Gladness

There's always tomorrow

Dear Diary,

Carols of gladness ring from every tree.
Frances Anne Kemble

I had a blast from the past this morning as I was listening to the Pause for Thought slot on Radio 4’s Today programme. There was mention of the Book of Prayers and Hymns for Junior Schools that was in use from the old days up to the end of the 1960’s and there were a few quotations from some of the hymns like Morning has Broken which was my absolute favourite. The reader was explaining that a lot of the school hymns in those days were about the (spiritual) values of our environment. It was ironic that. growing up in London, I had never seen a country lane, a speedwell flower or a buttercup then, but the words must have struck something deep within my soul I guess.

Then he mentioned Glad that I live am I; this one was the big blast as I had forgotten all about it. But straightaway I was back there as a child again in the school assembly hall in my gymslip in my ( excellent) South London junior school. I loved music and I am sure that some of these childhood hymn singing sessions also helped to encourage my love of words and poetry.

If you are a certain age you may remember this one?


A Little Song Of Life


Glad that I live am I;
That the sky is blue;
Glad for the country lanes,
And the fall of dew.
After the sun the rain,
After the rain the sun;
This is the way of life,
Till the work be done.
All that we need to do,
Be we low or high,
Is to see that we grow Nearer the sky.
Lizette Woodworth Reese


Here is another he mentioned, anyone remember this?

Daisies are our silver

Daisies are our silver,
Buttercups our gold:
This is all the treasure
We can have or hold.
Raindrops are our diamonds
And the morning dew;
While for shining sapphires
We've the speedwell blue.
These shall be our emeralds–
Leaves so new and green;
Roses make the reddest Rubies ever seen.
God, who gave these treasures
To your children small,
Teach us how to love them
And grow like them all.
Make us bright as silver:
Make us good as gold;
Warm as summer roses
Let our hearts unfold.
Gay as leaves in April,
Clear as drops of dew–
God, who made the speedwell,
Keep us true to you.

Tune: Glenfinlas by K. G. Finlay.




Changing the subject now. I have just finished an excellent book: No Time for Goodbye by Lynwood Barclay. It is our book group choice for October and we are meeting tonight to discuss it. It’s in the Bestseller lists and I am not surprised. (It was a Richard and Judy choice too, not that I always like all of their choices). I will say no more because I think if you say too much about a book it (a) puts an unconscious pressure on you to enjoy it or else….. and that sometimes is resisted and therefore doesn’t work and (b) it sometimes spoils the story line if you have any idea what might come up. All I will say is it was a book I just had to finish. So just go, read.

A few blessings?

The dipper is around most mornings, fishing from the river bank.

The Indian Summer has arrived and it is heaven.

I sat by the riverbank, right by our ‘newly positioned’ bridge yesterday afternoon, relaxing with the abovementioned book. Finn our lurcher and Kitty the collie laid next to me, Finn on the bridge and Kitty at my feet. When they weren’t sunning themselves they kept going for a paddle in the river - even they thought it was summer.

The sheep have gone from the field and I took the dogs in there for a run this morning.

The crab apple tree over the far side is loaded with crab apples. (my very own Magic Apple Tree, now there’s another gem of a book I recommend).

Here is a photo M took just now.

The tree is very, very old. I think it has magical powers; it speaks to me.

It keeps company with a little hawthorn. The crab apple is covered in apples.

The thorn is loaded with haws.

More blessings?

Bulbs and flowers. Something to look forward to.

I have planted tulips of many colours outside my kitchen window and crocus under our laburnum tree. I have daffodils to plant next, around the trees, I try and plant a few more of the ‘Welsh flower’ each year. I will buy some more natural bluebells soon, as they are very special to me. It is good to have flowers to look forward to.

Something else to look forward to? ….I have ordered a book from Amazon, second hand but good as new. One that will take me to another place, somewhere my paternal roots are, somewhere I love, a place near heaven in fact.

A Place near Heaven by Damien Enright. A story of a year in West Cork.





Last but not least …………..Sunshine…………. Shhhhhhh……….. it is still here………………..

Bye for now,
Cait.

Hang on............just before you go

PS Does anyone know the artist or the name of this picture? I am desperate to find out.

County Kerry, just pics and a poem.

