Enter Sam

Welcome to the world, Sam

Filling dreams
And so, something unique happened this last week – unique to me, but an astonishingly common occurrence throughout history and across the world. But this thing has never happened to me before. I took on a new identity –  Grandfather/Grandad/Grandpa/Poppa/some other word – when a new member of my family arrived. I’m assuming Sam – for that is he – will decide what to call me at some point in the next few years. Sam is a lucky little guy arriving in a loving family in a lovely (new) home in a lovely corner of Planet Earth near shops, woods, a meadow, railways (big and miniature), a canal, a river, a valley, hills and dales and enough sky, clouds and wuthering weather to fill his dreams.

Arriving home

At first the infant
What can I say in a blog about my first grandchild? My brain, heart, guts and soul are rollercoasting with thoughts, imaginings and feelings. Shakespeare’s most famous quotation about babies is negative (but funny):

                                   All the world’s a stage,

And all the men and women merely players;

They have their exits and their entrances;

And one man in his time plays many parts,

His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,

Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms….

Cuddle with Auntie Em

Things to look forward to….
Sam’s in his First Stage of Life and as well as mewling and puking, I’m sure he’ll do some drinking, feeding, looking, tracking, gurgling, babbling, chortling, biting, reaching, gripping, grabbing, staring, hugging, kissing, tickling, waving, clapping, dancing, pushing, pulling, rolling, sitting, crawling, holding, pointing, smiling, laughing…. And hopefully a goodly amount of sleeping. And that’s before this time next year. Until then, a couple of poems.

"I thought we'd agreed," said Cora, "it was just the three of us...."

Joy is my name

Infant Joy
by William Blake

‘I have no name.
I am but two days old.’
What shall I call thee?
‘I happy am.
Joy is my name.’
Sweet Joy befall thee!

Pretty Joy!
Sweet Joy but two day’s old.
Sweet Joy I call thee:
Thou dost smile.
I sing the while.
Sweet joy befall thee.

First Meetings

Dark, peaceful, sacred…

Although Carol Ann Duffy (like Blake, one of my favourite poets) writes the following to her daughter, it’s easy to imagine beyond the pronouns to any child, any time, any where, any when…

A Child's Sleep 
by Carol Ann Duffy
I stood at the edge of my child's sleep
hearing her breathe;
although I could not enter there,
I could not leave.

Her sleep was a small wood,
perfumed with flowers;
dark, peaceful, sacred,
acred in hours.

And she was the spirit that lives
in the heart of such woods;
without time, without history,
wordlessly good.

I spoke her name, a pebble dropped
in the still night,
and saw her stir, both open palms
cupping their soft light;

then went to the window. The greater dark
outside the room
gazed back, maternal, wise,
with its face of moon.

Samuel Miles Grimley

As we recall those unlived years

100 Years of Remembrance

2021 marks the centenary of the year (1921) when different elements of Remembrance were combined to create the traditions we know today: Armistice Day, the poppy symbol, the two-minute silence, the service for the Unknown Warrior and the march-past of veterans and dignitaries at monuments around the UK, including the Cenotaph in London. Regular readers will know my admiration for the Royal British Legion and much more about the history of Remebrance can be found on their website.

Past, present, future

What I always reflect on is how inclusive remembrance is: men, women, young, old, all ethnicities, nationalities, religions and backgrounds can find a home within an act of remembrance. White, purple, black and rainbow poppy wearers can find a home. Most significantly, the grieving can find a home, “a moment stolen for a tear.” Lest we forget, we need to remember…. It is a process that should be applied to all aspects of leadership and political life…. We need to know the past to understand the present and plan for a better future.

We shall remember them

BFBS

British Forces Broadcasting Service (BFBS UK) aims to provide TV, radio and internet entertainment and information to Britain’s Armed Forces and their dependents. They reach people around the globe and have permanent studios in (to date) 10 countries, as far afield as, for example, the Falkland Islands and Bahrain. They began in Algiers in 1943 and have consistently transmitted military news, live sport, and movies as well as material like the BBC’s children’s content to an increasing number of bases in remote settings and to families stationed at home and abroad.

