The Ghosts of Christmas Past – Episode Two

There is only one event certain to happen during the Christmas season, the winter solstice; Winter solstice 2018 in the Northern Hemisphere will be at 22:23 Greenwich Meantime on Friday 21st December, it is a moment, not a day. But for those of us who are not scientists it just means the shortest day; 7 hours 49 minutes and 41 seconds in Britain. While the shops are crowded with shoppers, others will flock to Stonehenge; the prehistoric monument is carefully aligned on a sight-line that points to the winter solstice sunset.
People were celebrating at this time of year long before some spin doctor had the brilliant idea of tacking Christmas on to Yueltide. Apart from the weather, Christmas is what we make it and after all the media and commercial hype, when Christmas Day finally arrives it is centred on the home, each family creates its own traditions.

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Events in our lives can be marked by where we spent Christmas. When I was twenty I arrived at Heathrow Airport at six o’clock on Christmas morning, for a six month working holiday that stretched into infinity. The airport was huge and deserted, but by some miracle I found my way to the waiting relatives; back at their home I saw colour television for the first time. The weather was mild and damp, pretty normal for the south of England, but I had forgotten how early it gets dark at that time of year. On Boxing Day I was glad to get out with the relatives for a walk and fresh air; day two, out on a misty Surrey heath, it felt right to be back, but on day one in the airport I could never have guessed I would end up living nearby, working there.

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The Game of Life – Advance to Go

Warning: Do you dare to play the game of life? If you don’t want to read about illness and death or you dislike dark humour please avoid this blog, but I hope you will continue to visit my Wednesday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday blogs.

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Christmas comes early, Advance to Go.

Christmas comes early to fit in with the traveller from abroad, not for any reason of urgency. Secret Santa for the adults.  Everyone has a good time, despite worries of germs being brought and weather descending.

Oncologist gives go ahead for next round of chemo, Cyberspouse in good health, move forward two spaces.

Someone from our club has joined the team and a third member has put she and Cyberspouse on the prayer list at her church – Roman Catholic – saying it might be a few weeks before they experience results. Cyberspouse was brought up a catholic until his mother had a row with the priest… Take another shake of the dice.

A relative’s next door neighbours have put C on the prayer list at church – Protestant – they can only use his Christian name due to data protection. Take another shake of the dice.

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Xmas Cards

After the frenetic planning of the early Christmas we can relax, just a couple of parcels and the  cards to send… but is it that simple? Play the cancer card and people in the know will not mind if you forget to send. In Australia my mother is the only relative left not on line, I post her card and start yet another Facebook messaging group; exchanging news, pictures and greetings with everyone is more fun. But what of the friends and relatives we haven’t told yet?

Christmas provides more dilemmas for everyone each year. Cards and expensive stamps or e-mailed digital moving musical cards that you can’t actually put on your mantelpiece? Who should we post to; the elderly and anyone living alone, those who don’t like social media, those who always make an effort to write a few snippets of news? Cross off those who only ever say ‘Best wishes from Bert and Betty and family’, who we are never likely to see again….

 

The Ghosts of Christmas Past – Episode One

What was your worst Christmas, your strangest? Some Christmas memories blend in, others are never forgotten. For those of us who had a happy childhood Christmas remains in our memories as a time of heady excitement; dark winter days brightened with nativity plays, school parties and candlelit churches. There was one traumatic experience that dulled the excitement when I was seven. At school we were told to write a letter to Father Christmas, the girl sitting in front of me turned round and said ‘What’s the point of writing to Father Christmas when he doesn’t really exist?’ I tried to appear nonchalant, I was not going to admit my ignorance, but I was devastated. As soon as I got home from school I asked my mother if it was true; my last hopes were dashed and she swore me to secrecy, not to spoil it for my younger siblings. I soon recovered, the Christmas atmosphere remained and there was still the thrill of presents to unwrap.

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When I was eleven we emigrated to Western Australia; our arrival was in October, we moved to our new house in December and my childhood Christmases disappeared forever. This was not the fault of Australia or my parents; I was growing up, the dark mystery of winter days was replaced by bright sunshine, we knew nobody, there were no gift bearing relatives visiting and my parents’ budget was tight. But by the following year Christmases were settling into a new pattern and we acquired family friends to celebrate with.

