Solitude

Well, here I am at long last. Forgive my tardiness as I'm so involved with other things just now that I've not had time to put pen to paper, nor indeed to write up the blog. But hey! I have two hours to spare this afternoon (Thursday ) in hopes that maybe Steve will upload my piece to the blog site as I'm out all day tomorrow.

It seems I seldom get any time to myself these days - yet I relish my solitude. In fact I need it! I say to friends "No, I need that day to myself ."

Perhaps it's because I'm an only child and I got used to making my own entertainment,whiling away the hours by myself, keeping myself occupied.

I've now been widowed ten years next month, and the time has flown by. I've done things I might never have done as one in a 'couple'. Not that I'm saying I've particularly enjoyed being without my partner and I'd wish him back. It's just that it's been rather liberating being able to make my own choices, in my own time , doing things that I enjoy. I know, you may think me callous, but there's a certain freedom in not saying "Shall we ?" or "I'm going out, you don't mind?" etc. Not that he minded anyway, but it is rather uplifting to not have to consider anyone but me!

Most of you will be aware that I go away in my wee microcamper and go hillwalking, on my own. Actually it's not lonely as I meet so many interesting people. When walking quietly on my own I'm more likely to encounter wildlife. I allow myself plenty of time to stop, look around, take photos, and just enjoy the surroundings. It's not uncommon to find me talking to myself, or creatures....even singing softly.

Yes. I relish my solitude. It's food for the soul. It's essential. So today's few words are about walking alone.....
                         

Walking Alone

If, when walking a lonely path, I saw you.

I'd never let you pass me by-

I'd hold your arm, touch your cheek,

Run my fingers through your hair

And endlessly gaze into your eyes.

If, when trekking a lonely trail, I saw you.

I'd softly call your name-

I'd take your hand, kiss your lips,

Stroke your arm, feel your strength

And gaze into your slate blue eyes.

But, no matter where I roam, you're never there.

For you are gone from me forever,

Never again to see your face,

Hear your hearty laugh,

Feeling your breathe on my neck,

Touch you in the night.

The paths I walk, I walk alone.

Thanks for reading, and apologies for recent absence...Kath.

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Sacred locations

My late husband had a great love of history and archaeology, which he passed to me. Don't get me wrong, as an avid map reader I'd always had an interest in not only geography but also the associated  history of places. So it was that he'd ask me to find places that we might visit together and so we discovered henges, stone circles, caves,  forts, old castles and old monasteries etc. Now the significance of   'sacred' places was particularly interesting. I'm not talking just of Christian places here, but of places that would have been regarded as important to early man.

A holiday to Orkney was duly planned, and I made up a good itinerary of places off the beaten track as well as some more 'touristy' areas. It's reckoned that on Orkney there is a site of historical or archaeological importance every mile and a half. So lots to see and do. We took boots, hard hats and torches on top of the general requirements for a campervan holiday. Well, unfortunately early May was not the best month to travel and we experienced all four seasons in the days we were there. Nevertheless we did see some amazing places.

I particularly recall visiting the Ring of Brodgar, and spending a few hours exploring (my husband went fishing after his viewing), I must say that I speculated on the significance of the circle in conjunction with its surroundings. Early man must have regarded the area with some reverence and awe, making into a 'sacred' site. Somehow I felt drawn to remain for some time just musing ....it was very thought provoking.

We might just consider sacred places to be part of our religion...or indeed the religion of others...and they are to those involved. I'm often moved by the vastness and creativity of churches and cathedrals. Not because I regard myself as a religious person , but that I admire the strength of belief shown by the planners, builders , architects and all folk involved in the building...it's totally admirable. Furthermore it doesn't have to involve a vast building, nor indeed a building at all. Just outside Buckie, where I used to live, persecuted Roman Catholics met in a sheepfold adjoining a cottar's dwelling, during the reformation. Returning to Orkney there's the Italian Chapel built by prisoners of war from a couple of Nissen huts ...if you've never been then do 'google' for information as it's absolutely beautiful and is still maintained as a sacred site to this day.

I only have a poem about Durham Cathedral written a few years ago after I visited and climbed up to the rooftop. I have a feeling I might have included this piece in an earlier blog...never mind it's worth repeating (I reckon).

Durham Cathedral. 9th August 2014

Heavenward reaching columns 

Searching for an unseen God.

Built on a foundation of faith 

By men with ardent beliefs.

Into perpetuity this edifice reaches,

With arches that seem to support

Heaven itself !

These faithful tradesmen in stone

Would never know the impact 

Of their labours.

Other meeker structures may tumble in time

But this glory in stone will withstand

Time itself !

Living on, seeking a higher being,

A further meaning to its longevity and strength.

Admired, awed - by men of all creeds and beliefs.

For there is no one religion in this building,

But an admiration by mankind

Of the labour, the skill and the artistry

Of men long departed.

Thanks for reading, Kath

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Boxes

   I use boxes of all shapes and materials as a means of storing things. Sewing items are kept in large plastic stacking boxes, buttons are kept in plastic sweet boxes (I had a friend who worked in a sweet shop), zips are stored on a box that once contained a gas mask! If an item comes in a box then I always try and visualise a new use for the said box. Sometimes a use comes to mind straight away- otherwise I keep the box until a use presents itself .

