Wilf R. RIP,

Today I attended the funeral of a good friend of mine whom I'd known for more that 45 years..

I've put together a little obituary for him and his widow Carol, whom I first met when I was about 18, ( and that's a long time ago!)


1957, was the year we moved as a family to live in a pub at the centre of a mining village near Crook, in Co Durham

A youth club had started in a neighbouring village and it was there I met this tall, slim redhead with a ready smile and a friendly disposition. There was never anything romantic about our friendship, just good fun and happy times with her and her 2 brothers, joining in the dances and other quite innocent social activities of a group of 'Fifties' teenagers.

2 years later I was in the Army and receiving a regular weekly letter from Carol, full of news and chat from our village. I married and returned to the UK but it was only this morning that I learned that during that time she was also writing to another squaddy, this time in Hong Kong, and when his Regiment returned they met and married. I was pleased for Carol when I met Wilf , who when rigged out in his dashing Cavalry Regiment's No 1 dress uniform with its ceremonial chain mail over one shoulder, was, in the Army vernacular of the time, "As Smart as a Carrot!"

The second son of a family of 13, Wilf was the "strong silent type" and a complete opposite and perfect foil to Carol who was described by none other than my first wife as "La Mariposa" ( The Butterfly ) . My late father called her "as dizzy as a spinning top", but Carol and Wilf confounded them all by staying madly in love for over 46 years.

They set about raising a family and I was next to meet them in a really surprising way.

Late summer of '64, I was sat sitting in the middle a hillside above the Pied Piper town of Hameln ( Hamelin). I was attached to the advance party of my regiment ,which was tasked to erect the 250 x 6 man tents in preparation for the arrival a the main body of the Engineer Regiment and then join in the annual fun and games of a 6 week "Bridging Camp"

A field telephone connected by a long cable to the Bridging camp's tiny admin office shrilled around noon on that brilliantly sunny Sunday and jerked me from my day dreaming siesta. " A personal call for Sapper Cunningham"! was the terse message from the "Orderly Scorpion" about half a mile away.

Thoroughly mystified I waited until the telephone shrilled again and a strange male voice with a familiar North east accent sounded in my ear... it was Wilf, telling me that Carol was in the local 'Frauenklinik'( German Maternity hospital) in Paderborn after having delivered their first born, Simon, a full 2 months prematurely.

As my duty was just about to end, I was into civvies and heading for the Hauptbahnhof ( Main Railway station, in just a few minutes. The German 'Personenzug' (passenger train) got me to the centre of Paderborn 50 or so miles away to the West in about an hour and at 3 pm I met Wilf outside the Maternity ward and in we trooped to see Carol. Young Simon was in an incubator and looked to be about the size of a 2 lb of sugar bag. Tubes entered his tiny body at one end and left at the other and leads and connectors covered it seemed every available square inch of what was left! But he proved to be a fighter and was soon back home to Carol and Wilf's MSQ near Paderborn .

That was all 44 years ago and today Simon's a tall slim young man looking every inch his father's double. and ready to take over the role of head of the family

The funeral service was taken by a Methodist Minister who gave a great eulogy for Wilf. Speaking in a strong yet sympathetic voice he outlined Wilf's adult life in front of a packed chapel before sending the coffin behind the curtains to the strains of of Elgar's 'Nimrod'.. And so back to the little village tucked away in the foothills of the Pennines for the traditional 'cuppa' and buffet lunch for all family and friends

RIP Wilf . A good life, well lived, by a man who was truly loved by his wife and all of his children

Paris 2010

That's the title I gave to a Savings Account set up last year specifically for that purpose.. to pay for a 4 day trip to Paris in late October this year. Almost exactly a year since it started, the account has accumulated sufficient funds plus a little bit over and the balance was sent off in good time to meet the deadline of the end of this month. This is probably the very first time that we have taken holiday after having saved up for it first, and I have to say that now that the main expense is paid I feel quite virtuous! Nowadays when we're on two fixed incomes, our days of running up a Credit Card bill with nary a thought on repayment are long gone ( TG)

We, all good people from M.'s parish Church, are to travel overland and then under the land / sea by Eurostar with the Gare du Nord as our ultimate rail destination. Then on to the hotel belonging to the Ibis chain, named 'Paris Alésia' in Montparnasse. Looking at the Travel Company's glossy brochure, I see that the 4 days are packed with tours, trips, visits, and there's even an evening at a Cabaret with 3 course meal for good measure.

