england

Tuesday Tiny Tale – A Spare Room

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‘Are you sure you’ll be alright on your own Mum with Dad in the Antarctic?’

‘Everest base camp.’

‘Wherever, I know it’s somewhere cold and far away.’

I was of course looking forward to the peace and quiet. Naturally I had the normal worries about Amy going off to Australia for her gap year, but I was sure she had inherited her father’s adventurous but capable spirit. She was going with Lizzy her sensible best friend, inseparable since nursery.

The first week it was strange, but friends at work suggested a few outings, glad to have a break from their own husbands who showed no inclination to leave Ealing, let alone go on adventures broad.

I had always had Amy and Ben keeping me busy when Kit was away. Now Ben was grown up, in theory at least and teaching English as a foreign language somewhere nearer to Everest than Ealing.

The new girl at work was very quiet, but apparently she was highly regarded down in packing, where I used to work as a part timer when the children were in primary school. She was dexterous and quick and could pack anything. The company specialised in delivering high quality food in designer biodegradable boxes. We would source and deliver any request from romantic ready dinners to Tower Bridge birthday cakes.

I had progressed to tasting and testing and then upwards to the busy office, where we would source unlikely ingredients and make sure no delivery was ever late. I don’t think Kit or the children ever appreciated what a high powered and stressful job I did, especially in the last half a dozen years with all the world’s troubles affecting supplies.

Our boss likes to look after his staff, it’s why I have stayed so long. I was the first to agree we should hang on to Flinty, the new girl. What I didn’t expect was to become a foster mother.

 When the boss said ‘You have a spare room now you’re an empty nester?’

I replied ‘…sort of.’

Flinty had never revealed much about her life and everyone in packing seemed to have heard a different version. Her family lived up north, her mother had gone off to Spain to find herself, her father had just gone off. She was house sharing with uni students, she was house sharing with drug addicts, she was living with her boyfriend’s parents, an aunt had taken her in.

Whatever the truth, it now seemed she was not living anywhere and there was no longer a boyfriend. All she needed was somewhere to sleep for a few nights and HR were going to look into finding her somewhere. She came home with me that evening.

I wasn’t sure how to be a landlady, was I in loco parentis or was she just a lodger? I made us both dinner, thinking of the cosy TV meal I had planned for myself. While it was in the oven I rushed up to Amy’s room and grabbed her personal things and some of the clothes in her wardrobe and stashed everything in Kit’s office that had one been Ben’s bedroom.

Flinty was happy with the room and approved of Amy’s décor. I was thankful I had persuaded Kit last year we should absorb the box room into our bedroom and create an en-suite shower room. Flint was very happy to have exclusive use of the family bathroom.

The next morning we established she would help herself to breakfast, especially as she started work earlier than me. She also assured me that she did not expect me to cook for her and she would ‘sort herself out’.

Over the next few days I realised this meant endless ready meals, mainly eaten in her/Amy’s room. She really wasn’t too much trouble, except for the bin filling up with the ready meal packaging and the washing machine being on when I was in bed. It wasn’t for long, I consoled myself and I only had to call the police once.

I don’t know how the angry ex boyfriend found out where she lived, but she was not pleased to see him, hysterical in fact. The poor neighbours wondered what all the shouting and breaking glass was about and also called the police. We were quite impressed how quickly they turned up. I think old Audrey next door had mentioned guns. The main thing was they took him away and I made coffee for the three of us as the nice woman police officer stayed for a good while. Strangely she had apparently met Flinty before and was surprised I did not know ‘what was going on.’

Flinty retreated to bed as soon as the officer had left. The next morning she sat eating her cereal as if nothing had happened and was soon out the door and off to work.

I checked my phone, not expecting any messages yet from Kit. It was long agreed that I would only hear if there was an emergency when communication was so difficult, so I got a fright when I saw a text message home tonight, broken ankle, don’t worry.

Kit had a charmed life, no harm ever seemed to come to him. At least he wasn’t in hospital and an ankle was hardly the end of the world, but what a time for it to happen. I messaged back to get some idea what time he might arrive, then I had to get myself off to work.

No mention was made of last night’s adventure, if Flinty had told them down in packing, the gossip had not made it upstairs. I got one text from Kit and decided I could just get home before he arrived back.

As I walked up my garden path the front door was flung open, it was not Kit, but Amy.

‘Mum, we’ve had burglars, my room!’

Before I could explain I saw a police car come round the corner followed by a taxi. It was the police woman from last night.