Header picture, Connemara Farm is an oil painting by Elizabeth Ryan

"A Kerry footballer with an inferiority complex is one who thinks he's just as good as everybody else."
John B. Keane

"Everywhere I go I'm asked if I think the university stifles writers. My opinion is that they don't stifle enough of them. There's many a best-seller that could have been prevented by a good teacher."
Flannery O'Connor

"You know it's summer in Ireland when the rain gets warmer."
Hal Roach










I discovered the artist Alan Cotton while leafing through a Country Life magazine in the library and was delighted to see a print of a picture of County Kerry - The High Road from the Bay, oil on canvas. That one is not on here but I have found some of his Irish paintings on his website and just had to share them, they are so beatiful.

To continue the Kerry theme, here is a poem by the late Sigerson Clifford, who was born in County Cork of Kerry parents.

The Tinkerman's Daughter

The wee birds were lining the bleak autumn branches

• Waiting to fly to a far sunny shore
  When the tinkers made camp at a bend on the river
  Coming back from the horse-fair in Ballinasloe
  The harvest being over the farmer came walking
  Along the Feale River that bordered his land
  'Twas there he first saw her 'twixt firelight and water
  The tinkerman's daughter, the red-headed Ann

  Next morning he woke from a night without resting
  He went to her father, he made his claim known
  In a pub in Listowel they worked out a bargain
  For the tinker a pony, for the daughter a home
  Where the trees shed their shadows along the Feale River
  The tinker and the farmer inspected the land
  And a white gelding pony was the price they agreed on
  For the tinkerman's daughter, the red-headed Ann

  With the wedding soon over the tinkers departed
  They're eager to travel on south down the road
  The crunch of their iron-shod wheels on the gravel
  Was as bitter to her as the way she'd been sold
  She tried hard to please him, she did all his bidding
  She slept in his bed and she worked on the land
  But the walls of that cabin pressed tighter and tighter
  On the tinkerman's daughter, the red-headed Ann

  White as the hands of the priest or the hangman
  The snow spread its blanket the next Christmas round
  The tinkerman's daughter slipped out of his bedside
  Turned her back on the land and her face to the town
  It's said someone saw her at dusk that same evening
  As she made her way out o'er Likelycompane
  And that was the last time the settled folk saw her
  The tinkerman's daughter, the red-headed Ann

  Where the North Kerry hills cup the Feale o'er Listowel
  At a farm on its banks lives a bitter old man
  He swears by the shotgun he keeps at his bedside
  He'll kill any tinker that camps on his land
  Whenever he hears iron-shod wheels on gravel
  Or a horse in the shafts of a bright caravan
  Then his day's work's tormented, his night sleep's demented
  By the tinkerman's daughter, the red-headed Ann

• Sigerson Clifford

Bye for now,
Cait

Passion and rest

Header picture, Connemara Farm is an oil painting by Elizabeth Ryan









Dear Diary,

“Rest in reason; move in passion

Kahlil Gibran

I’m writing this in the snug, sitting on my cosy armchair by the ancient Rayburn; you will often find me in here now with my two dogs and my cat for company. The washing is hanging from the beams, it’s reached the airing stage now. I look straight out on to the river and the field of sheep and beyond that, an oak wood, still green, not yet bare of leaf.


Five things I am into:

This is a piece of homework for Purplecoo. (I’m sure I’ve done this subject before?). The deadline is today so I am getting it in quick to avoid detention…… again.
I wish I was able to put 'worthy' things down like painting, sewing, decorating, gardening, exercising daily, cooking great recipes every night and writing wonderful works of literature. Doing Good Deeds would be a nice one as well. Hey Ho.

My list is like me at present, a bit feeble, but here goes:


Reading is always scrumptious, but even more so in the seasons of autumn or winter. I’m more likely to be found ‘living’ in a novel at this time, call it escapism if you like but I'm seeking out the unputdownable if possible.

A Good Book is a Good Friend. I had a leather bookmark with that on once, well I still do have it in my collection. Did I tell you I collect bookmarks?

I lose myself in a book if I can. I ‘cooch up‘ (as they say here in Wales)on the sofa and snuggle down, or in bed, or by the Rayburn, or in front of the woodburner - anywhere cosy. The woodburner is lit at around dusk every evening now and is definitely Something To Look Forward To.

Working in a library means that I am exposed to loads of books (absolute bliss for a bibliophile like me) and I also have many books recommended to me by borrowers. Good reads. I also recommend my much-loved titles to the borrowers of course, that is part of my job as a librarian. (Karen, please note the use of that word.... librarian).
Promoting reading and the love of books is a passion of mine.

I have just finished one such book, it was recommended to me by several borrowers. It is Eve Green by Susan Fletcher and I think it is an excellent novel. It did win the Whitbread First Novel award a while ago, you may have read it? There is Welsh local interest, quite by chance, and the quality of the writing is excellent, quite poetic in places.