   When I purchase footwear I always ask for the box as they are an ideal size for storing upright dressmaking patterns or DVDs. I feel rather guilty if I have to dispose of a large box...but even then if it's very large I'll cut it into pieces and keep some for Don to keep pieces of jigsaw on them. The sides of the garage are ' lined ' with a large piece so that I can open the car door without damaging it. (reminds me I need a new piece sometime...).

   On the bookcase I have two grand storage boxes devised from one larger box that contained an oil filled radiator where I stand up a collection of OS maps. Now here I might add that I've always intended to cover the storage with fablon  or nice paper, but I've never got round to it.

   Why only a couple of days ago a friend gave me a portable alarm , and since I already have one , I required a wee box to keep the bits in. Cue the hall cupboard where such boxes lurk...and " hey presto"...a box of just the correct size (another reminder ...I need to label it so I know what it contains).

   Of course, just occasionally, a mystery box turns up - some gift -contents unknown - usually around Christmas time. The expectation is intriguing, but I always resist the temptation to look before the due date and store the box as near to my miniature Christmas tree as I can. So on the day I carefully open it and not only do I cherish the gift within, but yes , I cherish the box too.

   Members of our group know that I have an archive of pieces that I wrote many years ago and they are treasured , having survived all these years in a box -- a box that once contained a gift given to me by a friend of my Dad's.  This gift was a dressing table set for my 16th birthday. Well, the gift no longer survives....but the box does. Quite how it's come with me through the years from one end of the country to the other, and back again twice , I'm not sure....but it has. I'm really grateful for that, as it's a link to my past. A past that was cleared out by my parents when I left home .....

   Anyway I guess I'm a recycler of boxes. They keep things in order. Keep things neat. Keep them handy. Keep them safe. Keep secrets at Christmas.....

   The piece I have for you this week was written in 2014. I was waiting at the bus stop in Cleveleys and a wee lad was pestering his Mum as to the contents of the box she was carrying.

At The Bus Stop

'What's in the box, Mum?'

"You'll have to wait and see"

'What's in the box,Mum.

Is it something nice for me ?'

'What's in the box,Mum -

Whatever can it be?'

What's in the box , Mum.

Is it something nice for tea ?'

'What's in the box, Mum ?'

"Oh you do annoy me!"

'What's in the box ,Mum-

Mum-Mum....?'

"Here comes the bus now,son-

You'll see when we get home."

Thanks for reading this week-  ( reminder - I need to sellotape the corners of the old box containing my poems ....)

                           

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Spring....but has it really sprung ?

I don't know anyone who doesn't look forward to Spring. It's a fickle season though as it seldom decides when it's actually going to become that milder time that we've all anticipated. So one day it becomes warmer as the day progresses and the next there can be snow in the air ! We are subjected to frost at nights, yet by midday we can cast off a layer!

The untidiness of our winter gardens annoys us and so we venture out to cut grass, turnover vegetable plots and buy bedding plants. The result? Backache! Yet eventually the daffodils bloom and the tulips poke their pointed heads through the soil. We feel reassured.

Driving into the countryside , suddenly there are lambs in wee plastic jackets cuddling up to their mothers for warmth as the wind is from the east and is biting cold. Stopping awhile we watch the more robust lambs chasing each other across the fields. Once again we feel reassured.

Hedgerows and trees are bursting with that bright new green that heralds the season and blossom erupts on the magnolias. A few days later and the cherry blossom makes an entrance and the hawthorn too. We notice the arrival of migratory birds and note the date. Other birds may have started nesting and are flying to and fro from nests collecting emerging insects to feed their young. Yes! By now we are definitely reassured. Spring has finally sprung!

This week my good friend and dancing partner celebrated his 91st birthday and since it was such a pleasant day we took advantage of it and had a drive into the countryside. He kept exclaiming about the blossom and the lambs and the various shades of green. Eventually we found ourselves at Leighton Moss where we had lunch looking out at a bird feeder. With a little bit of added imagination I wrote a few lines......

Spring at Leighton Moss

Sat here at a table for two,

With a busy bird table in view.

Visited by chaffinch, bullfinch, greenfinch and all,

To eat the seeds and occasionally brawl !

They sit in the nearby hawthorn bush,

Watching and waiting and in they rush,

To quickly gorge on seeds then fly

To nests with young nearby.

 

Across the fields the lambs do play,

Enjoying the the sunshine this fine day-

Whilst we enjoy a Springtime treat

Of coffee, tea and nice cakes to eat.

'Tis his birthday too this nice Spring day,

We wish him luck and good health we pray.

So we sit at a table for two,

Watching the birds and enjoying the view.

Thanks for reading, Kath.

 

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Summit..climb every mountain or not ?

I've been hillwalking since aged 8. My parents took it up at the same time, so it was a family pastime. With a hiking club, we did indeed attain some summits, but basically it was a walking group and did not just focus on mountains.

That's always been my mantra since then. If I happen to ascend a peak whilst on a walk, then that's just fine, but I don't set off to 'climb' and then descend...because it's the walk I enjoy. Many enthusiasts don't get it and on one particular fb page I was rather nastily treated. I don't care, I know what I enjoy.

As I've got older, of course, it is more difficult for me to gain height at a goodly pace and I need a walk first to warm the old muscles up. Last year I set off up Parlick from the car park at the base. To say I was slow is putting it mildly ! I huffed and puffed, with many stops to admire the view. Once up there I then enjoyed the Ridge walk and spent a happy day pootling along the footpaths - but the sudden ascent was hard on my poor legs !