‘Nothing to worry about, this is just a welfare visit.’

Kit was hobbling up the garden path behind her.

Flinty disappeared, she did not return to our house and was never seen at work again. Somehow that made it harder to explain to Kit and Amy what had been going on, when it was as if she had never existed.

The police officer questioned me as if I was hiding her and questioned Amy and Kit as to whether they were involved in ‘all this business.’

Kit questioned Amy as to why on earth she was back so soon. It transpired that she had realised she didn’t like travelling, especially when Lizzie met a chap in the first week and decided to cross the Nullabor Plain with him in his camper van.

I was left to try and explain to the neighbours.

Tuesday Tiny Tale – In Time

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 17 Comments

If you read the April 1st post, it wasn’t a joke…

Calendar Change

It was Tuesday 14th April, only two weeks to go until the start of the new thirteenth month; it had not been an April Fool’s joke. In the USA plans and celebrations were well under way to welcome Trumpril, the new late spring month.

In Israel it was 10 Nissan Anno Mundi 5785, in China it was Ding Wei Day, Geng Chen month, Yi Si year, Year of the Snake. Other lands were waking up to 9, Shawwal, AH 1446…

There were few countries who were well organised or willing enough to change to the new Trumpian calendar in such a short amount of time. In truth many were saying to themselves, whose idea was it anyway to start using the Gregorian calendar in the first place?

In Britain it was 3025 and soon time to celebrate renewal at Pink Moon. The return to the Druid calendar had been the subject of much discussion. Brexiteers and atheists alike took some pleasure in dismissing a calendar that was a European construct and classic example of the church telling everyone what to do. The Prime Minister reminded the people of the United Kingdom that they had already celebrated Ostara, the spring equinox, so there was nothing strange about the Druid Calendar.

The Druids had been a little uncertain, or felt no need to put a date on creation, so after consultation with experts from such Radio Four programmes as ‘The Infinite Monkey Cage’ and ‘More or Less’, a Cabinet meeting was held. It was decided the easiest way to work out the year the Druid calendar started was to round it up to the nearest thousand years. While BBC Verify were still checking out the facts, the Prime Minister had already announced that Westminster would be moving to Stonehenge. The Chancellor confirmed this would save a great deal of taxpayers’ money as Stonehenge needed less repairs than the Houses Of Parliament.

Sunday Stroll – Following Famous Footsteps

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Here’s a clue as to where we might go today.

It’s very windy so you may not want to sit on the top deck.

Freshwater Bay

A stroll up the road leads us to a lovely home…

Clues to the talent of the home’s owner

Who visited her?

You have probably guessed we are in the nineteenth century during the reign of Queen Victoria and Freshwater Bay was definitely the place to be.

At home with Julia Margaret Cameron

https://dimbola.co.uk/

Thursday Thoughts – What Is Real Life?

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 45 Comments

If you live in a city or suburb you will probably hope to get away for a change of scenery. As you stand on top of a moor, hearing only sheep bleating, you will say to yourself ‘This is Real Life.’ The same thoughts will surface if you stand on a rocky outcrop feeling the spray from the waves pounding below, or perhaps you have visited a peaceful holy island, Iona or Lindisfarne.

Supposing you move somewhere remote and idyllic, or to the coast and can saunter down to the beach on a wild winter day, dodging waves. Sheer bliss. Then one day you go up to London to visit friends or relatives or for a cultural outing. As you arrive at a London terminus, descend into the underground, hear the rumble of an approaching tube train, then squeeze on board with the multitudes, you find yourself saying ‘Back to Real Life!’

Could it be that real life must involve cities, mainline railway stations and underground trains?

Those millions of us brought up in suburbs anywhere in the world are bound to feel we are never in real life; neither in the bustling heart of the city, nor in the countryside growing food and raising livestock to feed the nation.

When you turn on the television news real life takes on a different dimension. Why are your working on the cheese counter at Waitrose when that girl you were at school with is now a war correspondent standing on a heap of rubble?

Is real life the peace all great prophets have urged us to follow; cherishing the soil, creating harmony, music, arts, science and babies. Or is reality living on a knife edge beneath a volcano or on an earthquake fault line?  Are you likely to see your home swept away by fire or flood or do you face death every day in war?

Have you experienced real life or are you still waiting to find it?

What is your reality?

Sunday Stroll at the Seaside

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 28 Comments

Take a stroll round to the harbour…

And pop inside…

It’s high tide today, but if it was low tide…

You would see this…

One I took earlier, seven years earlier…

Find out who it is later.

