I have amended my previous posts, in which I suggested that my paternal grandfather may have been married before he married my grandmother. It now seems this was a false alarm generated by the site which I use to research my family tree: I sent off for the marriage certificate and was told that while my grandfather did get married at that time, it was not to the woman in question. In which case, I guess, it was probably to my grandmother. I will be having a closer look at what went wrong and will report back! Excitement over.
The weekend went quiet yesterday after a joint service at St Luke’s to mark Nicholas’ ten years as our vicar. Dot and I played in the joint music group, which went well after a jittery start, and I did the prayers. Nice occasion.
Rarely seen in Paston times, a teddy bear is glimpsed on its way to church by balloon.
Another busy few days – particularly the last two. Yesterday Dot and I went down to Caddington together – but in separate cars – to celebrate Oliver’s ninth birthday (which is in fact tomorrow, but hey, let’s not quibble). We arrived in time to eat our packed lunch before going to school with David to pick up Amy. We then brought her back, and Dot and I returned an hour later to pick up the birthday boy. Surprise for both children!
David cooked lamb for the evening meal, and Dot contributed a blackberry and apple crumble from fruit foraged in their garden. Oliver opened our presents, which mainly related to his Hornby train set, and David swiftly inserted the new items (he also bought some track). Made the layout much better, I thought. Oliver and Amy both in good form: first time we’d seen them since Canada.
I then drove home, leaving Dot to stay overnight and enjoy another day there, joined by the Coomes. I had to be in Norfolk to take Lucy’s role in the Blofield Paston Heritage Day, which consisted of giving talks relating to the Paston book and the family history. I had spent quite a lot of time in the last few days researching the Pastons’ Blofield period, with some success. I was thus able to speak with rather more authority than would have been the case a week ago. It still wasn’t a huge amount of authority, but it was good enough, especially as most of the talks centred on the handmade book, which is now three years old.
Lucy did come for a short while, but she was too ill to take any effective part. Caroline and Rob contributed to the central talk (ie the 2nd of 3) by reading poems, and Diane from Oxburgh also read hers. They seemed to go quite well. Naomi and her boyfriend were also there helping for a while, as was Simeon, who is moving into a house two streets away from us. Jonathan was also there, as were his parents. I also met a classmate from the CNS – David Pilch. They crop up everywhere. Nice bloke. The Blofield people generally did a superb job, and loads of people came. I was especially impressed by the teddy bear balloon rides, although these occur very rarely in the Paston Letters.
Skipping back a week to last Saturday, we were at Wymondham, enjoying a barbecue in the sun with the parents of Matt Creber, our former lodger, who is now in Palestine. He was also at the barbecue with his American girlfriend Laurie, who I spent quite a lot of time talking to. She’s a sweetie. Dot and I also talked a lot with Wayne, an astro-physicist who teaches RE and has ideas a lot in common with Dot’s philosophy for children. We gave him a lift home to Thorpe where, coincidentally, I have just discovered that the Pastons had a home in the 16th century (Thorpe Hall). Wayne lives in Bishop’s Close, however, which is another coincidence: Thorpe Hall was more recently owned by the Bishop of Norwich.
Matt’s parents were lovely, as was his sister. None of these ordered two large items for the church amplifier when they meant to order one, but Matt did, which meant I had to pick it up from the church hall, repackage it and send it off. It cost over £13 to send, so it might have been better value for money to flog it on eBay. Or something. While picking it up I also checked a broken window in the hall, which was not as bad as it sounds (double glazing), brushed some cobwebs off the guttering and windows, and swept loads of stones off the hall surround. No, I’m not the churchwarden: Matt is. He’s in Palestine. I may have mentioned that.
That same evening (Thursday) Dot and I went to the Cathedral Hostry to hear a talk on the language of the King James Bible given by Gordon Campbell. This may not sound exciting, but it was brilliant: he’s a really witty speaker and knowledgeable too. Picked up a lot of information, most of which I’ve already forgotten. I wish I had a better memory, but then if I did, who knows what I’d remember…
This was the second evening in a row we’d been to a lecture, which must constitute some kind of record. The previous night we were at Paston Church to hear Richard Hoggett, the Norfolk coastal heritage officer, launch the Paston Reading the Past in our Landscape project. He as also a good speaker, and much of what he had to say was really interesting, though I have to say pre-history is not a great love of mine. He was able to point us to a lot of interesting online material which will relate to the Pastons. There will be a number of events over the next six months.