I have successfully walked out the distance of the Jungfrau glacier at 12k feet, and I didn't feel the affects of the altitude. For , you see, I'd gone up to the "Top of Europe" on the train so the walk then was great. In the Rockies I attained over 12.5k as the walk up was very slow and very long, so I'd got warmed up and into my stride.

Nearer to home I did, however, want to go up Pendle Hill. The route I like is slow and gentle to begin with, then meanders slowly upwards to the summit. I've been up twice...never seen the view ( due to mist) and I've continued round and descended by a different path. It's a nice circular walk. I must , though, really do it again to see the view !

Views make reaching the summit worthwhile. It's wonderful to look upon the countryside from a height. Just to sit and dwell upon the vista. Absorb it. Take it all in. Relax. Ponder. Admire. Just sometimes I'm reluctant to leave a place because I'm overcome by the beauty, and overwhelmed to think that I will , probably, never return to that place again, and I keep glancing back, not wishing to forget.

I wrote two poems about making for Pendle Hill, so I'll choose one to share with you today.

Remember, though, not all summits are on a mountain top......

  Pendle Hill (1)

   My eyes were drawn towards the towering slope.
   Oh! Pendle Hill I've oft looked at you.
   The vista might give rise to joy and hope,
   So sure, indeed, there'd be a wondrous view.

   First time I went it started poor, you see.
   With rucksack packed I set off full of verve,
   But sky was grey, no sun shone down on me.
   Still hopeful, I set off with steely nerve.

   Oh! Pendle Hill, you fickle mountain top-
   The moorland soon by fog was duly kissed,
   The mist came down - I did not want to stop.
   So thick, so chill, so fearsome drifting mist.

   The summit reached.The mist descended cold.
   The view obscured, my hopes no longer bold.


  Thanks for reading, Kath.

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Renewable Energy.

I'm an advocate for renewable energy...not in a large way you understand, just purely a personal view. When we had our large house in Buckie we heated it with mainly wood that we collected either from the beach or from the leftovers of forest felling (with permission).  It was with great glee that we would scour the high tide mark for bits of kindling...a bag full of bits could give a warm bath. After a storm we'd work our way along the coastline, collecting and cutting washed up timber- often that included some rather exotic species or bits of wooden ships! This fire heated ten radiators so was quite a boon and my only regret was that it was inset and not a stove top...as I would have used that too!

When I lived in Aberdeen,  as a youngster, many areas of Scotland were being flooded or utilised for Hydro power. I recall my Dad driving over roads that would soon be flooded as water rose and we'd take trips to see newly constructed Hydro electric power stations. Why only last autumn I returned to see a dam at Trinafour, where I'd had a photo taken when I was quite young! I've also been inside the mountain at Cruachan to see that power station.

On a trip  to Switzerland  I walked round a huge underground complex of waterfalls from melt water from the Eiger that generated electricity, that was wondrous!

I'm always captivated by Victorian engineering and admire their audacity and ingenuity in their construction of reservoirs, railways, canals etc. Why some planned towns and stately homes  had their own source of electricity.

The picture below shows the wind farms in the U.K.

 

 

Today mankind is searching for ways to produce energy inthe form of electricity without causing ecological problems. Along the lower reaches of the River Lune there are fields of solar panels, that I find quite fascinating. As a hillwalker I am aware of wind farms and I don't mind them as such, in fact they provide good waymarking! As one drives across the border into Scotland , forests have been cleared and wind farms now cover the same acres. Many car parks are supplied with 'charging' points for electric vehicles too. Yes. I like renewable energy..or at least the wise use of this resource.

 

I had solar panels fitted to my home several years ago. I'd enquired about wind energy but the maintenance of a wind turbine was very expensive....so solar won. It's not much I know, but I've halved my monthly electricity bill by the wise use of what I'm producing. So when the sun shines I use electrical appliances...I vacuum clean, I sew, I bake and cook, I cut the grass...I fill flasks with boiling water to last into the evening. Unfortunately batteries to store the power are terribly expensive and very large. The excess goes to the power company and the National grid, for which I get paid.

 

I believe that all new houses ought to be built to be as energy saving as possible...so insulation should be top notch, solar panels should be fitted, rain harvesters provided...BUT house builders won't do this, NO they build quick, cheap and sell high. It's a win situation for the energy providers too!

 

But that's enough of my views and rants and a return to the theme for this week of  'Power and Energy' . My poem for this week was written some time ago when I walked on the North side of Clougha Pike looking for Andy Goldsworthy's constructions, that I knew to be somewhere on the site of an abandoned limestone quarry. Having found them I not only admired the corbelled structure and the grand views but also the wind turbines across into Littledale.

 

Andy Goldsworthy's Constructions

Three silent sentinels amid the moorland heather

Facing southwards, all three, facing wind and weather.

In line- not touching- brothers in stone together

Openings facing out towards the sunrise

As if in a silent scream of sudden surprise

At the view to Yorkshire and Ingleborough rise.

Three alone in a quarry of lime,

A boulder strewn landscape forgotten in time

Where men once grafted, faces drawn in grime.

Three silent sentinels that tell of the past

Of  a labour in quarrying - not to last -

Shortlived, essential once, but gone too fast.