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My first Christmas away from home, when I was nineteen, came about when my best friend and I planned a six week summer holiday trip across Australia, inveigling a mutual friend to share the driving and his car across the Nullabor Plain. She assured me her relatives in South Australia would be delighted to have the three of us for Christmas and indeed they were very welcoming. A collection of aunts and uncles had orchards and shops. On the first morning of our stay my two friends were commandeered to take one of the aunts to hospital with a miscarriage, I was left behind to look after her young children who I had never met before. More relatives arrived and unbeknown to us they had spotted a freezer that didn’t work properly in uncle’s shop, they warned each other not to eat the chicken. A very pleasant Christmas Day was followed by food poisoning on Boxing Day.

Next week – what was I doing at Heathrow Airport 6am one Christmas morning?

Quarter Acre Block follows the Palmer family as they emigrate to Western Australia in October 1964. At  Christmas they realise how much they have left behind.

 

The Game of Life – Gunshot Glitter

This week’s round of the Game of Life is dedicated to a writer who was out of the game far too soon. I had not met her in person, but she was a friend of my daughter’s, they met at music gigs in London and realised they both came from the same area. Yasmin became my Facebook friend one day and five minutes later I found myself belonging to Author Chat Forum – the first time I had linked up properly with other writers on line. That led to me broadening my horizons considerably.

Yasmin was an independent full of life and very warm person who seems to have touched many lives in many areas. She wanted to be remembered as a writer. Her novel is rather unique I think, unlike anything I have read before or since. This is the review I wrote a few years back.

Janet Gogerty

7 January 2014

My daughter told me about this new writer’s first novel, then read the book and worried it might be too raunchy for me – so I decided to definitely buy it! The opening chapters are shocking, some of the characters are shocking, but it is a beautifully written book with a fast moving story that involves you with all the characters. Of course we feel for the victim’s family, but can’t help also being on the side of the killer, kept in suspense till the end.

 

 

Silly Saturday – Baz the Bad Blogger Reblogged

Baz at his Best – helping the Baffled

 Baz the Bad Blogger offers us his tips on tackling WordPress changes.

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Are you baffled by the new ‘improvements’ to WordPress? So am I, if you think I can help you, bad luck, I was hoping you could all help ME. I just posted that heading to get you to read my blog.

What’s all this Gutenberg thing about anyway? All I know is those bits at the side all changed, then the Publish button faded and no little hand appeared so I couldn’t press publish, then my pictures disappeared. Another blogger suggested go back to Classic Edit, how on earth to do that? Accidentally is the answer.

Anyway, how’s your week been? December already, my most detested month, all that cheerfulness. Right that’s the polite bit done with, now for some moans.

Sales of my new novel ‘I Zomboid’ aren’t going too well. I’ve only sold one on Amazon.UK and that was bought by me. I have bought four books by other authors, yes you know who you are and you didn’t buy mine. Look out for the two star reviews…

One month on and I’ve only got two followers and one LIKE. Changing my profile picture hasn’t helped. I have been reading lots of other blogs and commenting, mostly helpful advice such as how to improve their blogs, but I think it will be a long time before anyone sends me ‘HUGs’. I’ll leave you with some cuddly animals, not sure if these ones are alive.

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Don’t read original post  no more words

Youtube Nativity

Last century, in a previous incarnation, I went to mother and toddler groups; no doubt they have to be called something else now, Kids and Karers? We did have one granny, a few child minders and a couple of fathers. It was one of these fathers who brought his video camera along, no one else possessed such equipment. We thought he was showing off and hovering over his poor child. The ethos of the club was to ignore the little ones while indulging in a good gossip. These days he would probably have to have a background check before even being allowed into the church hall, let alone with a video camera. I wonder where that little boy is now, perhaps hot housed into a world leader, his whole life recorded for posterity.

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How would we all have fared, how different would our lives have been if we had grown up in the digital world, our pathetic appearance in the school nativity recorded and watched by grandchildren. I never got to be Mary or even an angel; in top infants I was merely the innkeeper’s wife with the line ‘Come this way.’ Would anyone want to see themselves coming last on sports day or dancing round the maypole in junior school? We did not get the ribbons tangled during our school’s centenary celebrations, but whether we looked elegant is another matter.

Our lives did not go completely unrecorded, Dad got a reel to reel tape recorder and secretly recorded Mum and the aunties, nobody could believe how awful their own voice sounded. When we had our school holiday in top juniors, several mothers went along as helpers, not mine thank goodness. One of these ladies had a cine camera, we were all going to be film stars. When it came time for the showing of the film, I did not appear at all.