On Tuesday Dot spent a very wet day (or part of it) at Beeston Hall School, near Sheringham, with Barbara for a P4C session. She came home very positive and bubbly about it. In the evening we had a smallish Tuesday Group. Smallish, but beautifully formed.
At the King's Head, Hoveton, for supper: Fred, Sue, Ivan, Joyce, Marjorie, Pat
Congratulations to the highways authorities, who have timed road works on Carrow Bridge to coincide with the last weekend of the summer holidays, when all those parents and children are buying back-to-school stuff and the city is crammed. I have just taken our hairdresser Linda up to Ber Street so that she can leave her haircutting bag at her partner’s workplace: her own car is in for an MOT test. On the way back I encountered a long queue of lost cars up Rouen Road, which I ruthlessly jumped. Or slipped into, to be more accurate.
Last night I travelled to Lowestoft, accompanied by Dot after a last-minute decision, for the Waveney and Blyth Arts event. I was supposed to arrive at 6.30 for a run-through, but unsurprisingly this never happened, so we were hanging around for 45 minutes. As much of this was spent chatting to Ian Fosten, it wasn’t a hardship. The event featured poets of a rather higher calibre than some that have appeared at the Seagull, though not all of them were much of a judge of how long ten minutes is. I thought my poems (with accompanying photographs projected on screen) went quite well, though I felt some were a little obscure. Most of the poets relied heavily on evocative description without being particularly poetic in a use-of-words way, the one exception being Nina Roffey from Beccles.
Dot had been feeling rather fragile following her colonoscopy. The first night was bad: she was in a lot of pain, and I was worried that we might have to call the hospital. But it eased off eventually – it was almost certainly caused by the gas that they pump into you during the procedure and don’t bother to pump out again. One day this will be regarded as barbaric. The procedure itself was also painful, but I was out of earshot, taking a walk, having been assured that I wouldn’t be needed.
The next day (Thursday) she was very tired and still had occasional quite bad pain, but she summoned up the will to go to Wroxham on the Jazz Cruise organised by Fred and Sue for the ruby wedding celebration. I was pretty worried how she would last, but it turned out all right, with only a couple of alarms. We had a nice carvery meal in the King’s Head before leaving on the cruise at 7.30pm, sailing down past Horning after taking in Wroxham and Salhouse Broads. It was a lovely evening, though of course it turned quite chilly, and we ended up snug in the cabin after starting on deck. Also present, Marjorie and Pat; Joyce and Ivan. Plus, unexpectedly, Dot’s “friend” from the Bluebell in North Walsham, with whole we had a chat. The jazz band was pretty good too.
This morning we had to be up and about early for our haircut, because Linda was dropped off by Michael on his way to work. In an hour or so we will be at Wymondham for a barbecue at Matt’s house – a kind of farewell before he leaves for Palestine. Weather is very good at the moment.
The pitch and putt went pretty well. Although I didn’t play as well as I did last time, I did improve my score slightly. There were quite a lot of people on the course, but we were lucky in that a group of six-plus who paid ahead of us let us go first. I think four should be a maximum really, but then I’m pretty right-wing about that sort of thing. Anne had real problems actually hitting the ball, except when she was on the green, when she was very good. I don’t know who won, because significantly, we didn’t compare scorecards at the end. Instead we went for a meal at Prezzo’s.
Yesterday I took advantage of a bit of brightness in the morning to drive to Southwold to get some photos for my rivers project. Stopped at Blyford Bridge and then went on to Southwold Harbour. Again, plenty of people about, but I did manage to get a couple of decent shots. Dot didn’t come, because she was already feeling light-headed as the diet in preparation for her colonoscopy tonight kicked in. Today she is feeling pretty low because of the rather violent reaction to the medication she has to take, which means she has to be within about six inches of a toilet at all times. This is not easy to arrange. She has finished eating now. The procedure is at 7pm.
I’ve finished my river poems and sent the pictures to Ian, but no response yet. I now need to turn my attention to the Paston poems and to Blofield. Lucy is in hospital again and feeling the strain.