Ernie Rowe

Ernie Rowe worked for 30 years at BFBS and penned her own poem in 2019 to add to the world’s growing collection of Remembrance poetry:

Remembered still those souls that tried

To save the world, but many died.

A moment stolen for a tear,

As we recall those unlived years.

The camaraderie that flew those souls

Back home to those they knew,

And loved them dear and held them close

But for our sakes released to foes

The silence that they leave behind

Is space to calm the troubled minds

Of those they loved – and can’t rewind.

Again this day we give our thanks

For those returned from serving ranks

And them ‘as gave it all away

Forever in our minds will stay.

Previous blogs featuring Remembrance as a theme:

• In Flanders field the poppies blow – Saturday 7th November 2015

• Falling Leaves Like Snowflakes – Wednesday 11th November 2015

• Harry’s Last Stand – Saturday 28th May 2016

• Bastille Day 2016 – Saturday 13th August 2016

• There but not there – Sunday 11th November 2018

• The Last Post – Monday 11th November 2019

• Lockdown VE Day (Blog 300) – Saturday 9th May 2020

• Autumn Rain – Saturday 7th November 2020

Snowdrops and Pancakes

Raindrops on roses

If I were to rank order Maria von Trapp’s list from Rodgers and Hammerstein’s My Favourite Things I would place at the top:

Silver white Winters that melt into Springs

….which is why it has been lovely this past week to to see snowdrops on our walks – appearing, like magic, in the week when I also discovered a new way to make pancakes. Yes, Shrove Tuesday, it must be the start of Lent:

“And every man and maide doe take their turne,

And tosse their Pancakes up for feare they burne.”

(proverb from 1619)

Well, this year, no Pancake Bell summoned me to be “shriven” (absolved of my sins through confession) but I still appreciated the symbols:

• Eggs (creation, fertility, eternity, the world itself)
• Salt (purification, seasoning and wholesomeness)
• Flour (the staff of life, domestic frugality and hard work)
• Milk (purity, abundance, the primal food)

and tried a new thing (actually a medieval trick) of gradually making a paste with everything except the egg whites and then folding the whisked egg whites gently into the paste…. Reader, I made them. Fluffy, or what? The collage above includes a picture of one of the more well-done ones (As I Like It) and includes a dollop of stewed rhubarb (cos I is from Yorkshire) and some coconut yoghurt (cos I is a bit tropical.) Oh, and look, there’s the latest completed puzzle. Oh, and there’s me having had my first Covid-19 vaccination…. And after all these months (the first recorded Covid cases in the UK were identified in York on January 31st 2020) I reflect that I have spent the greatest part of the year in the company of one person, so under the collage is one of My Favourite Poems in tribute….

A Marriage

by Michael Blumenthal 

You are holding up a ceiling

with both arms. It is very heavy,

but you must hold it up, or else

it will fall down on you. Your arms                                           are tired, terribly tired,

and, as the day goes on, it feels

as if either your arms or the ceiling

will soon collapse.

But then

unexpectedly,

something wonderful happens:

Someone,

a man or a woman,

walks into the room

and holds their arms up

to the ceiling beside you.

So you finally get

to take down your arms.

You feel the relief of respite,

the blood flowing back

to your fingers and arms.

And when your partner’s arms tire,

you hold up your own

to relieve him again.

And it can go on like this

for many years

without the house falling.

Top left, Michael Blumenthal

Delifresh Valentine

Give and take, prod and pull

Anne McClain (astronaut) has given good tips on living in (quarantined) close quarters:

• Communication. Listen attentively, respond, identify non-verbal signals, question, reflect, repeat….
• Leadership/followership. Accept responsibility whether you’re leading or following and present solutions not problems (Anne points out that a follower is actually a subordinate leader, contributing to the leader’s direction – and on the international space station everyone both leads and follows, a good tip for relationships – give and take, prod and pull)
• Self Care. No-one knows how to take care of yourself better than your very own self (as long as you take time to check what works for you: check regularly hygiene, sleep, fuel, body, mind and mood – and change if necessary.) Optimise strengths. Be open about weaknesses and feelings.
• Team Care. Demonstrate patience and respect. Encourage. Monitor stress, fatigue, sickness, supplies, resources, workload. Volunteer. Share credit. Take blame.
• Group Living. Cooperate, don’t compete. Keep calm in conflict. Take accountability and give praise freely.