There are families who have wonderful silent records of every Christmas, cine cameras were around for a long time before being superseded by videos, but most people took only photographs. Now every moment of a life can be recorded instantly, film or photo and broadcast to the world. Granddad on the other side of the world can see the new grandson having his umbilical cord cut. Great grandparents can see pretty in pink little miss precocious doing her first ballet exam at the age of two.

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But I feel more than a twinge of regret when I think of all the missed Instagrams I could have taken, pictures shared on Facebook and blogs written of my pre digital life. We have many photo albums, but camera film could not be wasted taking pictures of weird things; night scenes through rain splattered bus windows or the ubiquitous snaps of meals out or in.

Perhaps the more obsessed bloggers would have started much earlier if they had had the opportunity.

Baby Blogger…

Day One; with a bit of help from Mummy and Daddy I am starting this blog to record my whole life. Today was a bit of a milestone as I said my first words… blog, post and WordPress. Of course I know lots more words than that, but my lips and tongue aren’t working properly yet, just one of the challenges of being a baby.

Day Two; I have my first two followers, Mummy and Daddy… Sam the cat isn’t on WordPress so he can’t Like me, but here is a picture of him.

Day Three; We went to Wriggle and Rhyme Story Time at the library, I gave it four out of five stars…

 

My novel Quarter Acre Block is inspired by my early years.

 

The Game of Life

Warning: Do you dare to play the game of life? If you don’t want to read about illness and death or you dislike dark humour please avoid this blog, but I hope you will continue to visit my Wednesday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday blogs.

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Cyberspouse is feeling rather a fraud; having initiated drama, compassionate leave, flight booked, Christmas brought forward, he is feeling fine. But a letter arrives with NHS on the envelope; the copy of the letter sent to his GP from the oncologist. It wasn’t a joke after all, there it is in black and white. But there are still plenty of jokes in the house. We catch up with a film on television, looks like a good British comedy, winter comfort watching, all the familiar actors. ‘Finding your Feet’, retired people having fun, we know all about that. Our retired friends dash around the world, passionately pursue hobbies, whiz around with their bus passes or lounge at their beach hut. We do all of those except the first. But the film has included all the cliches, the sad widower, the wife with dementia and then… one of the characters has cancer, but of course doesn’t want to tell anybody and spoil their fun… you have to laugh, that was a good choice of film…

 

 

 

Silly Saturday – Brother Bernard’s Blog

Brother Bernard’s Blog

Translated from the original Latin.

Greetings from the north. How hast thy week been? I send news to brother bloggers of unholy happenings. Until last week the name of Johannes Gutenberg had never been uttered inside these walls and I hope it never will be again.

I had just returned from my daily constitutional, gazing upon the wondrous waters of the North Sea, contemplating completing Leviticus today, when Brother Franz hove into sight, calling out in a most undignified manner as he dismounted. We had not seen him for many months so were we not eager to hear what news from the continent?

‘Gutenberg is coming’ were his words.

After being enclosed with the Abbot for a fair while he broke bread with us in the refectory and spoke strange words… of printing presses and moveable metal type. I now understand this to mean there are those who would replace men of God writing The Word of God with a contraption to produce many Holy Bibles.

How can a machine write elegant text and illuminate with cinnabar, saffron, verdigris, lapis lazuli, silver and gold? No my friends, it cannot, so therefore I tell you we have nothing to fear, the name of Johannes Gutenberg will soon be forgotten , Gutenberg has not arrived, nor ever will. We shall carry on with our Holy written work as before.

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The Game of Life

Warning: Do you dare to play the game of life? If you don’t want to read about illness and death or you dislike dark humour please avoid this blog, but I hope you will continue to visit my Wednesday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday blogs.

Round Three – Coffee with Dinosaurs

It’s Good to Talk.

I had an uncle who was always talking about cancer, before and after his retirement. In the company magazine he would read of ex colleagues and their demise, he would meet people out walking the dog and hear about which bits they’d had removed. He would recall a friend coming out from his hospital appointment saying ‘That’s it Roy, I’m a gonner, if I was a dog they’d have me put down.’

A friend’s father died of a ‘trapped nerve’.

Another friend’s brother, still young, could do little but lie on the floor in pain, but ‘they couldn’t tell him he had terminal cancer, he couldn’t take it.’

