Ferocious February

Flu, floods and friends...

There has been a harshness, an unkindness about February which I don’t usually experience... after all, every month has its days of joy. The weather, though expected cold, is not usually such an issue...

This month, though, the fierceness assailed me from other quarters.

Well into the term, I succumbed to ‘flu’. Not real flu, of course – nor the coronavirus which is menacing the world with the threat of a pandemic – but a fluey type cold. Enough to sap me of energy and leave me feeling so unwell that I stayed off school first one day one week, then two days the second week. A lesson not to return to work too quickly...and the feelings of malaise lingered on for the first half of the month.

The weekends were punctuated with storms: gales, wind, rain...one Saturday afternoon was spent adjusting the motorhome cover as the wind threatened to tear it off. We added straps, winding around and down, eventually securing them to my little Micra: then stood, watching the motorhome withstand the strong southerly wind. It was a relief when the wind swung round to the west: the house protected it and the cover settled back down with a sigh of relief. It had looked uncannily like a charging bull elephant.

How  to survive Gale Force 10...

That wasStorm Ciara, bringing rain and the threat – and, in some places, actuality – of flooding.

Barely had Ciara left when the next weekend heralded the arrival of Storm Dennis.  Huge winds on the preceding Thursday, a brief lull on the Friday and then returning in full force for the weekend. Ferries and flights were cancelled...except ours, fortuitously booked for the Friday. We were able to travel across to the UK with the motorhome on a relatively calm sea. Our journey up to Doncaster to see Phil and Judy looked to be ‘interesting’. To avoid the worst of the gales – 50mph was forecast – we left just after 6, experiencing only a little rain and empty roads. Saturday morning traffic, with a populace warned not to travel unless absolutely necessary, made it an amazingly easy journey.

Not the return, though. After collecting the vehicle from CamperUK in Lincoln, where it had been treated for a little damp due to the outer seals needing redoing, we had a long journey down, hitting the inevitable traffic jams  around Oxford, after Southampton and into Poole. Dark by the time we arrived at the ferry terminal for our overnight stop.  Little respite.

Lincoln. Always a pleasure. This is the Jew's House, built around 1150... Amazing.

 Because the weather had not abated. The winds had dropped to moderately strong, but still brought unprecedented amounts of rain. One area had had a month’s rainfall in 24 hours; flooding was widespread as rivers burst their banks and the sodden earth could absorb no more moisture, leaving wide expanses of fields and agricultural land under water. So many ponds and little lakes...The ferry crossing the following day was....interesting. Force 7/8 winds and a big swell gave a more uncomfortable ride than usual, though glimpses of tiny puffins and majestic gannets were rewarding.

Flooding near Oxford

Brownies Island as we sailed out of Poole Harbour

Leaving Dorset for home... looking stunning.

Yet all of this, while devastating for many, barely touched us. Truly devastating news was that our dear friend Stan had died in a tragic accident on February 15^th, while on a visit to his daughter and family in Thailand^,. It was, and is, unbelievable: an event of such ferocity in its unexpectedness that it has left me breathless. It is so completely shocking. Outrage, anger, disgust – all seem mild expressions here: this good man has been ripped from his loving family and friends well before his time. He had only recently celebrated his 64^th birthday...

I write much of Stan, separately, trying to process the news. I think constantly of his family. Numb, sick, grieving.  I feel such pain for them. After the initial shocking news, social media goes quiet. There is such a void. Words useless.

So, February, in many ways you were not my friend. Yet still I can be grateful: for family and good friends; for laughter, celebration, opportunity; for safe travel, a safe and comfortable place to live. Some of the moments where I have stopped to look around me...

Our little group... Stan with trademark grin front left, Tami front right.

Coming home to a wonderful gift of eggs from dear Nicky's hens.

Using the rocket stoves at school to make pancakes #Shrove Tuesday

I march, more resolute than ever to use my time wisely, into March.

Observations in October

October began in an oddly musical way...

The first Saturday was time for my monthly participation in the Healing Rooms - praying for folk to be healed. We always prepare by having a shortish - twenty minutes - session of worship music, remembering that healing is from God and getting ready to serve Him in obedience.

After that, I whizzed down the hill to the library. Down in town, the first thing I saw was a dance group  of willing volunteers, performing steps to rap music...while, round the corner, a girl started busking, singing a Simon and Garfunkel song as her opening number: beautiful voice. I headed for the quiet of the library, but there was a celebratory arts event on with all kinds of activities and a classical music group, dressed in appropriate historical costume, playing Regency era songs from the minstrels gallery while costumed dancers performed steps below.  Back outside, the dance group had turned its expert feet to Irish dancing: at least, two tiny girls were earnestly hopping around while the rest of the group looked on, bemused. 

The cycle home is usually a quiet oasis of calm lanes, but as I approached the Guernsey Horse Riding Club, I was serenaded by loud popular music. Odd - a heavy drizzle had set in: not impossible for a horse event, but there had been no publicity.As I drew nearer, I saw a lone horse rider circling the ring, practising dressage to the music blaring out of the loudspeakers.

Strange to have so much music in the course of the day, but I was reminded again when our dear friend Robin phoned later. Now aged nearly 97, he has been a family friend for nearly sixty years. His was a highly talented musical and artistic family (his brother, John Craxton, became an internationally renowned artist while his father, Harold Craxton, was a well-recognised pianist and composer.  Robin's wife herself had been a wonderful piano teacher and both were valued family friends. She had died in August, so Robin had been on my mind as I wondered how he was coping after a lifetime of devotion...