Three brothers side by side never linking,

One eye each looking out, unblinking.

Where across the valley turbines turn unthinking.

Linked together across the ages forever.

Technology old and new bound together.

Many silent sentinels standing in the heather.

 

 

Thanks for reading, Kath.

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Colour...is it all the same ?

I've always been interested in colour from a young age. Colour as applied to dress and fashion.

For my last year's college specialisation I chose to do loom weaving. Part of the work entailed dyeing yarns and it was fascinating to collect dyestuffs and discover that their colours did not necessarily have anything in common with the resulting colour.  My topic title was "Inspiration for Weaving." So I photographed many sights of natural events, and places like snow covered peaks, moorland, streams, forests and the like. Then I chose colours from selected photos to incorporate in my weaving.

Being an outdoor person I am acutely aware of colours in the landscape and take endless photos.   But recently I've been perplexed in my idea as to what colours are, and do we all see them the same?
I know that animals and insects see colours in a different way to ourselves, and I know that some people are "colour blind" and that some people see no colours at all! However, what has entered my mind recently is 'do we all see colours the same?'

I'll try to explain.  Okay, from our baby days we are 'taught' colours...so mum might say "the balloon is red" etc. and we absorb that knowledge and associate a name to a colour, but what if we don't all see the actual same colour ? What if I look at grass and say "look how green that it is", but do I know that my colleague is seeing the same colour? What if his/ her 'green' isn't the same as mine?

Not that it really matters, but it just occurred to me, and it's rather a dark subject and a bit profound for late evening so I'll sign off on what has been a very busy, traumatic day and hopefully I'll have time tomorrow to write a bit more.

 

So here I am after a busy day, finally writing a quick piece...

 

Colour my life

Colour my childhood yellow-

When summer days were long and mellow.

Colour my teen years red-

When I danced long and late to bed.

Colour my college years gold-

When I matured and suddenly felt old.

Colour my twenties plum-

When I became a wife and a mum.

Colour my thirties midnight blue-

When I found my love wasn't true.

Colour my forties powder blue-

When with love true I started anew.

Colour my fifties fluorescent green-

When joy filled my days and tears unseen.

Colour my sixties dull grey-

As I lost my love one sad day.

Colour me now what you will,

As the years stretch before me still..

Thanks for reading my rather hurried piece, Kath.        

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Tit fr Tat

I like hats. I only wish I had a smaller head! You see they always seem too large for me, so I have to steam them or add a band inside so they fit. Why just on Wednesday I saw a remarkable hat in a vintage shop and was really tempted to buy it, but it came down round my ears plus I would have to have made an appropriate outfit to match it. This is Friday and I'm still craving the hat!

As  an older teenager I had two hats to match coats. One was a smart grey trilby to match a double breasted military style grey coat. The other was a cream felt fedora style creation to match a heavy wool coat in dark brown which was one of my final outfit tailor makes for college. How I wish I'd kept all those garments...but mind you they wouldn't have fitted any longer! Then in the late 60's I made caps... sort of jaunty and folkish to match trouser suits. Also winter snoods that covered the entire head and neck, very suitable for Aberdeen winters. I bought fur coats at jumble sales and trimmed garments, made muffs and always a stylish hat.

Now I satisfy my liking for hats by wearing a variety of styles taking me back to the 40's and 50's. So it is that I look in charity shops for likely contenders.

I have a couple of winter hats , furry, warm and over the ears, but they are difficult to keep on in high winds (as are the vintage hats). Speaking of the latter I try hat pins, inner hair bands and various other ploys to try and keep them on...usually it's my hand that does the best job!

Nowadays there are few occasions when hats seem acceptable to wear...just weddings, funerals and Royal garden parties! Anyway I now lead a less formal life and you're more likely to find me in a baseball cap or old straw hat walking in the mountains. Talking of which....I wanted a suitable
balaclava for winter treks and went into a shop in Cleveleys and I'm sure the shopkeeper thought I
was going to rob a bank, as I tried on all the styles. No it wasn't that ! I wanted to keep the hat on
whilst I drank and ate . I chose one with a zip down the front so that I didn't have to remove the hat and get cold!

It's rather sad the demise of hat wearing, but then our modern modes of dress and transport, and general casualness have seen to that.

My poem today was written on Wednesday evening when the hat I had seen was still on my mind.

TITFER

Don your titfer , missus

We're going for a walk.

Link you arm through mine

And together we shall talk

About the years that fled so fast,

The children grown and gone.

One daughter with her own young 

And our eldest and only son.

Toss your head and show the world

Your best hat bedecked in flowers,

The ribbons entwined around the brim

Took painstaking sewing hours.

When we wed you wore that hat.

(It's seen many others too).

You've changed its look many times,

But it's seen these many years through.

It's faded now, your best hat- 

Well past its best by now-

Still you wear it well-

(I'm not too sure just how).

It's survived the children's dressing up,

The weekly trek to town,

Sometimes a trip to Blackpool,

Matched nicely to a gown.

Don your titfer, missus

We're going for a walk,

Link your arm through mine

And together we shall talk

About the years we've spent together 

In sunshine and in strife,

Our troubles and our blessings-

Put your best hat on, dearest wife.

Thanks for reading, Kath

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What a night that was! 1968...