Sleeping and napping become more enjoyable too as the nights start to draw in and the temperatures drop. (Full blown hibernation is not allowed unfortunately because it would definitely get my vote).
Now don’t tell anyone about this next one will you but I’ve even started …

Watching more TV. Perhaps it is because I am still feeling weak after the flu but I am currently into programmes like the One Show, Eggheads, Strictly Come Dancing, Tess of the D’Urbervilles, Antiques Roadshow and a few (loads?) more, others I can’t remember.
(Question Time I never miss).

I haven’t deserted dear Radio 4 though, that channel is still my Good and lifetime Companion, especially in the kitchen and the bedroom.

Long Walks.
I intend to get into brisk walking again when I am fully better. I went on one last week but it was too soon after my bug and I felt bad again the next day. Possibly because on the same day I also cleaned the cottage from top to bottom and did a couple of hours in the garden and did some shopping and recycling etc etc. Will I ever learn?





My other passion at present is genealogy. I always turn back to this in the darker months and I am eagerly on the trail of dead people in Ireland, France and the East End of London.




Last but not least (I always have to stick in a cliché, I only do it to annoy you understand).

Writing…… of course! That takes up a lot of time. Blogging, reading others’ blogs, commenting, visiting Purplecoo, commenting.




I have my novel-in-the-making and as today is a day off I guess I had better dig it out. Reading good books with ’good writing’ always inspires me to write, are you the same?

And speaking of good writers, here’s one.


The Visionary


Silent is the house: all are laid asleep:
One alone looks out o’er the snow-wreaths deep,
Watching every cloud, dreading every breeze
That whirls the wildering drift, and bends the groaning trees.

Cheerful is the hearth, soft the matted floor;
Not one shivering gust creeps through pane or door;
The little lamp burns straight, its rays shoot strong and far:
I trim it well, to be the wanderer’s guiding-star.

Frown, my haughty sire! chide, my angry dame!
Set your slaves to spy; threaten me with shame:
But neither sire nor dame nor prying serf shall know,
What angel nightly tracks that waste of frozen snow.

What I love shall come like visitant of air,
Safe in secret power from lurking human snare;
What loves me, no word of mine shall e’er betray,
Though for faith unstained my life must forfeit pay.

Burn, then, little lamp; glimmer straight and clear—
Hush! a rustling wing stirs, methinks, the air:
He for whom I wait, thus ever comes to me;
Strange Power! I trust thy might; trust thou my constancy.


Emily Brontë


Bye for now,
Go mbeannai Dia duit,
Cait

Just for Me - Unbreak My Heart sung by Il Divo

A special request

I Will sung by Alison Krauss (written by Paul McCartney).

Rainbows

White horses prancing
Torrents pouring, Sun blazing,
Rainbow, lift my heart

Rainbow



I promised there would be a rainbow.
Here She comes!
Is she always there but we can’t see her?
Like a deity, so close, but somewhere out of reach?
Do we always have to trust or just believe?
Bright was this Autumn morning and my own September song:
Sun blazing on my river and across its rushing waves,
white horses swiftly dancing to its happy, yellow tune.
Then, spots of grey, the saddest grey, as rain began to fall.
Somewhere above, beyond, across a cloud,
She arches into view.
I knew She’d come, I told you so!
She is Rain’s apposite, accomplice of the Sun.
In the deepest, darkest days when She is hidden from our view,
sometimes we have to trust or just believe.

Poem for a Mother

Like A Beacon

In London
every now and then
I get this craving
for my mother's food
I leave art galleries
in search of plantains
saltfish / sweet potatoes

I need this link

I need this touch
of home
swinging my bag
like a beacon
against the cold

© Grace Nichols 1984.

I found this poem in a greeeting card in a library book I was shelving, obviously used as a bookmark by a borrower. Someone had written the poem out by hand in what looked like a card from a son to a mother, but without the name of the poet. The message said

Mum
I saw this poem and thought of you.
Love

I thought the poem rang a bell, I may have even blogged it before? A quick Google brought it up. God Bless Google.

Anyway I will try and return it to its rightful owner. Mothers apperciate these sort of things, yes?

Seasonal Thoughts

Header picture, Connemara Farm is an oil painting by Elizabeth Ryan


Dear Diary.