I’ve always thought one should know everything and tell others what’s going on. Then get every pain killer available.

I can’t remember not being aware of cancer. My grandmother died of bowel cancer aged 56, a year after my grandfather died suddenly. He had been very happy, having a little grandchild ( me ) and his wife home from hospital after a successful operation for her cancer… then he dropped dead, out early in the game of life. This is the story I heard from my mother; she saw my grandmother getting undressed and was shocked to see lumps on her body, the cancer had returned. Mum asked why she hadn’t gone back to the doctors. She had ‘given up’ after my grandfather died. But Bowel cancer couldn’t be cured back then anyway.

Little Rooms

Hospitals are full of little rooms with people sitting outside waiting to go in them.

At the beginning Cyberspouse was at the hospital for tests and when he was taken in the little room, he knew it wasn’t good. When all the tests were finished we sat outside the oncologist’s little room and watched the Macmillan nurse and the other nurse go in first, then we waited… ‘Mustn’t forget to turn our phones off,’ I said ‘don’t want to get in trouble in the head master’s office…’

Ironically it was the doctor’s phone that went off, just as we were getting to the crucial bit!

Next we went in another little room with the Macmillan nurse, cosy armchairs and a coffee table with teapot and cups on a tray – but they were empty, just for show.

Hospital, Tesco and Dinosaurs

We can get to the hospital cycling, walking, two buses or drive, but the car park always looks busy. Easier to park in the big Tesco as long as you won’t be more than three hours, or you can park down the lane that leads to the golf course.

We have walked to the hospital several times, a pleasant 50 minute walk on a sunny autumn day. That day it was raining and we had to be there at ten past nine. We had already decided we would go to the golf club house for coffee afterwards as we had parked in the lane. On the way, Cyberspouse spotted a twenty pence piece on the ground. ‘That was lucky’ I said.

We had heard about the dinosaur crazy golf; as we wound our way down the lane they came into sight, real large dinosaurs which moved, right in front of the clubhouse. A surreal end to a surreal morning. This was really crazy golf. Perhaps professional golfers should try dinosaur golf, it would make it more interesting on television.


Occasional Cathedrals – no. 3 Chichester

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We stopped in Chichester for lunch on the way back from our little break in Kent; as the clocks had just gone back this meant the afternoon was short. The roof is being restored and much of the cathedral was covered so just one outside shot. You do not need to pay entry, but it will help pay for the roof if you make a donation; if you don’t carry cash you can pay a fiver by contactless card.

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Chichester was the first cathedral I visited when I was eight. We were staying for a fortnight’s seaside holiday, not far away in a converted railway carriage at Wittering. We went to the beach when it was low tide and had sand. When it was high tide and only shingle with a greater risk of drowning ( Mum and Dad never went in the sea themselves) we visited historical sights.

https://www.chichestercathedral.org.uk/

It was a very long time before I visited again and nothing evoked any memories except the general cathedralness, but I do know my lifelong collecting of picture post cards started that year and I acquired black and white cards of the cathedral which featured quite a few stone tombs. I recall I was most fascinated with the stone effigies, what a strange child I must have been!

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As well as preserving ancient beauty such as stained glass windows and the stonework that holds them in place, cathedrals also acquire new art and music. The first thing you may spot if you are following the leaflet will be a gleaming font made of Cornish polyphant stone (easy to carve and burnish ) with a copper bowl, designed by John Skelton in 1983.

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At the high altar is the wonderfully bright Piper Tapestry designed by John Piper and woven in France in 1966. It depicts the Holy Trinity. In contrast is the simple altar in the Mary Magdalene chapel with the 1961 Graham Sutherland painting depicting Christ appearing to Mary Magdalene on the first Easter morning.

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Another colourful creation is the1978 Marc Chagall window based on Psalm 150 ...let everything that hath breath praise the Lord..

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I completely missed a statue …mounted high over the entrance to the Lady chapel, there is a model at floor level… I only saw the model, no wonder I wasn’t that impressed. One should always look up in cathedrals.

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The cathedral is also celebrating the centenary of the birth of composer Leonard Bernstein. He isn’t one of my favourite composers, but there is one work of his I love which is the Chichester Psalms. While reading the exhibition I saw you could buy in the cathedral shop a CD recorded by Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra with their previous conductor the American Marin Alsop. But when we got to the shop it had already closed at four o’clock, so I came away with no souvenirs.

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https://bernsteinchichester.uk/