Now I have a poem that I wrote, possibly, in 1968,  after attending a competition to choose a top pop group. This event took place over 3 or 4 Saturday evenings at Aberdeen Beach Ballroom. I think I attended each one, and therefore required a new outfit for each event.

My choice at this period of time was an A-line mini  dress. I certainly remember two of those outfits.
One I made in a linen look cotton. It had bell sleeves. The fabric was psychedelic...huge flowers of various hues, in yellow, orange , pink and green. Under the lights of the ballroom some of the flowers completely changed colour and almost "glowed". Another dress I recall was made from a shiny bronze coloured fabric dotted with subtle flowers, but the reverse was brushed giving it a warm feel.

We danced from 8pm till gone 2 in the morning, then collecting our coats from the cloakroom, in a happy group we walked the six miles home to the suburbs.

Happy days...and still remembered...

The pattern above was found in a charity shop in 2014 and I've used it frequently.

THOUGHTS AT THE PALACE BALLROOM - 19/09/1968

Silhouetted figures on the background of blue moved 

to and fro with the rhythm from the group.

I felt myself slowly slipping 

into a trance and everything

moved with a frenzy of feelings 

and emotions.

Then I finally went under into

the swirl of rhythmic bodies.

Music pulsating to my brain.

Gardens where flowers bloomed

were all around me.

I plucked a rose from a tender bough,

And breathed in its sweet perfume.

Then I took a daisy from among

the deep, green grass.

And pulling out its petals, I cried..

" He loves me-- He loves me not,

  He loves me--He loves me not,

He loves me--He loves me !

HE LOVES ME !

Silhouetted figures on the background of blue wavered

to and fro with the rhythm 

of the group.

Hands reached out to help me to my feet ,

But I laughed and sang out above the music --

" He loves me !

                   He loves me !" 

Thanks for reading, Kath.

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Sugar....friend or foe ?

I apologise for the lateness of my contribution. You see a close friend of mine has suffered from toothache for a couple of days and last night was, for her, the last straw. So it was that she phoned me early this morning stating that she had managed to get an emergency appointment. Well , being me. I  offered to accompany her, just in case she required drastic treatment. As it was a filling was required..nothing too major.

By late afternoon I was beginning to despair of ever sitting down to compose what I had in mind. But her sudden dental work made me think of the implications of consuming too much sugar in its various forms.

Why, just this past week I've cut down on my own sugar consumption . Mainly reducing the amount of teaspoonfuls in my tea. Actually I've reached the stage that I don't miss the reduction...albeit only by about half a teaspoon!

The government have got involved in this 'fight' against sugar, suggesting "sugar taxes",  on soft drinks, sweets etc. Children's teeth are showing early signs of decay, causing concerns amongst dentists. Obesity is another real concern and sugar gets part of the blame.

I, myself eat 'free from' foods due to an intolerance but they seem to be loaded with sugar ...to somehow make up for the missing ingredients.

It seems that the addition of sugar has become acceptable. Taste buds expect this sweetness. Sugar is added to the most unexpected foodstuffs, so it is worthwhile looking at the labels.

But I digress really , as I intended to speak about sugar in a different way. So here goes, in brief...

In the 15th Century the Portuguese traded in gold and Ivory in West Africa. Columbus was particularly interested in the predominant wind that blew from east to west and was determined to show that he could sail to the Far East , by sailing westwards!. Hence he used those winds and landed in Barbados and the islands of what he termed The West Indies (he thought he would land in India?). Once there the Portuguese watched the natives harvesting sugar cane and brought some back to Europe where a sudden taste for sweetness developed.

Now, of course others wished to colonise these islands and cultivate sugar cane on plantations, but they lacked a work force . Thus slavery began , taking Africans to the islands on what became known as The Trade Winds. Ships then would drop off slaves, pick up sugar, molassses , rum, tobacco , exotic fruits , and used the Westerly Winds to take a route to Europe. So sweetmeat production began  in earnest.

Then when the US and Britain decided to abolish slavery , the sugar trade from abroad faced a slump. Now sugar beet had always been utilised by country folks as a sweetener, so production of this beet was upped. Further wars and dangerous seas really brought the production of British sugar beet onto a massive scale, devoting thousands of acres to its production. Look at your sugar bags and see which brands have a Union Jack on the wrapper!
 
Sugar is obviously essential for preservation, alcohol production, medicines etc ...so do we regard sugar as "friend or foe" ?

I haven't written a piece this week , but think about where the word " sugar" is used. I've lots of songs in mind...

Sugar...ah, honey, honey.

You are my candy girl and you got me wanting you....

Thanks for reading, Kath...

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Corpse Routes and Corpse Candles

This summer I plan to walk the Old Corpse Road from Mardale (Haweswater) to Swindale and onto Shap Abbey. With this in mind I was interested to read an article not only about corpse routes, but also in the superstition of   'corpse candles' . This is a widely believed phenomena in many parts of rural  UK.

Corpse routes always took many twists and turns ...even though a more direct route could have been taken to the burial ground. Often crossing running water too. This meandering pathway was designed to prevent the spirit from coming back from whence it came. For you see spirits always travel in a straight line and cannot cross running water.

Hamlets and villages without a church and therefore no consecrated burial ground, had to carry their departed to the nearest graveyard. Hence the Old Corpse Road at Mardale, where a church was not built till the 18th century. So the dead were carried overland to Shap Abbey.