Every leaf speaks bliss to me, fluttering from the autumn tree”

Emily Bronte

A blade of grass

Said a blade of grass to an autumn leaf, "You make such a noise falling! You scatter all my winter dreams."
Said the leaf indignant, "Low-born and low-dwelling! Songless, peevish thing! You live not in the upper air and you cannot tell the sound of singing."
Then the autumn leaf lay down upon the earth and slept. And when spring came she waked again -- and she was a blade of grass.
And when it was autumn and her winter sleep was upon her, and above her through all the air the leaves were falling, she muttered to herself, "O these autumn leaves! They make such a noise! They scatter all my winter dreams."

Kahlil Gibran
The Madman Chapter 30

There is life in the river, it’s that time of year again. September is ‘otter month’ and the dogs are very anxious to go out after dark and race straight for the river bank in great haste and excitement. I long for moonlit nights so I can watch again from my window.

We sat in the parlour in the dark last night, we tend to do that more often now and only put a light on if we are reading. I much prefer candles anyway and I guess we are saving money and energy too. It could have been spooky in complete darkness but it wasn’t. This cottage is free of spirit movement, it just carries an air about it, one of benevolence and a strong sense of restfulness. It feels like a prayer of peace.

We talked in the dark like children do in bed after hours and we imagined how, in days gone by, the blacksmiths and their families would have sat like us, by the hearth, probably by candlelight or an oil lamp. Would they have conversed in the same way? Noticed the sound of wildlife, the bark of a fox in the field, the scream of a vixen, the splash or whistling of the otters. Such peace only descends when electric light is banished and I think I will actively seek more of such tranquillity this coming winter.

It’s a beautiful sunny autumn day today. I’m still feeling ropey but am in the mood for sorting out my winter wardrobe. Wardrobe…..that sounds a bit on the posh side, it really means storing away my (very few) summer clothes and digging out the (even fewer) winter ones stashed away in a chest. There are hardly any, just some boring work trousers and jackets I shall probably never wear. Lots to throw out too. I am really in a throwing out mood. Drawers and cupboards will be next. It must be the New Moon.

My wardrobe is just layers and layers that get increased or decreased according to the temperature. I have desires though and will make a list. How I love making lists. Doesn’t every woman?

What do I desire this autumn?

All things purple of course, that goes without saying really.
I have my new purple coat, can’t wait to wear that.

Purple tights, fuchsia tights, grey tights, black tights.

Thermal vests and socks.

New boots?

I yearn for a frock or two (what is happening to me? I normally live in jeans/casual clothes). I can almost see the dresses that I desire. Long sleeved or three quarter length. Longish but not long. Jersey, maybe printed. V -neck or maybe scooped. Mustardy, gold or mulberry? Blackberry, purple or red? Or grey. I just love grey. Perhaps I could become the woman who only wears grey? Or purple? No doubt if I imagine these frocks they will materialise. I am a great believer in creative visualisation don’t you know.

I have quite a few scarves and shawls, I love to wrap myself up in these, they are both warmers and comforters. I broke my neck once and am starting to get a bit of neck ache sometimes. I find wearing a scarf quite soothing. Silk is best.

I need a warm dressing gown to snuggle in. Talking of which, I need to move the bed back to the middle of the bedroom, back to its winter position away from the window with its view of the river and the field. The glass is double glazed but is curtainless and seems to let the cold air through (if you lay right by it you can feel it).

Other plans for the coming season?

The logs are safely gathered in and our Log Angel still calls from time to time, bless him. The logs are drying out well after the flood.

In no time at all it will be home made soup and stew time. Cold, grey days spent baking cakes etc. I love comfort foods and am more inspired to cook in the winter months. Roasts, casseroles, curries, chillis and lots of lovely vegetarian meals.

And books to read…I have a list of those too.

Plenty of writing to do of course and blogs to read, lives to keep up with and on the family tree front there are genealogy trails that seem to never end.

Lots of sleeping and napping to enjoy on winter afternoons.

Early nights with a Good Book or snuggling up under a duvet on the sofa watching a film or something on TV that’s Worth Watching (so rare these days).

Brisk daily walks with the dogs or winter picnic trips out in the car or on the train to places of interest. (Playing at being a tourist)..



Blessings? I have been ignoring them of late so here are five.

The changing colours of the trees.

The power of rest.

Firelight and conversation.

The kindness of candles.

Silence.




I’ll sign off now,

Go mbeannai Dia duit,

Cait.

The Wanted and the Definitely Unwanted

Header picture, Connemara Farm is an oil painting by Elizabeth Ryan

Dear Diary,

I’ll start with the Definitely Unwanted.

Now bear with me, I begin with a right whinge. I have been unwell, so make allowances.