Walk. Love. Limit the News.

In my first post this year, I set myself the three resolutions in the subheading above. I will now add a fourth. For 34 years of marriage Sally and I have shared “KP” (as we call it, from White Christmas…. Kitchen patrol….) and had our own particular dishes but cooked independently for 99.9% of the time because we (me, to be honest) didn’t follow Anne McClain’s advice and I like total control when I am Chief Chef. But in honour of 2021’s Valentine’s Day we invested in a box of fresh local produce from Delifresh with recipe cards (and online video training) to cook a 3-course Valentine’s dinner together. Together! Cooperating, like Anne McClain recommends for astronauts on the international space station.... And it worked – restaurant-quality ingredients and techniques resulted in hearty portions, including leftovers for the next day. For the first time in 60 years I helped make fondant potatoes! So…. Walk. Love, Limit the News. And…. Cooperate in the kitchen. Never too old to learn new tricks.

Changing Landscapes

More and more people I know are being vaccinated against Covid-19. I’m hoping to be jabbed before the end of March at the latest. I wonder what will change when we are living with Covid in a vaccinated world? I don’t think walking will stop. I’d never have guessed that the same series of walks over and over again could remain interesting but the changing mist and low cloud, changing frost and icy conditions, changing skies and winter light seem endlessly fascinating. A perfect ingredient in our astronaut Self Care.

It was the Rainbow gave thee birth

Political change for the good of civilisation, skinny Prosecco, home-baked bread, cookies and parmesan biscuits - also good for civilisation!

Watching woods fill up with snow

In the past fortnight there has been “too much weather” – bright blue skies, dull dark skies, gales, rain bursts, floods, mud pools, mud slides and snow. “It must be beautiful this time of year – all that snow!” So, I here offer some images of the woods and meadow near me, blanketed in snow. I have posted before about Robert Frost’s famous poem about stopping by woods on a snowy evening. This year, during Lockdown 3.0, there has been plenty of time to stop and stare (copyright W H Davies) at the lighting effects on the snowy crystals on the bare branches

Photos by Emily

I also love a quiet place

On one walk a miracle occurred: across a pond, above some reeds, a blue streak caught our eyes. We stood still, stared and waited. And there it was – one of my life ambitions fulfilled – a kingfisher in the wild. And, yes, it fished. And flapped. And bobbed its head. And perched. And stood. And streaked down into the pond again and back again to settle on its vantage point. It kingfished. And haunted. The last verb is inspired by Supertramp poet, W H Davies, who I’ve mentioned and quoted before. His poem below about a kingfisher is one I learned in primary school and later used as a teacher with Year 7 classes because it efficiently illustrated the use of archaic vocabulary and syntax, repetition, half rhyme, alliteration, assonance, simile, metaphor, personification, onomatopoeia – and even more sophisticated poetic techniques – all in one lovely-sounding 18-line package.

The Kingfisher

by W H Davies

It was the Rainbow gave thee birth,

And left thee all her lovely hues;

And, as her mother’s name was Tears,

So runs it in my blood to choose

For haunts the lonely pools, and keep

In company with trees that weep.

Go you and, with such glorious hues,

Live with proud peacocks in green parks;

On lawns as smooth as shining glass,

Let every feather show its marks;

Get thee on boughs and clap thy wings

Before the windows of proud kings.

Nay, lovely Bird, thou art not vain;

Thou hast no proud, ambitious mind;

I also love a quiet place

That’s green, away from all mankind;

A lonely pool, and let a tree

Sigh with her bosom over me.