Last year we had a great trip to Bruges and were looked after in grand style by the same tour Company, Riviera. So it is with high hopes that we'll set off in a couple of month's time for what will be my first real stay in Paris. Much more later. If anyone reading this is more of a Francophile, and has any tips or even dire warnings, on the Big City, please feel free to post in here.

Monty Solves the IT problems

Assuming his usual pose after grappling with a rather complicated file search on Marjorie's PC.

Home Alone

That's a full week, well 6 days actually, that I've been at home,alone, in sole charge of house, cat, and TV zapper!

This is a regular feature of our year, when Marjorie visits her sister and her family in the Midlands. When the children were young, ( wasn't that just yesterday?) M,'s visit was ostensibly to give the hard pressed parents, both in full time employment, a bit of a break. These days with both children well able to fend for themselves, I think that Great Aunt Marjorie enjoys her time to herself, just as much as I enjoy the experience of just being by myself. I think it has something to do with the fact that we know that the separation will end and we'll pick up our joint lives again quite soon.

The week has just flown by. Three golf matches, a planned visit to the car dealers to get t'buggy MOT'd** ( passed with flying colours!), a re-start to this blog, and generally keeping myself to a normal routine. Although I can cook a simple meal ( meat,& veg,) I soon get tired of the same old, same old, and last evening decided to ring the changes and visit a local restaurant which specialises in 'Mediterranean' cuisine.

It was 'party night' last night, and a noisy 'hen party' was in full swing. Apart from the noise, the rest of the diners were well entertained by some of the antics of the assembled guests. The fashion these days seems to centre on all the female guests of the bride to be, dressing up in some outlandish 'Themed' fancy dress. Last night was 'Cowboy' (or cowgirl) theme, and the sight of several very well endowed young ladies in brief skirts, high heeled boots and 'weskits' which revealed more than they covered, was a fascinating glimpse of "how the other half live!".

I had just done justice to the starters,( calamares, whitebait, and 'pulpo' (octopus), served 'Tapas' style), when the room was literally taken over by a tall young man dressed in a fire fighters' outfit and wielding a large fire hose nozzle. This was of course the male stripper whose manly physique did not a lot for me but sent the already high decibel level from the 'ladies' up to stratospheric altitudes. There are times when it's handy being deaf, and last night was one of them, for with a touch on the "off" button on my hearing aids, all the noise went quiet and I was left to 'enjoy' the rest of the proceedings in utter peace!

Back home to be greeted by 'Monty' our new cat, provided by the Cats Protection people to replace our beloved 'Oscar' after his tragic death last March.

Monty is a dark tabby with green eyes which regard us at times with barely concealed disdain.
He's a silent animal, lithe and very active, with lightning reactions to all stimuli, both real and imagined.

"**MOT'd" for my readers outside the UK ( at last count there was only you Charlie!) ::) refers to the annual roadworthyness test compulsory for all UK cars over 3 years old.

A re-start to blogging

Over a year has gone by and my blog just sat there, waiting like a faithful hound for my return. Well, now I'm back, a bit older but it would seem no wiser or in any way better looking!

A year of highs and lows, all unreported, except to a select company of people on a web forum. The highs included a visit to my family in Spain where my granddaughter is growing rapidly into a beautiful young lady.

Elaine at 13 years

The lowest part of the year had to be that dreadful day, March 4th, when I reversed my car over our pet cat, Oscar, killing him instantly.





I don't want to dwell on that for obvious reasons, suffice to say that the phrase "If only" was getting to be used an awful lot across the weeks that followed.