Venta Icenorum: the diggers dig, and the archaeologists look on, while in the background an expert amateur tries to explain it all to visitors
It’s Bank Holiday Monday, and we’re awaiting the arrival of the Robinsons, with whom we intend to play pitch and putt later on. It’s a dour, grey day, but according to my invaluable rainradar site, it’s not going to rain in Norwich, so we should be OK. Plenty of rain over the last few days: on Saturday I took a walk to deliver a chess cheque to Mike Read and it poured down at the only point there was no shelter. I can’t remember the last time I was so wet outdoors – so wet in fact that when Dot rang and offered a lift, I declined on the grounds that I couldn’t get any wetter and might as well complete the walk. Which I did: an unusual experience, and strangely the rain stung my eyes. Even more strangely, my tennis shoes proved to be completely waterproof. Fortunately it was not cold.
The previous day it had rained pretty much incessantly, which put paid to any ideas Dot might have had of entertaining the Higbees in the garden. Still, we had a very pleasant cooked lunch indoors. Yesterday we did start outdoors – at Roger’s house in Paine Road, with the usual suspects: Jessie, Philip (for a short while), Ray and Janet and their daughter and son-in-law. When the cloud darkened menacingly we shifted indoors for a buffet, at which I showed commendable restraint, if I might say so. We walked home in the gathering dusk across Mousehold, summiting St James’ Hill, where some unspeakable vandals have removed the view plaque dedicated to R H Mottram and had a good go at defacing the plinth as well. Colourful evening sky, which no-one could deface. Dot showed a good turn of speed in her trainers. (We had gone part way on the bus on the outward journey.)
Earlier that day we got a surprisingly large congregation (nearly 20) at church, where I found myself leading, preaching and interceding, with Dot on solo violin. A couple of new people who I hope weren’t put off!
I’ve sent off for a marriage certificate for my grandfather and the enigmatic Ms Steele, just to confirm that it happened. (It didn’t – see later posts.) And in other family news Dot and I have seen the DVD of Sam’s Nativity extravaganza, Who’s the Baby?, which was very good on the scripting and acting front, though the production values were not brilliant, unsurprisingly. The only criticism I would make is that it went on a bit too long. He certainly has a good ear for dialogue, and is a pretty good actor too. Nice to have access to so much acting talent.
Earlier in the week the assistant pastor at Surrey came round at mended our table leg, which is the sort of thing you want an assistant pastor to do. And Dot and I popped out to Caistor to have a look at the excavations, which end this week. Not terribly impressive, to be honest. We overheard a couple of archaeologists discussing which ditch had been dug by Atkinson in the 1920s (it had all been covered up subsequently), and it occurred to us that this was not something that should really have been detaining them. We did learn some interesting stuff though: apparently the town is much later than I thought (probably about 300AD), and by no means densely inhabited. They’ll be turning in their graves…
Jane, Libby and John on the battlements of Norwich Castle
Full day on Sunday, which started with a Communion service at which a happy and contented young George Myers was dedicated. Vicky’s parents came down from Lothersdale, and various other family members and friends boosted the congregation to around 35. There was cake, and the weather was warm. Later Dot and I went to Cinema City for a private showing of Rüthli – the Little Dynamo. This was a film put together by Rüthli’s husband Douglas and a photographer friend to celebrate her life and her final few months (she died of a brain tumour last March). Very professionally done, but I would like to have seen more of her work and her earlier years. I only knew her for a few months, really. I collaborated with her for a show called Voices and Visions – I wrote a couple of poems to go with two abstract pictures that she produced following a visit to the Arctic – and it must have been around that time that she got the diagnosis. She was bubbly and full of life, whereas in some of the shots from the film that had all gone. We have been round to their house in Eaton – called Asgard – which is full of pictures and sculpture. Dot has struck up a friendship with Douglas recently: they have a shared interest in gardening. He is about as eccentric as Rüthli was, though not as tiny. Both art teachers and keen motor-cyclists!