What I do is me: for that I came

On the day I saw the kingfisher I also thought of one of my obsessions – one of the most brilliant poets in the English language: a poet who led a fascinating life and wrought poems like a Christ-loving-pagan blacksmith hammering golden swords whilst wrestling with fiery demons in the tattered and billowing cloud of God’s abundant, undulating duvet…. Yes, he’s a hyperbolic wordsmith, that Gerard Manley Hopkins – what a guy! Any road up, he wrote a sonnet about all things expressing their own selves, being themselves, expressing themselves (What I do is me: for that I came) and although the second half of the sonnet gets profoundly religious, he starts with three ordinary sounds: a bell, a string on a musical instrument and a stone dropped down a well; as well as two startling sights: the flaming glimpse of a dragonfly and the fiery lick of a kingfisher.

Kingfisher, Dragonfly, Stone, String, Bell

As Kingfishers Catch Fire

by Gerard Manley Hopkins

As kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies draw flame;

As tumbled over rim in roundy wells

Stones ring; like each tucked string tells, each hung bell's

Bow swung finds tongue to fling out broad its name;

Each mortal thing does one thing and the same….

Each mortal thing does one thing and the same. Snow falls. Kingfishers fish. Poets distil. What I do is me: for that I came…. We are, as people say, human beings not human doings…. So stopping, standing and staring at snow on the bare branches of trees, or watching a kingfisher haunting a lonely pool, or pausing, breathing and resting – that kind of time-wasting is not time wasted. The time you enjoy wasting is not wasted time.

Advent 2020

Countdown to Christmas

So muddy walks with family, jigsaw puzzles and posh takeaways continue to distract from Tier Three Restrictions. As do creative ways to meet up with longtime friends to catch up and Only Connect. It was easier this year to follow my instinct that Christmas fol-de-rol can only manifest on December 1st because lockdown meant that most shops were out of bounds and I’ve fine-tuned my ability to block out Christmas music in October and November…. Over the years, certain “traditions” mean that the Christmas countdown can begin: the Blue Peter Advent Crown (tinsel and wire coat hangers, anyone?), the decision about what day to choose (and who will decorate) a Christmas tree, the flutter of (fewer and fewer) Christmas cards through the letterbox (who will be first off the mark?), the slowing down of Autumn as Winter approaches and the military-style lists of “Things To Do” get gradually crossed off and, naturally, some form of Advent Calendar. Last Christmas Sue (in collage above) gifted us Advent Stockings and this year Sally secretly filled the Evens and I’m (naturally) Odd.

Out with the Old, In with the New

As Advent began, global miracles were occurring – yes, there’s the familiar….

• the rising Star of Bethlehem/Comet
• the approaching of the Three Wise Men/Kings/Astronomers
• the glimpse of Shepherds counting their socks and heralding Angels
• the longed-for arrival of a beloved baby in a Manger

But in the present-day, Advent 2020 heralds the start of a new world order with a few concrete miracles, in ascending order of importance….

• a new Christmas special episode of Call The Midwife
• the departure of some toxic staff from 10 Downing Street
• the very-nearly-complete dismissal of the TanToxic TwitterChundering US President
• the beginning of humanity’s vaccination FightBack against the Coronavirus – a triumph of international scientific collaboration 

– a sign of what the world can do with Wit, Wisdom, Will and Wherewithall....

Autumn Rain

Age shall not weary them

In November 2018 I quoted the whole of Lawrence Binyon’s poem For the Fallen which contains the famous lines of remembrance:

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old: 

Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. 

At the going down of the sun and in the morning 

We will remember them.

Since then Peter Jackson’s colourised film of footage from the First World War (with a convincing modern audio soundtrack) has astonished and moved audiences who have seen it. Watch They shall not grow old if you can and imagine…. Just imagine….

Working-class “Priest of Love”
This year my chosen tribute to the Armed Forces and their sacrifices comes from the pen of D H Lawrence, mostly known for novels like Sons and Lovers, The Rainbow, Women in Love and Lady Chatterley’s Lover, all very different masterpieces. He was also a master craftsman of the short story e.g. The Rocking Horse Winner and Odour of Chrysanthemums. Less well known are the essays and journalism he wrote before, during and after the “Great War” revealing his characteristic humanity and his sympathy for ordinary men and women who were damaged or destroyed by the failure of diplomacy. Lawrence also wrote hundreds of poems and one less well-known poem is an evocation of both Autumn and a metaphor for dying soldiers. The short lines and random rhymes are like raindrops pattering. “Heaven’s fields” reference the Greek land of the dead where fallen heroes live in Elysium. In the imagery of the poem, leaves are mini-deaths who mingle with the seeds and earth to be resurrected (“caught up aloft”) and rain becomes tears and rain “echoes even” in rhymes with “grain…. pain…. slain…. pain…. falling as rain….”