Those two extremes apart, my 14 months of blog abstinence has passed very quickly, and life continues to treat me well.





Oscar.

 

A Holy Island Pilgrimage

An account of a weekend spent on the Holy Island of Lindisfarne....




Back last evening from a very enjoyable long weekend break at the Holy Island of Lindisfarne. Feeling very relaxed but a bit tired after a lot of unaccustomed exercise, and the stimulating and lively company of 10 adults and 19 children, from our parish church.

Holy Island has long been a favourite spot for a good long run out from the City, 50 or so miles to the North and set in lovely, tranquil scenery. Because of the tidal restrictions with the causeway closed twice in every 24 hours, this has always been a "Day Trip" excursion, so when last year the notice of a long weekend came up, we were first to put our names down.

We invited my cousin Helen, who was widowed last year. She has a large family and is well supported by them, but needed a bit of a break from the daily round and the stimulation of others to ease her from her grief. She literally blossomed over the weekend, and kept us two company when the younger element hared off on more adventurous pursuits.

Our accommodation was the Saint Vincent de Paul "Ozanam" Centre, basic and a bit Spartan, but perfectly adequate and in the main, quite comfortable. Being easily the oldest, we 3 were feted and allocated twin and single rooms respectively. The layout was "Cloister like" with the rooms and connecting corridors forming a square. Dot, ("Dorothea") our organiser, quietly moved the groups of children who had "bagsied" the rooms on either side of us, to help keep the noise levels in check. The Centre's lady in charge, Sr.Josepha, gave us a welcoming talk, outlining the "Do's and Don'ts" for a safe holiday. When she got to the bit where "Swinging from the roof beams was not allowed", everyone looked at us 3 'oldies' and general merriment broke out! That set the tone for the rest of the holiday and groups of children would warn us daily about the dangers of swinging from the beams!

After a packed lunch which we had been advised to bring, the first organised ramble to the dunes was soon under way. Before we left,however, the "Country side Code" ( Take only photos, leave only footprints) was stressed and each child given a number on leaving the Centre and had to answer to that number at the various "head counts" during and after each stage of the afternoon's activities. With the children's ages ranging from 8 to 18yrs, it was quite an eclectic group, but as most were related to each other the natural big brother / sister care took over, helping the group leaders Julie,Lawrie, Sean, Dot, John and Carolyn, to keep the party together and prevent stragglers from getting lost.

The only thing which could not be planned for was of course the weather. It could easily be summed up as "Cold and Grey" with the North East Coast in, its 5th day of a total 10/10ths cover of sea fret, propelled by a strong East wind. But we were well wrapped up ( with notable exceptions of two of the more hardy breed of teenagers) against the worst the the weather could throw at us and luckily the rain kept away. Walking boots were the favourite amongst the adults, but a lot of the girls were shod in Wellies which seem to be produced today in a riot of glorious colours.





Once on the beach, the wellies and other footwear were quickly abandoned and 'The Great Sand Castle Competition' began. As I have no family connections in the parish, I was a true "independent" and was asked to adjudicate on the creations which were going up at great pace around me. Without showing fear or favour, but allowing the fact to escape that I could be bought, if only they could all come up with a decent single malt, I applied myself diligently to the task . Sadly there were no offers of a 'bung', although Sean did venture the opinion that I may become incorporated into the beach scenery, if certain favours were not forthcoming!



The older boys literally threw themselves into their sand sculpture. It started out with epic proportions and at one time the casual observer could be forgiven on assuming that this was the Northern entrance to the Channel Tunnel! Owen took a bearing on what turned out to be the far off figure of Lawrie who was rock hunting in the shallows, and was soon several feet down. Opposite him, Thomas took a 180 degree back bearing and the race to link up a tunnel was under way

I left them to their labours and took the opportunity to wander up the other end of the beach, to check on mesdames Helen and Marjorie, who had declined to descend and preferred to sit at the top of the cliff and smile benevolently upon the scene of frenzied activity below.

