On the battlements with different views

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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.

Suddenly involved with all these rivers

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The Waveney at Syleham

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.

Few other human beings

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Big sky over Winterton beach

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.

Acting independently

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Andrew at Winterton

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.

Roadblocks and diversions

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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.

Doing without extra bread

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Strange weather: after a warm Thursday, it was really chilly the next two days; today it’s warm again, with bright blue sky and everything you’d expect from summer. This is the day Matthew leaves us for Cringleford and the Cracknells, which is nicely alliterative. He was at church with us this morning but stayed behind to wire up the new Matt Creber-patented PA system. Hope he hasn’t electrocuted himself. Owing to a combination of expected and unexpected absences, I found myself leading, preaching and interceding. Lesson was the feeding of the five thousand, which sums up Christianity in action pretty well, I think.

Neat link to Norwich Youth for Christ, whose barbecue Dot and I attended on Thursday evening, arriving so late that the barbecue had closed down and had to be revived. I have great admiration for director Mark Tuma, who is laid back and positive at the same time. NYFC put the principles of feeding the five thousand into action, in that they do what needs to be done without getting extra bread in first.

On Friday we had a very long lunch with the Eagles, who arrived at about 12.30pm and didn’t leave till nearly 7pm. Vicky joined us for a while, and Matt popped in. Later Dot and I were taken by Matt for an evening meal at Prezzo’s, which was very kind of him. Our protests fell on deaf ears.

Saturday we had our hair cut by Linda, and I spent much of the rest of the day writing my sermon, while Dot created a new clear area under the hedge in the garden, which was immediately occupied by the local robin.

Have just discovered my father’s father was in the army at the beginning of the 20th century – the King’s Royal Rifle Corps. He was 19 when he joined up.

Couldn’t compline

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From Palmer Circle to Cape Haddock: Roger, Barbara and Chrissy Murray

Strangely warm. Have just walked back from the city after lunch with Keiron at Costa Coffee in London Street, and I was actually reminded of Ontario. K has just gone to a three-day week at Archant and is not happy: I cannot say more. On the bright side, he is producing three books: a biography of an East End Jewish fixer (David Lidvitinov, possibly); a bumper book of dinosaurs for teenage readers; and (as editor) translated poetry by a medieval Hebrew poet from Norwich. Quite a range. He is also ecstatically happy (though in sleep debt) about his family: Rowan, Isla and Lottie.

Earlier I went with Dot and Anne to the pitch-and-putt at Mousehold, leaving them to swing clubs while I walked home through Mousehold and over St James Hill. Felt quite fit, which is nice.

Last night we had an unusual evening at Elvira’s, celebrating her birthday (on the 12th) and although she didn’t know it, our wedding anniversary. We had expected a few people from church, and indeed Phil, Nicholas and Debbie H were present, but so were several others we didn’t know – mainly from her Spanish class. Peruvian soup and bread, plus cake and banoffee pie, with wine and tea. Interesting evening, with Nicholas being questioned about his book and one of the other guests (Dawn) apparently receiving messages from beyond – at some earlier date – aimed at preventing her emigrating.

Slightly different ambience for our dinner at the Greenacres’ in Wymondham last Saturday, though death was not far away. Our host, David, had just survived a heart attack, and the mother of another guest, Denise, had passed on within the previous few days. Surprisingly pleasant in the circumstances. Denise’s husband Tim sort of knew Dot from the education world, and David’s wife Sheila is a head teacher I have done some work for.

Earlier in the day I had been working hard on a Paston walk I was leading on Sunday, and the pace did not let up on the day itself. It began with Howard leading a church service. As we hadn’t been there for a couple of weeks, several people wanted to talk to us, so I was late getting away and didn’t get to Paston until just after 1.30pm – the start time. Lurched into it a bit and got a date wrong, but they turned out to be a nice group (of about 8), and everything went well after that, though two of them lived in Paston and had more local knowledge than I did.

At Edingthorpe Church we were joined by Dot, who had followed me out at a more leisurely pace in the MX5, and we continued to Bromholm Abbey, where we had permission to look round for the first time. By then it was getting very late, and after dropping two members (to be picked up) we started back along the sea front, but a stiff wind was keeping the tide in, and it was clearly going to be hit-or-miss whether we would be able to walk up the beach as far as the gas site. To be safe, we went in to the road and walked along that back to the church. Happily the refreshment providers had stayed on to revive us after our 6½ miles. Satisfying, but very tiring, and Dot and I were both struggling to keep our eyes open as we drove home. There was a compline at 6.30, but we were just too tired to wait. Couldn’t compline.

Monday was Kathleen’s funeral at Earlham Crematorium. Ten family members – Paul, Josephine, Dot, me, Joe, Pat, Stephen and wife, Mark and wife – plus about a dozen from Park Church. Paul gave his usual forthright talk, which included some interesting stuff about Kathleen’s life. The service was led by  the Park pastor, and we had refreshments afterwards at Park. One or two blasts from the past – Neville and Ann Barber, Ada Wurr (wife of David) and others. David is apparently permanently ill with brain damage after contracting an infection following a biopsy for prostate cancer: I felt very ill after both my biopsies – is this a hidden danger that  no-one mentions? David still has the cancer, but it’s very slow-growing. Not a happy state of affairs – I can count myself fortunate.