Autumn Rain
by DH Lawrence (published February 1917, written the previous Autumn)

The plane leaves
fall black and wet
on the lawn;

the cloud sheaves
in heaven’s fields set
droop and are drawn

in falling seeds of rain;
the seed of heaven
on my face

falling — I hear again
like echoes even
that softly pace

heaven’s muffled floor,
the winds that tread
out all the grain

of tears, the store
harvested
in the sheaves of pain

caught up aloft:
the sheaves of dead
men that are slain

now winnowed soft
on the floor of heaven;
manna invisible

of all the pain
here to us given;
finely divisible
falling as rain.

Diamond Birthday

Waterside Restaurant in Shipley, some birthdays past and Sally's caramel cake

Older and wiser?

I remember, aged about 8, praying in the toilet (where else?) to St Bernadette (who else?) to grant me such a long life that I would live to the age of 48. I can’t remember why I thought 48 was such a marvellous age to reach, but I do remember the number. I also remember aged 18 thinking “thank goodness I’m now an adult and I finally understand what’s what.” And then thinking the same at 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24…. Every year I thought “blimey, I was so immature last year, it’s such a relief to get to this new age of enlightenment. NOW I’m finally grown-up.” And at some point, in my late 20s, it dawned on me that there was NO SUCH THING as being “FINALLY grown-up” – just another year, month, week, day, hour, minute of…. change. Everything changes. And as each year goes by it becomes obvious how much is still left to learn, how understanding Life As We Know And Imagine It is an infinite process.

Pandemics and presents

In the weird year of 2020, it’s been fascinating to read about the pandemics that reached England in 664, 1346, 1485, 1510, 1563, 1592, 1603, 1637, 1665, 1775, 1847, 1918, 1957 and 1981, not to mention the outbreaks of, for example, influenza, cholera, smallpox and encephalitis that have swept through populations periodically. Did Covid-19 take the shine off my 60th birthday celebrations? It did and it didn’t. On the one hand (in one of the Libran pans of justice) I couldn’t see groups of people in places (theatre, cinema, restaurant) I often choose. But on the other hand (in the other pan of justice) it meant that everything that happened (socially distanced in the open air) and every message I received and every book, sock, toiletry, chocolate, bottle of wine, fat rascal, jigsaw – everything that came my way felt Valuable Beyond Measure. It felt like Birthday Blessings fit for a Diamond Occasion – rare, precious, glistening.

Thanks, Mademoiselle Soubirous

A tasting meal and wine flight for two at Shipley’s Waterside Restaurant, a homemade caramel cake (with crushed Crunchie on top), a walk across the local moor, surprise visitors, surprise presents. It felt like a “0” birthday. It was unusual, thanks to Covid-19. Merci, St Bernadette, for giving me 12 years more than I prayed for…. How about another 12? My rose-tinted glasses imagine a future birthday without social distancing….

No Time Like The Present

 

Approaching 60: Carpe Diem.

Whatever gets you through the night

Carpe Diem has had a new potency in these unstable times – seizing the day, appreciating the moment, living in the present. (As someone once said….) Plan like you’re going to live forever; live like you’re going to die tomorrow. The Covid-19 pandemic and its fatalities, casualties, pressures, ripple-effect economic blights and uncertainties conspire to to drag hearts and souls into the abyss of despondency. On the other hand, Captain Tom Moore, Marcus Rashford, Jacinda Ardern and millions more people have lifted our aspirations towards a better world. In some ways, I have no idea where Time has gone since the middle of February 2020 when Coronovirus started being publicised internationally. Pre-Covid seems like 10 years ago. Copying Dickens’s opening to A Tale of Two Cities, (as I have done more than once in this blog) the past year has been “the best of times…. the worst of times…. wisdom…. foolishness…. belief…. incredulity…. light…. darkness…. hope…. despair…. we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way….” And when I publish my next new post, I’ll be 60 years of age. Carpe Diem. In 1790, John Trusler, compiling proverbs, glossed the title of today’s post with “No time like the present, a thousand unforeseen circumstances may interrupt you at a future time.” So true.