Upon my return the boys had suffered a mini catastrophe! Tunnel cave in had occurred when Owen's original bearing on Lawrie turned out to be movable and he changed the angle of attack of his face work. OR, was it that Rachel had stumbled (accidentally of course!) on the top of the project, bringing down the roof. The Board of Enquiry which was convened quickly exonerated Rachel of all blame, but for her penance she had to suggest what the boys could turn their ruined tunnel into. The result is shown in one of my many pics which can be seen here.




........ Now we've heard of Medieval burial grounds but this one was bang up to date! For shame Rachel!


A Torchlight Ramble was next on the agenda and with everyone grasping a multi various collection of electric illuminants (some with a wind up rechargeable batteries), we set off towards the old Missionaries Causeway in the gathering gloom. This original track, which is picked out with a long row of poles stretching across the sands into the West, was used by the missionaries and early Island inhabitants long before the modern road, was built on a higher elevation. By the time we got down to wet sand and sea weed, it was "Black Dark" and the torches became vital. The tide was just on the turn, "Slack water" having been reached about an hour before our arrival. Groups of welly booted children splashed about in the inch or so of water, and it was less than 30 minutes before Lawrie blew on his whistle to shepherd all the excited children back on to comparatively dry land once more The necessary head count took place once we had gained the modern roadway, and with flashing torches, we set off back to the SVP Centre and hot mugs of cocoa / Horlicks all round. Julie was "Duty House Mother" and went round all the rooms checking that all was in order and that everyone was tucked up for the night.

The "boys" led by Sean and Lawrie sidled out of a side door and were later to be found by John and I, actually imbibing strong likker and a place called a "Public House". Expressing our shock and horror at this disgraceful behaviour took John and I all of 3 seconds, and then we were told that the next round was on us! Sr. Josepha had said that 'Lights Out' for adults was to be at 11.30 so we made haste to keep on the good side of the good Sister!

The children had other ideas and a "Midnight feast" was in full swing!
Bottles of 'Pop' and choccy bars were being scoffed and the popping of blown up crisp packets was at full throttle! It was nearly 12.30 when the noise eased off and we could get some rest!

Saturday morning dawned with the same grey overcast but most of the children and all of the adults seemed to have benefited from a good night's sleep and no one seemed to mind the cool weather. Breakfast was served, with the usual cereals etc, and then to cheers from the Ex- Forces amongst us Sr Josepha started ladling out baked beans to go with the sausage , egg and bacon! Toned down for the children and the good sister, the old marching chorus of...

"Oh the Navy Gets the Gravy
But the Army Gets the Beans!
Beans Beans Beans!
Nothing but Beans!"

... made for much merriment amongst the children.


By 10 .30 all were assembled in the dining hall and Dot gave the itinerary for a walk to the opposite end of the Island. Carrying the very well labelled packed lunches , Tuna & Mayo, Cheese Savoury, and even a "Nut allergy" and Vegetarian option, the essential "Numbering" took place on exit from the Dining hall . Marjorie had to be restrained by Helen on her exit and told that " No dear, this isn't an audition for Mamma Mia!" (Poor old thing, she doesn't get out much you know!)

The morning's route took us past our night time rambles and it was fascinating to see just how far we'd walked, before the now retreating tide had washed our footprints away. Turning sharp right of the main causeway brought us to a farm track headed due North, with our destination the ancient ruins of a Saxon Village "Greenshiel" (See photo of plaque), situated at about 3 miles to our front. Lawrie, John and I set a fairly gentle pace and Helen, Marjorie and Sean in his fluorescent tabard brought up the rear. Stopping for a breather, Sean pointed out a Lark on its busy flight. All except me could clearly hear its high pitched twitter, and this was the first time an old "townie" like me had ever witnessed such a rare sight.

I apologise for the tiny photos shown here, but "Blogspot" seems to be having a few techie troubles in the photo sizing department. I will wait patiently for the next 3 seconds for signs of improvement then seek an alternative host site.

Photos here.....

http://picasaweb.google.es/abueloeddie/AHolyIslandWeekend?authkey=Gv1sRgCNyzkcipnrCYtQE#