In the meantime…

In November they looked like this.

Before you go any further make sure you read the safety instructions!

Do you dare put your hands in the bag?

Time for coffee

Where are you?

https://turnercontemporary.org/

Turner Contemporary, Margate, Kent

And who was he?

https://turnercontemporary.org/whats-on/another-time/

Antony Gormley

Have you been here?

What is your favourite gallery?

Tuesday Tiny Tale – Breaking Free

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 10 Comments

’You don’t have to walk all the way back up, we can get the Noddy Train, but I thought you liked walking?’

John’s parents and his children all looked relieved.

‘We aren’t as young as we were and what with my knee and your father’s hip…’

‘And this bitter wind coming straight off the sea’ added John’s father.

‘Can we still have hot chocolate Daddy?’

‘That’s usually the bribery to get them back up to the café’ said John.

‘I think we all need hot chocolate,’ said his mother ‘I hope that café is still open.’

‘With marshmallows and cream?’ said Johnny Junior.

‘And a cake’ added his sister.

‘We must not spoil your appetites for that delicious dinner your Mummy is cooking for us.’

‘All that lovely sea air has sharpened our appetites’ said their grandfather, wrapping his scarf tighter.

Squeezed in one of the little carriages of the road train everyone brightened up and John’s mother recalled his favourite book.

‘I bought it at a jumble sale, The Runaway Train. I had to read it over and over to your Daddy. The train was meant to take all the office workers up to London on Monday morning, but the train was fed up with the same old journey every day and decided to go to the seaside instead. The passengers didn’t notice what was happening at first, too busy reading their newspapers. That was long before mobile phones were invented and everybody read great big newspapers.  Then a few people looked at their watches, glanced out the window and wondered why they were seeing cows in the field instead of Clapham Junction! Soon all the passengers were muttering to each other as the train went faster and faster. The sky was blue, the sun was shining and they passed farms and cottages and hills. Nobody was sure what to do, one man pulled the communication cord with the notice that said emergency use only, but the train did not slow down.

‘Oh that would be fun,’ squealed the children ‘what happened in the end?’

‘Gradually the train slowed down and one of the passengers said Good Heavens, I can see the sea! Soon the train came to a halt in a lovely little station with flower tubs. Everyone got off to see what had happened and a very important and cross looking man marched along the platform to the driver’s cab, but there was no driver. They all stood on the platform scratching their heads and mumbling about getting to the office. Then someone started laughing and pointing to golden sands and the glittering sea… We will never get to work on time so let’s go to the beach instead.

Gradually they all wandered onto the beach and some took off their shoes, rolled up their trousers and started paddling, while others went to buy ice creams and fish and chips.

After a fantastic day, with everyone having fun and agreeing it was much better than going to work, they thought it must be time to go home. At the station the engine had turned itself around on the turntable and was steaming up so they got on board…’

‘Have you still got that book Daddy?’

‘No, that was a long time ago, but maybe that’s why I always wanted to live at the seaside and not work in an office.’

As the road train trundled up towards the café Johnny Junior said ‘Maybe this train is fed up with never going anywhere except back and forth to the beach, maybe it wants to go to London.’

They all laughed as the train drew up by the café and the driver climbed out of his cab to see if anyone needed help getting out. But before John had even opened the door of their carriage, the train started moving again, faster and faster. The last thing the family saw was a surprised look on the driver’s face as he tried to run after the train, but it was going much too fast.

‘Hurrah said,’ Johnny Junior ‘I told you the train was fed up, we’re going on an adventure.’

‘Can’t you do something John.’

‘Don’t worry mother, just a technical hitch, the battery will run down soon and the driver will have called for a mechanic.’

‘When can I have my hot chocolate Daddy?’

They drove down a pleasant avenue with pretty gardens and a few people waved to them. The children waved back. Then the Noddy Train turned right onto a busy road on a steep hill. As the train headed downhill they went faster and faster. Horns were tooting and they heard a siren in the distance. Even little Johnny was beginning to feel scared.

‘And finally tonight police are still searching for a seaside road train, known locally as the Noddy Train and apparently hijacked from a local beauty spot. Our reporter spoke to the shocked driver.’

‘I had just alighted from the train to help a disabled passenger disembark when it started moving. I had left the brakes on, it was on level ground and nobody had got into my cab. I tried to get back to my cab, but it was going much faster than it is capable of. None of this makes sense. Not a single passenger had managed to alight.’

‘Can you reassure family and friends that the passengers will be safe?’