In the evening we went to a fund-raising event at the Workshop – a cafe on Earlham Road – put on by Matt, our former “lodger”, who will be leaving for Palestine in three weeks’ time. There was some guitar-and-singing which would have been better with some coherent or even interesting lyrics, but was sort of entertaining anyway. However the main event was a quiz, which was won by our team, mainly because it was the biggest and despite our knowing almost nothing about 90s Britpop. Dot and I got a £10 book token, and our other team members, Debbie Sands and her husband Neil, got the Cinema City tickets. Matt brought his American girl friend Lorie, who isn’t going to Palestine but we hope will be waiting for him when he gets back. Looking promising, I have to say – she’s very sweet. Will he be moving to America? Watch this space.
(This is a false alarm – see later posts) Some time around now I seem to have discovered that my grandfather was not only in the Army from 1900 to 1903 but got married in 1905 in Mansfield to someone other than my grandmother – a woman called Annie Mary Steele. He would have had to get unmarried to her fairly quickly, but whether through death or divorce or something else I know not. It merits further investigation, as they say.
Shortly before noon on Monday the Redgraves arrived, complete with children Libby (11) and Archie (9), who I have to say were delightful. We spent most of the afternoon in the Castle Museum, including a battlements tour. The guide was full of information I didn’t know and really excellent at putting it across, though I suspect it was a bit much for the children in the party. They had evening meal with us and stayed till about 9.30pm before heading back to Kessingland, where they are renting a holiday chalet. The weather was good, but deteriorated sharply yesterday. It was great to see them: we met in Crete 17 years ago, when they were on their honeymoon. We’ve visited them in Brighton and they’ve been to Norfolk two or three times, and we get on very well despite the gaps.
Yesterday I wrote two or three more poems about the Waveney and spent a lot of time trying to work out whether our Tuesday Group were going to North Walsham for a Molten Meditation event, as suggested by David Archer at the Workshop on Monday. After many phone calls and e-mails we ended up having our usual meal here, and even David decided not to go to North Walsham, partly because Bridget was under the weather. Turned out to be a smallish group, augmented by Adrian, an alternative gentleman who comes to church occasionally, and his dog, who had tagged on to Harriet in her trek across the city. This made it a bit different. I ended up sitting in the garden with him and the dog while he gave me his viewpoint on life.
Here we are at Saturday again. Doesn’t time fly? The week started with another poetry reading at the Seagull Theatre on Sunday. Dot came with me, and I found myself reading about a dozen poems because so few poets had turned up (well, it’s the middle of August). The audience as always was small but appreciative, and I enjoyed it , as did Dot. We had quite a long conversation with Ian Fosten, and I now find myself intimately involved with a project centred on the Rivers Waveney and Blyth – if you can be centred on long things that wind around the countryside.
Most immediately, this means I have to write about half a dozen poems involving the two rivers and their environs, and if possible accompany them with pictures – by September 1. As my knowledge of the area is sparse, this means I have to do some swift travelling, and I started yesterday by “discovering” the source of the Waveney. This is in a ditch near Redgrave, which coincidentally is the name of friends who are visiting us on Monday. They mentioned they might drop in on the “ancestral” village of Redgrave on their way up to the holiday home at Kessingland, and so there was an outside chance I might see them there, but unsurprisingly this didn’t happen.
Still, I walked a bit around the ditch, which looked suspiciously dry. But there was a “Waveney Trail” which included part of the nearby – and very watery – Redgrave Fen. The trail also ventured into some nearby woods, but these were unexceptional. Took a few pictures and drove onwards to Billingford bridge, which was interesting, and another bridge nearby over the River Dove, which wasn’t. Next bridge was at Syleham, by an old mill, and that was beautiful: got one or two nice pictures. At Homersfield, close to the famous Black Swan pub, I discovered the oldest concrete bridge in the country. How do I get this unpoetic information into a poem?
I ended a very warm afternoon at Bungay, where I parked at the golf club and walked down a side of the course, where the river makes a loop rather more graceful than any of my golf shots. Here I got a really good picture of some canoeists, but left without completing the course as I wanted to meet a carpenter who came to look at our living room table. Just got back in time, and it seems he will be able to fix it.