The flu seemed like an endurance test. I craved the oblivion of sleep but it would not easily come and when it did ‘twas only in short fits and bursts. Then once the phone rang just as I had got off to sleep and I was startled into wakefulness, I stumbled downstairs to answer it in case it was something important…….I am such a worrier and always imagine the worst whenever the phone rings....... I felt feverish all the time but couldn’t lose myself in deep sleep or in books and the radio was irritating and so, so depressing. Gordon Brown was everywhere, cancer drugs available to some and not others, David Milliband, School shootings, the Economy, Gordon Brown…….

Even the pastoral view from my bedroom window both bored and hurt my sore, sore eyes. I had no appetite but forced little morsels down, a small piece of quiche, some tinned peaches, chicken soup laced with cayenne and garlic (that helped). I drank copious amounts of Yorkshire Gold tea, it was all I craved. But still my sinuses felt blocked and raw, my eyes streamed constantly, my throat was like sandpaper.

I shivered and I sweat. I sweat and I shivered.

Flu always carries depression in its wake, it either strikes at the time or creeps up in a cunning way, post-virally. The dogs would visit me from time to time, trying their best to cheer me. They would sit by the bed and gaze at me, their eyes full of love. I loved them back. Crossness soon took over though as I became angry because I had felt so well before the virus struck, as they always do - suddenly. I felt I was wasting time when I could be doing. Even my pen ran out of ink when I weakly tried to scribble.

M told me that everyone got had this flu.

‘How do you know?’ I asked.

‘I’ve heard everyone talking about it’, he said.

Some comfort there then.

I was not alone.

I soldiered on and tried to console myself - the suffering was nowhere near as bad as a migraine, (it just lasted a hellluva lot longer).

Then to crown it all - this will make you laugh, it’s a real play on words, ha ha. I was eating a bowl of porridge one morning and a crown fell off a front tooth. So now I not only felt like an ugly old hag, I honestly looked like one too.

Tell me honestly Oh Death,

Where is Thy Sting?

*

And now for the Wanted:

Whinge over, I am on the mend, time to catch up on homework.



Five Things I Always Wanted

(This is Purplecoo Homework. I feel sure I’ve done it before; I am overtaken by déjà vu).

A donkey. Well two donkeys to be exact as I feel that one on its own might be lonely.



I would like to adopt two but something is stopping me. The expense? The time it would take looking after them? I don’t know what is holding me back really. I used to dream of having an animal rescue home - perhaps one has to have some dreams that are just destined to always stay forever as dreams?




To live in the country.

I’ve managed to achieve this.

(Oh God, I bet this homework should be things I haven’t been able to achieve but hey ho, who cares? It will be detention for me no doubt).

Let’s get back to what I haven’t got (yet…….. she says, ridiculously optimistic, that’s me!).

A narrow boat.



I often think I could live on one of these

I would love a Romany caravan too.




To write. I do scribble a lot so I guess this could go in the achieved column too.

I’ve always wanted to write a novel. I have one-in-the making but progress is slow (far too much time spent blogging and on Purplecoo?).

I enjoy writing though and that’s the main thing, the pleasure it gives me to do so, whatever rubbish I turn out.

I’m the kind of person that if I did have strong wants then I would go all out for them, some of them. But I am not at all ambitious or materialistic so my greatest needs are simple really and boil down to just the two. To be healthy is number one, to be happy the other. And I wish that for all my loved ones. And for peace in the world. If you think that sounds too naff then that’s tough. Stop reading now.

Children.
This should be top of the list really
I always wanted children, to have my very own family, my own flesh and blood. I wanted ten, then six, then four but was only allowed two but I love them both with all of my heart and I am so proud of them and my three grandchildren too.

I always wanted to find my roots, It took nearly a lifetime but I have done so.

I always wanted to work in a library. I have achieved that one too



I dream too of owning a book shop but it is an idle dream as I would hate to be tied to a shop full-time.


A few more things I always wanted but never got given?

Straight hair, red hair. Red haired children.

An effortless, powerful, beautiful singing voice. (Like Celine Dion's maybe? That range and power anyway).





A rocking horse. A flat stomach. An endless pot of money*.

*I will admit that the abovementioned three were copied from my fellow pupils’ homework pages but I identified with them so greatly I just had to include them (so that is not real cheating?).


A camper van.

Love the number plate!

Last, but definitely not least here is a BIG WISH.

A little retreat on the west coast of Ireland.

Here’s hoping,

I’ve just realised I’ve done more than five….

Never was any good at maths. ….

Or homework.