So, you are asking where do  'corpse candles ' come into things? The apparition of floating lights was often noted drifting across the moors, and usually travelling in a straight line. Nowadays we might reason this being 'will o' the wisp', or gases emanating from the bogs, but folks, back then, thought it was a light 'calling' upon a village, or a dwelling , as a portent of an impending tragedy and a sign of imminent death.

After a tragedy witnesses often came forward to relate that they knew it was going to happen as they'd seen the 'corpse candles' a day or more before.



After reading that fascinating article I sat and wrote this piece.....

         Corpse Candle

          Oh, Maggie dost thou see that light across the moor ?

          I fear it comes for me. Oh, Maggie, bar the door.

          We'll kneel and pray and hope it passes our home

          And continues on its ghostly course to roam.

          Oh, Maggie dost thou see that light that floats near ?

          Stay close to me my love and hold me dear.

          Send for the priest and ask him what to do.

          Perhaps it will pass our cottage as it's not due ?

          Oh, Maggie dost thou fear the flame that comes close ?

          I fear for my life and dread the corpse candle most.

          The Lord will watch over us, of that I'm sure.

          Oh, Maggie I beg you again to bar the door !

          Oh, Maggie, di'st thou see the candle last night ?

          For it's taken you by dawn's first light.

          You've gone from me and I did not think

          To guard your life that's gone in a blink....

Thanks for reading, Kath

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My Life Below Zero...

We moved to Scotland from London in 1955, it was February, the house was cold with ice on the inside of the windows. So that was my introduction to freezing conditions. A coal fire was duly lit but the draught  lifted the rugs off the floor, so it wasn't long before we went 'all electric'. Eventually to under carpet heating!

Paraffin heaters were a permanent, if smelly, addition to the hallway (top and bottom of the stairs)  and the kitchen - with a hurricane lamp in the bathroom. All these were carefully maintained by my dad in order to eliminate the odour. Yet the ice continued to coat the interior of the metal cased window frames.

I don't recall ever not being able to attend school. Okay so the buses couldn't get up Quarrybank Hill, so I walked. First to primary school ..about a mile and a half away. Then to secondary school ...about three miles away. I was always equipped with a 'winter wardrobe' ( something I've adhered to over the years). My mother made me a superb wool duffle coat with lining featuring Chinese dragons !! I was made to wear over- boots ( I hated them, but now understand their necessity).

We played out. Built igloos. Had snowball fights. Cleared paths. Made 'slides'. I skated outdoors. Taking two buses , carrying my gear and a sweeping brush I went to the Duthie park boating pond which was only about a foot deep and froze nicely.

We walked to the shops, library, town, on dates...everywhere ! I still love walking in crisp, virgin snow with gentle snowflakes fluttering down. It's magical.

My first teaching job was in Kingussie in the Cairngorm mountains. The digs I stayed in had no central heating but a coal fire was lit in the kitchen for breakfast time and in the lounge in the evenings. A single bar electric fire was put at the top of the stairs. I went to bed like Nanook of the North! Even making myself a flannelette sleeping bag that I put between the crisp cotton sheets of my bed - and removed each morning in case the landlady saw it !! Often the then main road would become silent and I'd walk down the driveway , onto this road and walk wondrously along the centre, relishing the darkness , solitude and cold stillness as the snow fell thickly.

After I married I lived in a cottage three miles out of Kingussie and often in the winter I found myself being sent home on school transport ...namely a breakdown pick up truck that ploughed its way gamely through the drifts. Then usually I was stranded in the cottage for days till a snowplough got through.

When I moved to Berkshire ( later Oxfordshire) I thought that the winters might not be so severe. How wrong I was! We lived in a prefab in sight of the Chilton Downs, and boy did we cop for cold weather! Frosts were severe and copious amounts of snow fell in the winter. The Parkray fire was kept going Day and night , topped up with a delivery of logs. My husband ran a couple of radiators off the system to take the chill off the bedrooms. One memorable winter the temperature dropped to -17 !! Ice formed inside the front door, despite having a double burner paraffin heater going in the hall!

I returned to Scotland in 1993 to live in Buckie in a house overlooking the Moray Firth. Once again a large Parkray fire was fitted in and we ran 10 radiators off it. All the summer we would collect timber off the beach , or where trees were being cut by the forestry commission ( we asked for the bits they didn't want ) . Together we'd collect and cut on the shore if we could, I'd carry the logs to the car or van and load that up. Getting home the timber would be unloaded and stacked up to dry and season. We reckoned on having 4 tons of wood to see us through the winter ! After a storm we would scour the coastline for washed up timber.

After 14 years my husband decided that he'd never come to terms with the long winters up north ( he came from Oxford) and thus it was that we found ourselves in Cleveleys. He said winter here was the difference between a jacket and an overcoat!

However as soon as it's frosty and snowing I'm out like a shot. I adore that crisp snow that crunches under your feet. I love to see the hills covered in snow with clear, blue sunny skies overhead.

Just like this week! Can't wait for the weekend. I have plans to walk in the snow .....

Generate Heat

Driftwood washed up on the beach.

Haul it up the shore, within reach.

Put on safety goggles.

Start the chainsaw.

Generate heat.

Fill the van with fresh cut wood.

The scent of resin is true and good.

Start up the engine.

Set off home.

Generate heat.

Stack the timber against the wall,

Log upon log, neat and tall.

Fill up a basket.