Still working hard on paper (things like church finances, for instance) on Tuesday, and we had a very small Tuesday Group – just Carrie and Harriet. It went surprisingly well, with Harriet unusually talkative. Matt is still lodging with us but was out that night. He has had his bike stolen, but is not sure whether it was from here or from the pizza shop. Meanwhile from Cape Cod Barbara has booked a house in Devon for our big reunion next August. Some pretty strange e-mails are going back and forth.

Before the deluge

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Amy does something creative with Chrissy's hair

Still feeling very jetlagged. My uncle rang at just after 9am to confirm arrangements for Kathleen’s funeral on Monday, and said I sounded “very distant”. An accurate diagnosis: I was half asleep and midway across the Atlantic. Still, it was probably a good thing, because it got me out of bed and in the direction of resuming normal service. It would have been even better if I hadn’t been awake for an hour or two in the night. The weather is dull, cool and threatening rain; so I know we’re home. Walked to Budgen’s to get a loaf and ran into Keiron and family on the way back.

Yesterday passed in a blur, with some necessary catch-ups being achieved in the paperwork department. Dot was at Diocesan House for half the day, and “lodger” Matt, still in residence, was saying goodbye to his school at Acle on the last day of term. I barely left the house.

Our journey home had gone smoothly enough. The Murrays dropped us at the airport in loads of time, and we enjoyed a long but fast-moving queue at Air Transat check-in and a short one through Security. The duty-free part of Terminal 3 at Toronto is nothing to write home about, but we grabbed a snack and bought the children a present each before I spotted that the departure gate had been changed, and we got seats in the new area before it was deluged by other travellers.

The plane left almost on time, and the flight seemed to go quickly (it was 6½ hours). I guess I slept for an hour or so, and the children for much longer. Bit of a queue at passport control, but the bags arrived quickly, and we managed to get the 11.01 train from Platform 4 to Luton Airport Parkway – a pleasant enough journey for which I’d purchased advance tickets. Bit of a squash at first with all our luggage, but we sorted ourselves out after a few people got off at London Bridge.

A taxi from the station at Luton got us to Caddington by about 12.40pm. Dot and I stayed for a couple of hours, some of which was spent asleep, before we left for Norwich. Heavy rain between Luton and Royston, and we saw an unusual number of crashed cars, but we got home safely after stopping for egg and chips (or a bagel in Dot’s case) at the “world famous Comfort Cafe” near Cambridge. Not quite as comfortable as we’d expected, but good chips. Bought a bit of shopping at Morrisons in Norwich before entering the house shortly before 6pm.

Matt had left us a bottle of wine and some chocolates and flowers, which was really nice of him. He didn’t appear till we were heading for bed at the surprisingly late hour of 11.30pm (6.30pm Canada time).

The best of times, the worst of times

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Where the railroad crosses

It’s that worst of times: the last day of a holiday when your plane doesn’t leave till evening, and you hang around wondering what can go wrong and making desultory attempts at packing. Unless you’re David, that is, and then you make extremely long phone calls.

The children woke up late (for them) because of an unexpected event the previous day – the return of the Vanderkooys. We had spent much of a very hot day inside the World Science Centre in the Don Valley area of Toronto – an imaginatively constructed building that tumbles down a ravine in what might be called an ordered state. We visited some reptiles and then (after lunch) an interactive area that the children loved. I was impressed, but not with the acres of children’s groups who increased the decibel level and reduced the floor area. I was also impressed with the Omnimax film, Hubble, which kept the children spellbound, and the adults too.

Lots of traffic on the 401, but we eventually emerged on to the 427, picked up speed and then stopped for (even more) food shopping. Very hot indeed at this point, but it cooled slightly before the Vanderkooys arrived for supper. Joyous reunions all round, and celebrations into the night. They eventually departed for home around 10pm, Oliver and Amy fell into bed, and the rest of us chatted for a while before doing the same.

It’s now 2.15pm, the FedEx lady has delivered a parcel for Barbara, and everyone except me is in the pool area. a couple of days ago the children, Dot and I went into Bolton to do various bits of shopping and to look at some local scenery, including the place where the railroad crosses Mount Hope Road. Magical stuff.

Between realities

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Very odd feeling this Monday morning, as if suspended between two realities. The heat has receded a notch or two, with Barbara and Oliver’s morning walk interrupted by rain. Yesterday was extremely hot – so hot that we stayed indoors a lot of the time. We discovered later that it was the hottest July 17 in Ontario since records began. Nevertheless there was a certain amount of pool activity and two excellent meals materialised from Barbara. How does she do it? Rob came out from Toronto again for the evening meal and took back three postcards from us to put in the mail.

Children pose on the doorstep: Jackson, Oliver, Seth, Amy, Sophie

Farewells were said around 9pm as Chrissy, JD and family departed for the last time, to much sorrow. Both our children were very quiet, and O was inconsolable. The rest of us spent a quiet couple of hours in front of Bottle Shock, the story of the Napa Valley wine success story, in which Alan Rickman was vintage. Barbara went to bed early, but the rest of us saw it through.

This morning, as I said, things were very quiet. I went in the pool with Amy, and Oliver excelled at Monopoly after watching JD’s tactics the previous day. The sun came out and it’s hot again, but not uncomfortable.

On Saturday, while Chrissy, JD and the children went bowling, followed by a pizza, the four of us went into Toronto again for a meal – this time at Nota Bene on Queen Street. I had a superb Wangyu burger with fried egg after salt cod fritters, followed by grapefruit sorbet and excellent ginger tea. We rounded it off with a walk down Queen Street in the evening heat.