Bye for now,
Cait

Friendship

Let’s Pretend: A Fable of Friendship.

(For Suzanne Fitzpatrick ).

As usual this may contain a few clichés.      

Friendship.    

Concord, Amity, Compatibility, Sociality, Familiarity, Kindness, Courtesy, Benevolence.

(Acknowledgement to dear Roget, he too is a friend. Where would I be without him?)

It was inevitable really. She had a name but I would never find her on Friends Reunited, however hard I tried. That was sad. Where was she? Had she died? Moved to another place (in time) (or space?).

Let’s Pretend was my Child’s Best Game. I lived it to survive. Saw visions, dreamed my dreams.

But had I not enough of the power of inventiveness, creativeness, originality?        

Originality. Now that’s what she possessed; my Suzanne.  

She was full of it and insight too,

( always there to guide me).

Empathy,

(always there to understand so well).

Moral sensibility,

(always needed by me).

Sympathy,

(always caring for me).

Enthusiasm,

(when I had no hope).    

She was my inspiration. She was beautiful of course, with long red hair and not one teeny curl or wave; a perfect body, tanned and freckle-free.  

(For Suzanne was perfect. It has to be said.).    

She was my ideal (my other half?). Did I conceive her, coin her in my mind? Or was she purely my soul’s creation, a mere figment and a fiction, just an exercise in dreaming, a mere flight of fancy in my brain? An extravaganza? Pure exaggeration?  But as I grew I lost myself in verse and fantasy and took to building castles in the air, with wild, wild dreams and visual fallacy. (Was this too an hallucination?).    

For the land I lived amidst was make-believe. I day-dreamed, cloud-watched, searched the skies (there were never any cuckoos there).    

And all the while:    

Suzy was my divine, my friend and dreamer

and a reader of the runes.

A caster of the stones and my very own Tarot queen.

A myth-maker for the heart and a bringer of True Romance

to my sad, sad life.    

(For she was lively and resourceful and all my hurts and problems blew away). Was she unreal? Illusory in a world where fiction and untruths combine? Was she concocted; fabricated?     

Could she be conjured out of no-where?

What does she re-present?

Is there a website for the non-existent?   Imaginary Friends Reunited, oh what fun.   Back from the Land of Neverness (in Space),

Would we unite again?    

No. I will have to face it, Suzanne is extinct; she’s died, defunct and vanished, is no more, has passed away, moved on, has been promoted and has perished from this Earth.    

Or was she never born, just undiscovered and is she yet to come?

Or self-destructed and all my words unfounded?,

Our bonding had potential but it came to only naught;

she left her trace of Friendship

but it did not stand that age old test

………of Time

Not many words but a lot of water

Dear Diary,

It all happened so quickly.

It was raining. Nothing unusual there eh? One minute I was typing up a blog (the previous one) with one eye out of the window watching the rain and waiting for my daughter to arrive. We had spoken on the phone, nothing was amiss and she said she would pop over for a cuppa. I could see the river bridge from my desk and noticed that the water level was rising and would soon reach the bottom of the bridge. As I typed on I noticed it was starting to wash over the bridge. M said it was starting to flood a bit downstream, this is common and not usually a worry. The heavy rain continued.

I even waxed lyrical again in my blog about the joys of living in Wales and never being far from water (!). My daughter arrived and seemed concerned about the state of the roads, she wanted to ring her brother and warn him. 'Why' says I? What are you on about?

'Flooded roads, she said, really bad'.

The flood was spreading, I noticed that and the rain was becoming torrential. I quickly posted my blog and went downstairs to survey the waters. They were 'over' quite a lot but we didn't think it worth rescuing the bench, the waters were a bit deep, not too deep but we couldn't be bothered, used as we are to moderate overspill! Little did we know what was to come. Now I know why they are called flash floods. It probably took only half an hour before it was lapping at the back door.

The neighbours called round and helped us. My son arrived to help and then my son-in-law too as some sheep had got stranded in the field and were too 'dull' to move to safer ground but luckily E, a friend and my son managed to move them just before he arrived. Everyone got stuck in and helped us. I called the council and then later the Fire Service as I had been told they were in the area and they arrived with sandbags, God bless them. They said the roads were very bad, even for them. They also made drainage channels further up the road to try to divert the water as it flows down two hills in the road to join our river.


Anyway here are some photos that show the awe-ful power of Nature. I can't convey the noise, the rush and poweful roar of the waters, you will just have to imagine it. At least it was daylight, if it floods at night it is even more frightening.

