'I am a house dog now, thank you very much, and I am not slumming it out there with my thug of a daughter and hormonal Aunty Lucy ( who is preggers)!'
Monday 22 January 2007
There we were creeping round fussing the dog in the gloom- the phone rang at 1am - it was middle son's team leader at the school where he works as a houseparent
" have just brought J into hospital, he is very ill and had collapsed at work - they think its appendicitis.... I'll stay here and ring you when its confirmed"
"Whaaaaaaaaaaaat?"
Wednesday 24 January 2007
J eventually has his operation -- Yes - that was a long time to wait but I shall not go into a long tirade about the NHS here!
Friday 26 January 2007
Himself ill with sickness bug - green apple quickstep, two bob bits - what ever you want to call it! Just drop into hospital to tell them J cannot come home with illness in the house. They tell me he has to be discharged as soon as poss! Will have to go to big brother - where there is big job in hand decorating spare room as nursery for baby due in 8 weeks! Oh great!
I came out of the hospital and walked towards car park - tripped in a pothole and thought, as you do, ' Oh sh*t - hope no one saw this!' and attempted to writhe about like beached whale to get back to vertical! Not a hope - right arm was at rather a funny angle and was as dead as the proverbial door nail! Could not get back to vertical so lay there in the rain, in a puddle thinking..'this is a road, will I now get run over as well?'
The Good Samaritan, a man in a car, came upon me and all was well- and with the help of two nurses I was unceremoniously deposited in casualty! There follows a party political broadcast on behalf of the raving loony party -or- my experience of the NHS- which again I shall not go into here! Other than to say that I am still without the use of my right arm/hand!
....One week later Friday 2 February 2007
I had taken to walking the 2 miles each afternoon down the hill to meet himself on his way home from work to get some exercise for me, with arm in plaster, and Kim recovering from her ordeal. Met him at 4;45pm and proceeded to drive down to the next village to Chip shop - himself was fed up with cooking duty by this time....
As we passed the garage it became obvioul there had been an accident with a car and a van directly in front of us. Dust was settling and people were running about and phones were being shouted into! Horror of horrors, any mother's nightmare - was that my eldest son in a heap on the side of the road? Yep -of course it was!!!
We followed the ambulance to Casualty...... while we were sitting there waiting for news...Himself turned to me, "Do you thik it might be a good idea if G, youngest son, and I booked ourselves into Casualty next Friday night - it may just cut out the middle bit?"
(Eldest son was OK other than whiplash and a bad back)
...it continued with minor mishaps through March, a big blip at the birth of 1st grandson which would involve the NHS again...lambing.... an unexpected death of a work mate in late April..... and we arrive in May...
We are back as we were, with middle son in plaster after breaking his thumb! He is off sick with me again - fighting for the computer etc!
At lambing himself delivered a beautiful big ewe lamb which he straight away said we would be keeping - she was perfect! He could see himself in white smock leading her around Burwarton Show....... He watched her grow and put on weight........ yesterday morning - she was as dead as dead can get! Unbelievable!
Then this morning I have to concede that the fourteen Buff Orpington Eggs that have been in the incubator the required length of time are simply not goung to hatch - this means that Malcolm is infertile----oh wailey bl****dy wailey!!
I am due to see the consultant on Monday - the headlines may read .....
' An Irate Woman has been Arrested after Attempting to Murder Consultant with One Hand'
..... she was seen to be clutching a ginger cockeral of large proportions under her arm and a bunch of lilac in her teeth and seemd a little fraught!'
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