Take to the fire.

Generate heat.

 

Thanks for reading, Kath

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Fatball shortage..

The piece for today was written in May 2014. I was having breakfast at a familiar B&B looking out onto the garden and the numerous feeding stations by the hedge. Panic! The feeders were empty! I rushed upstairs, got my notebook and wrote this....

 Now it comprises two parts. The first is the birds complaining , and the second is Kevin's reply.

  So without further ado ...

  The Birds
   Now look here , Kevin- the fatballs  are gone !
   Knock at the door boys and see if he's at home.
   Hurry up, Kevin- we're starving you see !
   Chirrup together lads - feed me, and me and me !

   I'll fly to the window, you go to the door,
   Carry a placard. We want more, more, more
   Is that him in the shed opening a bag ?
   Fly there, robin. Perch on the door and nag !

   Come on Kevin, give us some hope.
   Else we'll sit in the hedgerow and nope.
   All the day we'll be sad and down.
   Get the car out. Get some in town !

   Food, Kevin, food. That's all we ask.
   Surely that's not too great a task ?
   Here he comes now. Smart kind friend.
   Fatballs  in hand. A successful end....

 

   Kevin's Reply
   Here you are lads. Plenty you see.
   Hope you're appeased now ? You certainly told me !
   I was chatting this morning and rather slow,
   Got held up. It shouldn't happen I know.
   Please forgive me for this oversight.
   I now view you birds in a different light.
   I'll be ready tomorrow. You wait and see.
   Up with the larks. A new organised me.


   Thanks for reading. Feed the birds....Kath

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Clouds and silver linings

Cloud watching is a fascinating pastime especially at present when I'm laid up , yet again, with the return of a persistent cold. Due to painful eyes I find I'm not able to read, do any crafts or even watch TV. So it was that, yesterday, I sat in the warm, sunny conservatory, sunglasses on, and just looked out at the sky. Actually it was a fairly cloudless day, but a myriad of vapour trails zig zagged across the blue. Later, those clouds that resemble feathers lazily appeared in the sky. Now that's where it gets confusing because although I watch the sky , especially keeping a " weather eye open" , when hillwalking , I don't know the technical terms for various cloud formations, which is a shame.  I've learned over the years to predict cloud formations and on my videos that I always take it seems I'm always saying " It looks as if the weather is about to change " and nine times out of ten I'm accurate. It's become second nature to predict the weather.

   Now Don will gaze out of his window at his home in Kendal and see all sorts of shapes in the clouds. He envisages animals, birds and faces and spends many an hour watching them drift across his window. Noting their movement from side to side thus knowing the wind direction . From his top window and by pressing one's face to the glass the Lake District mountains come into view and one can see by the cloud formation what the weather is doing in the Lakes.

  There is something sublime about lying flat on the ground and just looking up...nothing else..just gazing up. I try and look up whilst walking as we tend to forget to turn our heads that way and often keep our gaze down or admire the surrounding views. That way I've captured some amazing cloud formations.


  I adore flying and always take a window seat. It's wonderful to break through the clouds and look down on cottonwool clouds and imagine that you could drop down on them ( not through them !) and lie comfortably in their soft embrace. Catching glimpses of the earth below in breaks in the clouds, I wonder where I am, who lives below, what river I'm crossing, who tends the fields, what towns lie beneath the aircraft ?

  Forgive my ramblings today, as my head feels somewhat fuzzy ...like a soft white cloud...and I'm sitting in semi darkness in order to type.
  I'll take a break now and go look and see if I have any poems that mention clouds. So hold tight and I'll be back.

A Winter Cold

My head feels like a cumulus cloud-

Don't shine a light, nor talk too loud.

Filled with downy cottonwool you see.

When will I feel better and more like me ?

I want to feel like a cirrus cloud,

Soft and downy with fronds abound.

Instead this cumulonimbus one stays

Heavy in my head for many days.

Let me float like cirrocumulus, dappled and light, 

For I see nimbostratus on the horizon and I feel fright !

It looks so gloomy, the way ahead-

Think I'll just go back to bed .....

I didn't have any cloud poems in my collection so I quickly made this one up , also I looked at different types of cloud formations so I learned something new today.

Thanks for reading , Kath

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Park

So just to confuse everyone: when I moved back to Scotland after a 20 year absence, I gradually got used to rehearing phrases long forgotten and when I lived in Buckie I learned that a "park" was not how you might know it, but it was in fact a FIELD! So people would say things like "See the coos in the park ".  Now we'd be appalled to see any cows in our local parks! But there you are. Such terms completely threw my husband, who was born and bred in Oxford, and it's a good job he had me to interpret things for him.

However, to return to parks as we know them. Places of leisure, nostalgia, fun, enjoyment, swings, slides, flowers, birds, Lakes etc. Oases of calm and peace in busy towns and cities. What a grand idea they are too, and very thoughtful of planners of the past to include them. Sometimes they are just a small area of grass and flowers in a square surrounded by houses. More than often though they are many acres of land set aside for a multitude of interests. Often including greenhouses, such as the large one I recall in Duthie Park, Aberdeen, where we could view exotic plants (and butterflies) from far off countries. Fountains played a part too , a place to paddle perhaps? Lakes of various depths and sizes giving a home to mallard ducks and other species...just like the one in Grange over Sands. Parks provide entertainment, a place to ride a scooter, push a pram, kick a ball or get on a miniature railway and experience the thrill of going round and round a track waving to all as you pass... you know, we've all done it !