Haven’t written any poems yet, but I have been jotting down a few ideas, in between finishing what must be the most depressing book I’ve read – Stoner, by John Williams. It’s a beautifully written story of a college lecturer who is a good man but without the basic awareness you need to survive: his wife is extremely unpleasant and probably unhinged, and through lack of fight he allows her to ruin their daughter’s life. There’s much more to it – including some important comment on intellectual passion or lack of it – but you get a profound feeling of emptiness which, on reflection, may be because there’s no reference to any deeper purpose of life, either supernatural or spiritual.
I’ve managed to do quite a bit of walking this week, but it doesn’t seem to have had much effect on my efforts to lose weight. When Dot went to see Anne on Tuesday, she dropped me just beyond the bypass, and I walked past Whitlingham Hall and down to the broads, then (with a few delays and excursions) back up Whitlingham Lane and into the city. Continuing the rivers theme, I discovered how the Tas, Yare and Wensum meet, though without much help from the Broads Authority, whose notice at the confluence of the Wensum and Yare is hopelessly inadequate. Why am I suddenly involved with all these rivers?
On Wednesday, as a kind of precursor to my Bungay stroll, Dot and I played pitch and putt on Mousehold. At first my putting was terrible, but it improved towards the end. Mostly my pitching was reasonable, though I did have a bad patch in the middle. Dot was steady in both areas, and we ended up about level, though the dubious card entries showed she won by a single stroke. We were both under 100 – which sounds a lot, but is only just over 5 a hole. Or just under 6. We need practice, and have pencilled in a session with the Robinsons on Easter Monday. The same day we finally got to watch the final film in the Harry Potter series (3D), and it was impressive. We also saw JK Rowling on TV searching for her French roots, and she came over very sympathetically. Fascinating story, too.
On Thursday we had a lovely evening with the Robinsons and their friends from London, Jean and Alan: dinner at Prezzo’s followed by coffee at home. Dot seems to have recovered completely from her tonsillitis, and my mild fluey sort of virus (if that’s what it was) has also abated. I have taken to cooking roast chicken. Dot has spoken to her doctor and is going ahead with her colonoscopy at the end of the month: purely precautionary – no symptoms. My blood test came back “normal”, which doesn’t inspire me as much as the previous “undetectable” and “perfect”, but I guess it’s OK.
Unusual week, in which we have seen few other human beings, except in passing. Mainly because Dot has been recovering from tonsillitis and has been staying at home (except for a visit to Godfreys, though that’s more or less obligatory), but also because I’ve taken the opportunity to catch up with a pile of tasks I’d set myself. These included sending David some poetry and stories for him to work his design magic on; printing out some more copies of my Lent poetry book and sending two (with an introduction) to Roger and Chrissy; editing and updating the new Paston website; writing two more poems; sending various messages to people trying to persuade them to preach at St Augustine’s; and all the usual paperwork, shopping, banking and so on.
Doesn’t sound all that much, but it was time-consuming, especially when I decided to install a couple of software updates, which took about 90 minutes. I’ve also finished reading The New Confessions by William Boyd, which was a complex and very well written account of the journey of a “failed genius” of a film director through the first half of the 20th century. Did a nice job of combining education – in the best sense – and enjoyment. A big book.
And I have also managed to get out for a reasonably long walk every day. Yesterday I did 3½ miles, including Carey’s Meadow, Pinetrees, Lion Wood and the Rosary, thus neatly avoiding the riots in London and Manchester. Not much lawlessness in Norwich, though the litter bin has been thrown down the steps again (at 1.50am on Monday) and then rolled over from its new home against the wall at the top of the road, and into a parked car. I blame the parents.
Andrew is safely back in Coventry, and The Langleys have just rung to say they’re getting him a new bus pass and would like his National Insurance number. The rest of the weekend passed in a bit of a haze as far as I was concerned. Three of us made it to a really excellent meal at the Rushcutters (Andrew, Phil and myself). Dot was too ill with tonsillitis and is only now on the road to recovery, having been to see a nurse practitioner on Monday morning. The latter was shocked at the state of Dot’s throat and prescribed her some penicillin, which she has been taking and which seems to have worked efficiently.
