Florida Fun

Well, I'm on my travels, true to the spirit of this blog!! Made it across to Florida this week and having a lovely time so far meeting up with my friends and having lots of laughs, good conversation, great food and drink, fun in the sun!!

So, watch this space for news of my travels......

Wear your Poppy with Pride!

At least twice a week a small yellow sign on the side of the road signifies that yet another soldier will be coming to John Radcliffe Hospital for post-mortem following his/her death in Afghanistan. 'Military cortege will take place today. Delays possible'.

Yesterday saw the Repatriation of Staff Sergeant Olaf Schmid of the Royal Logistic Corps. I had seen his young, handsome, smiling face on television, doing what he did best, working to keep people like me free and safe from harm and terrorism and dictators. Yesterday, I found myself in the 'delays possible' as his young body was brought home. His wife, Christine, spoke movingly about her 'best friend' the 'man higher than all others'. Dignified.

The cold streets of Oxford leading to the hospital were lined with the strained faces of young and old; people in wheelchairs, people on walking sticks, walkers, all there to pay their last respects. All wearing their poppies with pride.

I felt moved and honoured to be amongst these people. Rest in Peace.

This scene in Oxford will be re-enacted over and over again; next week the same people will line the streets to welcome the 5 casualties struck down yesterday in Afrghanistan, one only 18 and so young faced he looked like a schoolboy.

Last night I sat by my window watching the fireworks, celebrating 5th November, flashing and banging all around me. I heard the gasps of the onlookers. What is the rockets had not been 'friendly fire', I thought to myself???

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.

They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;

They sit no more at familiar tables of home;

They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;

They sleep beyond England's foam.

Fifth of November - Guy Fawkes

And so here it is, 5th November, Guy Fawkes Night. A night for 'lighting up the sky with Standard Fireworks' as we used to sing along to the advert when I was a child. A night for burning the Guy on the bonfire, after we'd tried to sell him for a penny. 'A penny for the Guy, Gov'nor'.

Baked potatoes, hot dogs, homemade soup, toffee apples, what bliss. 'oohs' and 'aahs' as Dad sent another rocket flying out of the milk bottle into the bushes! Phizz, never quite made it.

My favourite firework was the Catherine Wheel which Dad would knock into the side of the garage and Mum, Nan and I would watch as he'd keep trying to get it to whizz round, eventually succeeding to my delight. How he never lost a finger or worse, I'll never know.

Then, when all of the fireworks had finished it was time to put hats, coats and gloves on and brave the icy temperatures to light the sparklers and make patterns in the moonlight.

Nowadays of course, it's mainly the large well organised events around Britain which people attend. We used to take our own children to these events when they were small, although being the traditionalist that I am I still liked to have a fireworks party at home and evoke memories of my own childhood. Happy Days!

Of course, there will be some people reading this who do not know what today is and why we 'celebrate' 5th November which marks the day that Guy Fawkes tried to blow up the Houses of Parliament and needless to say, he failed. The Gunpowder Plot.

Remember, remember the Fifth of November,
The Gunpowder Treason and Plot,
I know of no reason
Why the Gunpowder Treason
Should ever be forgot.
Guy Fawkes, Guy Fawkes, t'was his intent
To blow up the King and Parli'ment.
Three-score barrels of powder below
To prove old England's overthrow;
By God's providence he was catch'd (or by God's mercy*)
With a dark lantern and burning match.
Holloa boys, holloa boys, let the bells ring. (Holla*)
Holloa boys, holloa boys, God save the King!

Fern Hill Wales - Dylan Thomas

Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs
About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green,
The night above the dingle starry,
Time let me hail and climb
Golden in the heyday of his eyes,
And honoured among wagons I was prince of the apple towns
And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves
Trail with daisies and barley
Down the rivers of the windfall light.
And as I was green and carefree, famous among the barns
About the happy yard and singing as the farm was home,
In the sun that is young once only,
Time let me play and be
Golden in the mercy of his means,
And green and golden I was huntsman and herdsman, the calves
Sang to my horn, the foxes on the hills barked clear and cold,
And the sabbath rang slowly
In the pebbles of the holy streams.
All the sun long it was running, it was lovely, the hay
Fields high as the house, the tunes from the chimneys, it was air
And playing, lovely and watery
And fire green as grass.
And nightly under the simple stars
As I rode to sleep the owls were bearing the farm away,
All the moon long I heard, blessed among stables, the nightjars
Flying with the ricks, and the horses
Flashing into the dark.
And then to awake, and the farm, like a wanderer white
With the dew, come back, the cock on his shoulder: it, was all
Shining, it was Adam and maiden,
The sky gathered again
And the sun grew round that very day.
So it must have been after the birth of the simple light
In the first, spinning place, the spellbound horses walking warm
Out of the whinnying green stable
On to the fields of praise.
And honoured among foxes and pheasants by the gay house
Under the new made clouds and happy as the heart was long,
In the sun born over and over,
I ran my heedless ways,
My wishes raced through the house high hay
And nothing I cared, at my sky blue trades, that time allows
In all his tuneful turning so few and such morning songs
Before the children green and golden
Follow him out of grace,
Nothing I cared, in the lamb white days, that time would take me
Up to the swallow thronged loft by the shadow of my hand,
In the moon that is always rising,
Nor that riding to sleep
I should hear him fly with the high fields
And wake to the farm forever fled from the childless land.
Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,
Time held me green and dying
Though I sang in my chains like the sea.

Pubs and Lantern Festival...............

Well, I'm back after a bit of a lapse of blogs!! Duty called in terms of looking after my Mum who was due to have a cataract operation, unfortunately it was postponed just as we were leaving for the hospital!! To take her mind off it I took her for a tour around the Cotswolds, stopping at Stow, Burford, Upper and Lower Rissington. Such a wonderful part of little ole' England. The following day we went to Henley and back to Fawley (my previous blog!).

I'm just returned from a few days in a rather wet and soggy Wales. Ho hum all good fun though and I do enjoy meeting the characters in the pub. There's the local builder who is full of stories of dead rats in the back of vans, houses falling down after one blow of the hammer, bodies under floorboards. All in jest I hasten to add!! He's a real joker. Then there's the local farmer; he's recently found 'love' and is the 'talk of the village, so I am'. He's heading off to America for a 40 days and 40 nights tour with his ladylove, but I had to give him such advice and Dutch courage as he's getting anxious about leaving his family: that's his four dogs!!

No self respecting pub woul be complete without the village comedian, of course. What a hoot he is, all beard, dogs, beer after beer as his stories get funnier and longer and longer................... 'it's a shame for William isn't it, anyone called William is unlucky' 'Why?' I asked, thinking of my own son whose middle name is William, 'well' he replied, 'everyone's always going around saying FIRE AT WILL' the old one's are the best!!! Boom Boom.

On Saturday evening I attended The annual Gwyl y Golau - Dyfi Light Festival in Machynlleth. The excited faces of the children was wonderful to see and made me long for the days when my own children were small and we used to participate in such lovely community events. The festival was followed by a fabulous fireworks display.

'Ooh' 'Aah'