And in future? We have plans now to cut down some trees across the other side of the river so the water can flow by more easily and to put in some heavy boulders on this side in 'cages' to build a wall to prevent further flooding.

Friday morning.

September 5th 2008

Before

The flood begins

We caught the sight of the bridge being 'moved'

Views from my bedroom window

Edging towards the back door

Edging towards the front door

Back garden

Well it's Sunday now, it's a day off and I am hoping that the worst of the rain has passed. The river has receded, she is flowing really slowly by as if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. I will have to begin with housework, laying all the rugs again and general cleaning up. Then I will have to try to put the garden to rights by clearing all the flood debris while assessing along the way what is 'missing'. I know I have lost a lovely bench, loads of pots, nearly all my plastic garden chairs, special stones and a little stone squirrel. All our logs are wet as they were in the riverside forge across the road.

A little stone frog has been found on the riverbank though; I have named him 'Lucky'. And lucky is what we are, because, although it came very, very close, the flood water didn't enter the cottage. The rain stopped just in time.

There are so many folk worse off than me, all over the UK and I should not moan about a bit of tidying up.

A little footnote:  The granddaughters have been by and pointed out that Lucky the frog could swim and that is why he was safe.  Silly Nanny!

Bye for now,
Go mbeannai Dia guit,
Cait

Home

My home, my hearth. Spot the angels?

Dear Diary,

I've posted this poem before but make no apologies, I love it so.

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honeybee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.
And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet's wings.
I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart's core.

William Butler Yeats

I’ll try to keep it short; these blogs have been rather lengthy of late. Bear with me; I sometimes get carried away.

Yesterday I was confined to bed, stricken with a 12-hour migraine and couldn’t go to work. Shame as I love my job.

The weather today is dark and wet, wet, wet. But I feel better.

A positive blog is called for.

Especially needed don’t you think as after the last blog posting where I tried to redress a balance by pointing out the downsides of country living? It was so negative. Ugh! It seemed to ring bells with a few others though.

But now for the good news:

As I lay in bed yesterday in the recovery phase, weak but pain-free, I got to thinking. A kind of epiphany overcame me. A political one.. All my past blogs probably say it all and I don’t need to elaborate on the joys of living here. My joy usually overfloweth. What I did realise though was that probably all the ‘negatives’ mentioned in that post, apart from the weather, were in our hands - we humans could change these downsides easily, I realised it was a political thing. Isn’t everything?

But back to what I love. Where do I start?

There is no sense of rush, no sense of fear or even a touch of suspicion. Everyone smiles at each other and says ‘Hello’ whether they know the person or not. You don’t feel guilty talking to children. No-one is out to impress anyone else with their latest acquisition/status symbol. There is no class distinction. There are so many interesting characters around, locals and incomers alike who all have their own interesting stories to tell.

OK so it’s not my beloved Ireland but it is as beautiful and poetry is all around us. All that’s missing here is the sea.

We do travel miles to shop/get anywhere but thanks to the Internet we are able to do less driving and shop online - the speed and the efficiency of the delivery service is fantastic. Can I also hand a bouquet to the Post Office for what excellent value for money their service provides and everything is delivered daily with a smile too. And when we do have to take to the roads each journey is a treat for the soul with heavenly views changing around each bend and if, like me, you are a cloud-watcher, there is no better place to live. The roads are well maintained and practically empty. My own ‘B’ road links two ‘A’ roads, is eight miles long and I always say it is one of the most scenic routes in Wales. Mountains, hills; water is never far away as well with our rivers, streams and waterfalls. Our air is like nectar.

We have the best of neighbours, we think of them as family. We have made special friends who we love. There is a lot going on and plenty to see, places to explore. It is easy to find solitude and walk for miles without seeing a soul.

So far we have (some) small schools remaining, long may it be so.

We have an excellent library service (I am not paid to say that).

We have a fighting community.

The sense of community is strong and everyone cares for everyone else. We are all touched by others’ misfortune and made happy by their joys..

We have our wonderful Air Ambulance who I cannot praise highly enough, I owe my life to them and also to the ‘ordinary’ ambulance service. (God bless them both).

And speaking personally I have good health (usually!), a wonderful part-time job (close to home) and both of my children and of course the grandchildren, live close by.

There is wildlife in abundance, birds–a-plenty. And my dogs and my cat say they love it too!

Here's Molly giving me healing yesterday.




And here's a young heron by our river.





Our own green valley is special, it wraps itself around us, our little cottage nestles on the banks of its pure river, it carries a sense of peace within it.  I feel safe. I feel connected.

Two 'angels' in the hearth.