‘No.’

‘Hmm, back to the newsroom to see if there is any update.’

‘The last sighting was junction 67 of the motorway an hour ago. Police are sure there will be drivers who have captured images on their dash cams. In the meantime there is a helpline if you are worried about relatives who may be on board.’

Thursday Train Tales

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 25 Comments

You can read previous train tales here.

Tuesday Train Tales

Be careful what you say, the gods are always listening.

‘Don’t come out again in this awful weather, I don’t need a lift, it’s much quicker on the train.’

It is March 2020, we are about to go into lockdown, but at Southampton Hospital it’s like entering a busy airport terminal with shops and a huge Costa Coffee and other eateries. The only precautions against the new ‘Corona Virus’ are instructions to use hand gel. We and I have been visiting my husband every day.

Now, on a miserable wet late afternoon I manage to find the right bus to the station and saunter in looking around for a window with a human being behind it, so I don’t have to bother with a ticket machine. An androgenous person in a uniform approaches, I wasn’t expecting a welcome party.

‘Can I help you?’

‘I just want a single to Bournemouth.’

‘There are no trains to Bournemouth.’

‘WHAT!’

‘Tree on the line.’

‘So when might there be a train?’

‘Not sure, do you still want to go to Bournemouth?’

‘YES.’

Luckily the platform west has a café and waiting area, now full of grumpy commuters. I am not there long when there is a sudden exodus to the exit, I follow them as they all pile onto a double decker bus, asking if it’s going to Bournemouth. No one actually says no so I rush upstairs and grab the last seat. It is dark and still raining, the windows immediately mist up. If this ‘Corona Virus’ really is so infectious, this is when I’m going to catch it.

I can’t see a thing, no idea where we are, but presumably on the motorway. After a good hour the lights of Bournemouth appear. The train journey takes only 28 minutes if you get a fast train, a fast train being one that mainly stops where I want to go.

There are many good reasons for going by train, keeping traffic off the roads, enjoying a faster smooth journey, looking at the scenery and into people’s back gardens… and of course people watching and eavesdropping.

Autumn 2024 and we are leaving the Isle of Wight. Our lovely little B&B is only minutes from the ferry. This time we have looked on line to check if the trains are running smoothly. They aren’t, it’s Sunday engineering works.

At Lymington we disembark and have plenty of time to file out to the car park and get on a comfortable replacement bus which leaves at exactly the same time as the train would have done. We enjoy a pleasant ride.

At Brockenhurst all was not going well. Confused people were hanging around outside the station waiting their turn to consult a chap with a clipboard and a phone. His jacket says ‘Bus Replacement Service Director’ or some such words. Also ‘on duty’ was a fed up South West Trains chap who wandered off at intervals and returned to make remarks such as ‘Don’t travel on a Sunday, I don’t know what they’re playing at’ and ‘Tell your friends Not to travel next Sunday.’ A young woman in a light blue tabard was trying to be helpful. These light blue people don’t seem to actually belong to the railways; at Bournemouth I had wondered if they were students on work experience as they were very young. I think they might be employed to pass on information, give stress counselling and to take the pressure off other staff.

In the meantime the Replacement Director was doing a grand job in an impossible situation with passengers going in different directions and not enough buses. He promised he would get us taxis if there were not enough bus seats. At one stage a coach turned up already full, turned round in the car park and looked like it was going straight back out again. The Director suddenly grabbed an elderly lady by the arm, frog marched her over to the coach and returned empty handed to address the crowd.

‘I know you’re all going to hate me, but that lady was traveling alone and had been waiting a while to get to Southampton, so I took an executive decision to put her in the only empty seat.’

We couldn’t argue with that and nobody did. We gradually herded ourselves into groups according to destination. A few taxis turned up and some left as The Director remembered who had been waiting longest. In the meantime more passengers drifted in or were dropped off by loved ones expecting to say farewell to them.

A black van with no windows turned up and our Bournemouth group was summoned forward, surely we were not going to be piled in the back of a van like prisoners? It turned out to be a luxury mini bus with tinted windows and curtains. There then followed a tour of the whole of the New Forest as we visited every tiny rural station and halt, seemingly only accessed by narrow winding lanes. At each one we dropped off or picked up someone. It was more than an hour before we arrived at Bournemouth station. The train journey takes 26 minutes. We got home safely, but had not even glimpsed a train all day, let alone been on one.

Did I venture on to a train ever again? Yes, but that’s for another episode…

Have you had any interesting journeys lately?