It was with some trepidation that I embarked on Sunday. Phil didn’t feel able to take Andrew to Surrey after their plumbing ordeal had left both him and Joy very tired; so he came with me to St Augustine’s, and this went surprisingly well, even though I was the sole member of the worship group as well as preaching and leading the intercessions. He sat himself away from me and chatted to other members. I didn’t feel I had prepared the sermon very well, but I got a good response from people, so I presume God had been acting independently of me, as it were. Spent the rest of the day looking after Dot and Andrew, though he and I did venture out for a walk up to the Rosary. Didn’t walk very far, but he seemed quite tired.
On Monday after taking Dot to the nurse (which consumed over an hour), I took Andrew for a drive to Winterton. We fitted in a two-mile walk, but again he seemed tired, which is surprising for someone who apparently does long walks at home. Phil had recovered enough to drive us to Coventry, which was a bit of a relief, and the roads were good, probably because we didn’t leave till after 3pm and had a meal at Thrapston; so our return journey was in the evening, and traffic was light. On the way out we dropped off some sugar at Ethel’s. Sweet, or what? She looked surprisingly well.
Worked on financial matters most of yesterday, but did manage a two-mile walk. I’m trying to fit in a walk every day: today I went to the bank and would have taken a more circuitous route home if it hadn’t started to rain. Dot is up and has done some washing, but I am keeping a close eye to make sure she doesn’t overdo it.
Caroline and Teri try to get a better but precarious look over the church wall and into the hall grounds. Kay looks on admiringly.
As first weeks in August go, this one is not in line for any major awards. As I write, Andrew is staying with us and is asleep on the sofa, Dot is ill in bed with a throat infection, and Phil and Joy are having their leaking pipe fixed – the duration of which work will determine whether they can come to Andrew’s birthday meal or not. So I’ve booked for five at the Rushcutter’s and may end up with two. Andrew and I have already been out to buy shoes, clothes and some fruit, as well as a photograph frame (it’s his birthday, and I’ve given him two new pictures of the grandchildren).
Yesterday’s expedition to fetch him from Coventry was a bit of a nightmare, though if it had been by way of the M25, it could have been worse. There has been a massive hours-long roadblock there following an accident. It didn’t take me too long to get to Coventry, though the roads were busy and I adopted the usual diversion at the end. On the way back there was a huge hold-up on the A14 both sides of Huntingdon. Stayed in it for a long time and then diverted on to the Papworth road and on to the A428, which proved pretty successful. But we had to divert again before Elveden, which ate up more time.
The week didn’t start too well, either: I lost a chess game to Dave Hall. Not an unusual event, though I have beaten him on occasion, and I played quite well. But I will probably not be playing much this season: I am taking a chess sabbatical. Had a long chat with him afterwards involving prostate problems and their implications – and much besides. On Tuesday, to round it off, I had my sixth-monthly blood test. Went smoothly enough, but it’s the results that count.
Wednesday was good, too. It was a beautifully warm day, and a group of poets and artists walked around Oxnead to get a flavour of one of the most impressive of the Pastons’ residences. Or at least the location of it. The modern version is currently being transformed into a wedding and concert venue, according to the workmen we spoke to. But the setting is fantastic, and the tiny Oxnead Church has a lot of fascinating stuff in it, though it has been “badly messed about”, according to Teri, the stained-glass artist and architectural student I gave a lift to. Others present: Kay Riggs, who organised it; Carole Gilfillan; Kit Price-Moss; Adrian Ward; and Rob Knee. The poets amonog us agreed afterwards to try to write three new poems (at least) by the beginning of September, with the aim of producing a book by Dragon Hall time – the beginning of November. Teri cam in for a drink, and we were joined by Mary from next door, for whom I had taken in a parcel. Opportunity to point out a wasps’ nest in their gutter.
Dot was at Barbara’s on Thursday, clearly getting infected with something, and I took the opportunity to update my website with a lighthearted piece on road safety in Scotland that attracted an unpleasant anonymous e-mail by someone with a humour bypass. That done, I wrote most of my sermon for Sunday, but I still have to complete it. Don’t really know why I’m doing this first, especially as I wasted an hour or so installing updates to my operating system and browser. In the evening I went to a Paston trustees meeting, which went on a bit, with the female contingent eagerly discussing things either way in the future or unlikely to happen at all. We shall be busy over the next six months on a coastal architecture project for which we have £3000 funding. So that will be fun, and might concentrate people’s minds.