At night when I walk outside and the skies are clear, I can see the Moon, the stars and the planets and I am at one with the Heavens.

The Welsh say ‘Hiraeth’.

What more can I say?

I love it.

It’s my home.

Bye for now,
God Bless,
Go mbeannai Dia duit.
Cait

Another Day in Paradise?

Phil Collins
Another Day in Paradise




Dear Diary,


Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering.
There is a crack in everything,
That's how the light gets in.
~Leonard Cohen




Before I start I had better say that this is not a 'complaining' blog. How could I complain about living where and how I do? And watching the Phil Collins video brings its all home. (Dear Phil, he used to be a neighbour of mine when we both lived in the same Sussex village).

Let's face it, to have a roof over our heads makes us lucky when so many in the world are starving and/or homeless. My own mother was an Irish immigrant, pregnant and homeless in London in the 1950's, so I have every sympathy for those who need shelter. The following words are just to show the 'downsides' of life in rural Wales and to illustrate how:

‘Nothing is perfect’

My son-in-law said that to me once and the words have stayed with me. This phrase can be applied to everything in life I guess.

My son-in-law is very bright and very wise - well he chose my daughter didn’t he? My daughter is also very bright and very wise so they make the perfect couple.

I digress.

My previous blog post was full of much lyrical waxing, so much so that it seemed to inspire envy from those who would like to live here in the ‘happiest part of the UK’.

Well here and now I am going to redress the balance somewhat. It may be because it feels like winter today, for as I look out of the cottage windows there is a gale blowing and the rain is blowing horizontally across the field. Anyway here are the downsides of life in rural Wales.

The jobs are few and far between and very low paid. It is/was the lowest paid county in the UK. Career opportunities are so poor that most young folk have to leave the area to find work.

The cost of living is high because of the above and also petrol prices are higher than most places in the ‘Otherworld’.

We have no big supermarkets and therefore spend more on our basics than those who do.

Public transport is practically non-existent and what there is doesn’t run often enough or at times that would link in with people’s work/social lives.

You could not live here without a car (unless you used taxis all the time).

Travelling time. You will use/waste a lot of this in order to do anything. My dentist for example is 45 minutes away and he is private (no chance of finding an NHS one). Hospital appointments, or visiting loved ones who are ill, God knows how people without a car or enough money manage this one.

The climate – this one doesn’t usually bother me but this summer has been exceptionally poor. The only consolation is that it has been poor everywhere.

The growing season is short up here in the hills, the temperatures are lower than elsewhere.

There is a dearth of shops. This is an advantage sometimes as one is not tempted to spend money. But it’s difficult to plan meals and you need to because you can’t just pop out to get whatever ingredient you need for a recipe you fancy. Because you have to travel miles for ANYTHING you soon learn to stock up well when you do go shopping (yeah, yeah, who am I kidding here?).

It is miles to an A & E. We have NO county hospital and of late the Air Ambulance (God bless them) has been employed on more occasions than it used to, all funded by local people too.

We are plagued by berludy motorcyclists every weekend who treat our roads as a racetrack. They honestly scare us.

Do they get caught?

No.

Guess who saves them (sometimes)? Our dear Air Ambulance.

If we creep over 30 mph in a 30- limit do we get caught?

You betcha.

Low flying jets regularly scare us (and the animals). It’s sometimes like living in a war-zone.

Mobile phone reception is nil in a lot of areas (including my area). Ditto TV reception, thank God for digital.

Broadband speeds? Don’t ask. (Mine is 1.1 Mbs). If you can get it you are lucky, some folk still can’t, imagine - in this day and age.

Anonymity? Be prepared to lose that if you move to the area. Everyone knows everyone and gossip can and does get ‘distorted' shall we say?

The flipside of this of course is the wonderful sense of community that exists but let’s not venture back into the world of advantages here.

We lack a diversity of cultures, we see the same old faces (and a few young ones). It’s easy to see the risk of becoming ‘insular’.

Tourists too can irritate some folk though they shouldn’t as they are contributing to one of the main sources of income in the area.

And speaking personally now. We have no central heating, coal has gone up to £16 a bag! Calor gas prices have also rocketed and logs will be next I expect.

I had better stop now. I can’t think of anything else to be honest.

A future post had better be on the advantages of life here. I promise that will be a LONG one, honest……

But really, in every aspect of life, if you sit down and think about it, you can always weed out the negatives, it’s all a matter of perception. It’s best to just concentrate on the positives and always remember what my dear son-in-law says:

'Nothing is perfect'……………