Ongoing in October has been the fall out from the referendum in Kurdistan, Iraq. It has made life and work even more difficult for aid workers there. Cat and Andy could not fly out of Erbil, the capital, for their planned R and R in Croatia, as Iraq has banned all flights except internal ones to Baghdad. Instead, they had to drive across the border to Turkey and fly from there. So not impossible, just tricky, time-consuming and awkwardly fraught with potential difficulties...We pray.

Highlight in October was, of course, Byron and Lisa’s visit. Dear friends for 32 years, they have continued to live and work in Africa – presently Tanzania – and are considered as family by Jonny. What a delight that Jonny and Adele are now teaching in the same area and get to see them frequently... and what a help Byron and Lisa have been to our ‘children’ as they settle into life in Arusha, accompanied by all the challenges and joys that characterise Life in Africa.

So we had three days of much laughing, reminiscing, talking heart to heart... Walks on the windy cliffs as Storm Brian raged through the British Isles; coffee overlooking the harbour; a birthday celebration for Lisa, eating dinner while a high tide crashed waves on to the windows of the restaurant; exploring World War 2 relics and remains.

Selfies at home...

Sue Wilson from the Tumaini Fund came to visit. Byron has just supplied them with a Basic Utility Vehicle which his project in Arusha is developing for small scale farmers. #joyinconnection

Lisa was pleased to discover Blue Bottle gin, made in Guernsey, after Jonny's recommendation!

Rather an appropriate advert #Africanvisitors

Storm Brian. #windy #blownoffourfeet

Dinner out

Waves lashed at the windows

We took the overnight ferry to Portsmouth together in the motorhome, journeying up to Surrey to explore Newlands Corner, which Lisa had visited when living there as a child. Beautiful. I had had no idea there was so much countryside so near London. There on the  North Downs Way we saw a flock of jays and a variety of tits, including coal tits, clustering tamely on the bird feeders at the Visitors’ Centre.

It was, indeed, sad when we left them in the tiny village where they had booked to stay with their Karly and Trevor, their second son. Trevor and Jonny were adventure buddies growing up, sharing our holidays in Portugal and then, later, the whole group of brothers and friends making an epic walking safari of 100 miles through northern Tanzania...  Bummed that we had time only for a quick hello and goodbye...

Yet sadness did not consume us. The gift of the visit was such an unexpected joy that we were able to accept the inevitability of parting... and we, too, were on our way to other encounters with other friends...

...with Pickle. Adventuring, again, in the motorhome to Pastures New – or rather, mostly, Pastures Old.

And then, we were back home, to Nearly November.

February: well, where did that go?

Into spring, actually, although the dying gasp of the month put us firmly back into winter, ready for 'In like a lion and out like a lamb', as the saying goes about March. Or is it the other way round? I can be firmly convinced of either.

But February had its fair share of stormy weather, gales, high tides and fog. Lots and lots of fog, most of it over half term. We were all right - off on the boat to France, as documented in our motorhome adventures - but many weary travellers were delayed, sometimes for days. Ho hum - the price of living on paradise island, I suppose.

Inbetween the storms, the daffodils erupted - many growing in unexpected places, not only in our garden, but also along my daily commute to work. Most surprising were the single clumps, proudly perched high, on the grassy banks which do duty as walls or fences around the fields.

I managed a little more digging of our new vege patch: I'm creating more beds, digging up an old gravel path with some large rocks beneath it. #notenoughtimeathome

Otherwise, we managed to see many friends, both out and about and inviting them home. I had parents' evenings at school - all good, lovely to celebrate the children's progress with them.

And then it was half term, and we were off. To Brittany, this time.

In the midst of it all, there was much to pray for. Sick friends. Our children living in a war-torn country, serving the poor as best they can. Our children applying for new, exciting, adventures - and succeeding.  Pain and sorrow and anxiety and fear-that-trusts and rejoicing and excitement all rolled up into one intricate prayermat. God knows.

And the days grow longer, and lighter, and our spirits begin to lift...

Finally Morningstar

The last week slowed down after Wednesday, when we finished cleaning Barnsfield - oh, it was pristine, immaculate, beautiful by the time every cupboard had been cleaned, the windows sparkling and the grass freshly mowed.

The last of the furniture had gone to the charity shop, even my grandmother's super heavy lead-lined trunk. I felt a little pang, but glad it had not just gone to be recycled. It must have been, conservatively, at least seventy years old, returning with my grandparents from India when my grandfather retired from Government Service at independence. Or, perhaps, it accompanied my grandmother in 1920 when she went out by ship to meet and marry my grandfather. But that is another story, and I have kept another piece of family history, a similar cedar trunk with my grandfather's initials on, which sits, where it has done in every house since it has been in my possession, in the hallway.

The pot plants were moved. The garage swept clean. Last photos taken.

And we got up at 4am one day to go to fetch the motorhome. We had travelled only a few yards when we had to pause: the lane was blocked by the poo truck, visiting the neighbours:

Only in Guernsey.

And there, in the background, is the large field we would walk across to the garden, searching for orchids, and 'our' trees, the Leylandii which blew over in the winter storms and were generous with firewood.

No longer our home, but the sunrise at Morningstar an hour earlier had heralded promise of a new and different life...and with it, roses...