Rainbows to Trumpkin, Sense to Nonsense

Twilight Garden Tour at Harewood

Life starts all over again…. 

As Summer hovers, clinging on, and Autumn looms, about to spread, I think about Jordan Baker’s line in F Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby,

“Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall.”

I wrote about that idea in the last post. A potent activity that reflected the idea was also our recent evening visit to Harewood House grounds. For many years, it was a place to take children to go wild on the adventure playground; and in recent times the Christmas decorations have been a highlight. Now, it’s all about the grounds….

Trevor and Sam

Head Gardener, Trevor Nicholson, led a small Covid-secure group on an exclusive tour of the site as the day visitors left and the sun went down. Accompanying Trevor was super-enthusiastic volunteer, Sam. We spent most of our time in the Himalayan garden and heard about the challenges of developing a great garden space and keeping it fresh each season. Many changes have happened over the centuries and in recent years, the mix of conservation, climate change, visitor experiences and the personal whims of gardeners and family alike have kept the team busy and scratching their heads and scrabbling in the soil to make the place spectacular for now but secure for the future. The Buddhist Stupa in the Himalayan Garden at Harewood is the only one of its kind in the UK and has been built and blessed by monks from Bhutan.

Walled Garden and Terrace View

The Walled Garden at Harewood currently has twelve large borders, all useful, many growing fruits and vegetables that are used on the estate or sold in local farm shops. It too has taken many forms over the decades and access to pictures of its development were fascinating, including a surreal period when it housed a maze. We ended our tour on the famous Charles Barry terrace with a glass of Prosecco and a meet-up with our “rival” twilight tour of people who had been round the Bird Garden.

New Deal

Brian and Sue on VE Day, the milky way, Monument Valley - everything changes, incrementally

Weaning off Zoom
So today, pubs and restaurants can begin re-opening and hairdressers can return to work. Some cinema chains are making tentative arrangements for opening but theatres and concert venues remain closed for performances. The Covid-19 Lockdown is “easing” further in the direction of a “New Normal.” The New Normal is likely to be with us for a few years. We’ve booked our first restaurant. We’ve booked our first social event with geographically distant friends (Sue and Brian above, making merry on VE Day.) How have we all coped? Have we learned anything about ourselves individually, as communities, as a country, as a continent, as a planet? Or will we strive to return everything to being the same as it was before? I don’t think that’s possible. Time (and circumstances) change things – notice the images below (the two adverts are absolutely genuine – from 1890 and 1964.) Some things will never be the same: any references to driving to Barnard Castle to test your eyesight, for example.

VE Day Afternoon Tea, the glorious Sophia Loren telling truths, genuine advertisements that wouldn't be printed in 2020

What’s past is prologue
The current UK Prime Minister Boris Johnson (Alexander Boris de Pfeffel Johnson to his family) has declared a New Deal and has given the impression he will now be able to deliver on his election manifesto promises (see No Excuses Now for a reminder.) I hope he succeeds in doing everything he promised, though I suspect the Coronavirus pandemic will be used time and again in the next decade to excuse failures. The first political New Deal belonged to President Roosevelt in America in 1933-34. To avoid further economic catastrophe, liberals pushed through the Second New Deal in 1935-36. History doesn’t show how many further New Deals might have been needed because The Second World War demanded everyone’s attention and other economic opportunities arose in the fight against Fascism. Hopefully, a World War is not around the corner in the 2020s. Still, we might as well talk about a New Deal – it sounds more energetic and optimistic than a New Normal. But I hope we can learn and build a better world. Shakespeare’s line from The Tempest (What’s past is prologue) is inscribed on the National Archives Building in Washington DC and can now be applied to any situation where past events should be used to determine exactly what happens next. We should learn from the past. Shouldn’t we? Happy Independence Day!

Summary of the forthcoming (expensive) Enquiry into the Coronavirus Pandemic