Often it's a child's first introduction to a green open space where they can play freely and safely. So we need to preserve our parks. I've noticed that many parks are updating themselves and providing facilities in keeping with our modern lifestyles, as well as refurbishing firm favourites from the past. In the summer I visited "Happy Mount Park" in Morecambe and they have successfully integrated the older style amusements with more modern ones. The park successfully caters for many tastes allowing grandparents, parents and children to enjoy a day out together.

Locally, a nearby park has been 'adopted' by 'friends' and has proven to be a successful venture for the community. This seems to be a way forward as many authorities are cash-strapped and find the
upkeep of these green spaces prohibitive. Volunteers have stepped in giving of their time and expertise with good results in winning accolade in the "Britain in Bloom" competition.

I am lucky as I have access to travel and find my "green spaces" out in the countryside, but not all
are so fortunate , therefore parks and open green areas within our urban communities are important to provide a place of exercise, relaxation and enjoyment...and not forgetting the benefit of providing havens for wildlife, flowers and improving our "carbon footprint".

photo taken in the Japanese Garden in Happy Mount Park, Morecambe

 

Parks I've Known

I skated in Duthie Park, on the frozen boating pond.

So very long ago.

I had my first date in Seaton Park.

So very long ago.

Did cross country running in Hazelhead park.

So very long ago.

I scooted in Happy Mount Park, by Morecambe Bay.

This July past.

 

Thanks for reading my few lines and enjoy your local park! Kath.

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Loneliness

   You must excuse the lateness of my contribution today, for you see I've spent all day with a friend and I have been her friend. Having a friend, a pal, a buddy goes some way to combating loneliness.
 
   There is a difference between being alone and being lonely. The first is a physical state , the latter a mental state. I don't mind being alone. Perhaps it's because I was an only child and have always been alone. Content to keep myself amused. Finding ways to occupy my time. Loneliness on the other hand is draining, isolating, causing anxiety and stress. Very often this is more difficult to overcome.

   We seem to live in a world where isolation of the mind and spirit seem to be the norm. We have become insular - to the detriment of our mental welfare. Fleetwood as a town is trying to combat the mental anguish that loneliness brings in a ' Healthy Fleetwood ' campaign . Now it seems that this initiative is to be rolled out in other places. GP's are asked to prescribe dancing, singing and other community activities in order to steer people away from taking drugs. Why do we need lessons in communicating and socializing ? What is it that is causing an epidemic of depression and isolation ? I don't think I have the answer only a few ideas to put forward.

   The modern world with it's emphasis on technology seems to have negated the need to socialize person to person. The art of conversation , the joy to be found in talking , debating , discussing, laughing together is sadly diminished. Families are wide flung throughout the country or even the world , and although they may 'Skype'  , they are missing out on storytelling, of days out together, of grandparents relating to their grandchildren.

   I wonder too if there is something lacking in education. Is there too much emphasis on personal achievement and not enough on joining in group activities ?

   I'm afraid I don't really know the cause or indeed the cure.  Just ramblings now after a long day of keeping company .

   So if you can smile, say hello, pass the time of day with another person ( I try and do this is I see someone alone ) then you may brighten their day, their week, or even longer.

   Having said all this I occasionally succumb to bouts of loneliness which I put down as self pity. Generally I have a weep. Give myself a good talking too. Pull my socks up. Remind myself how lucky I am. ( now how come I am typing italics ? ) Ah ! Technology again....

                            DAYS LIKE THIS

     Nobody told me there'd be days like this.
     Days of loneliness and sorrow.
     Nobody warned me that I'd have days like this,
     When I'd long for a better tomorrow.

     No one versed me in these feelings-
     These days of being alone again,
     No one prepared me for these 'down' days,
     When glorious sunshine seems like rain.

     Not one person offered this advice,
     That sometimes I'd feel so low.
     No. no one mentioned the possibilities
     That these feelings could be so.

     Now I offer this advice to one and all -
     Be prepared to feel alone,
     Some days might be full of sorrow.
     But tomorrow the fears will have flown.

        Thanks for reading my late evening ramble, Kath

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Shells

   I think that everyone like seashells. Maybe because they come from places that we've not explored, they seem somewhat exotic. As a child we went camping a great deal and living on the coast we had trips to the seaside, so it was inevitable that I accumulated a vast collection of shells. Now the shells that I retrieved from the west coast were quite unlike those found on the east. At that time I wasn't sure why but now I know a bit more about the Gulf Stream Drift and the different seabed environments.

  To this day when I walk along the seashore I must pick up and examine the shells ( always pocketing one or two ). So I have a small collection in a flowerpot. however this small amount bears no relationship to the vast collection I had as a child. Using old 'chocolate' boxes I stuck my shells in and named them, then covered with plastic. These were stored under my bed ( along with the pupating caterpillars  in shoe boxes ! ). Possibly my mother wanted them all cleared out and so my collection went to the science department at school.

  Last year I walked down to the beach at Stranraer and it was composed entirely of cockle shells....millions upon millions washed up. I just sat for ages looking at them and pondering their life before they were cast ashore.

  My poem this week was written at a workshop where I had to delve into a box , and without being able to see ( being blindfolded ) , extract an object , then still being blindfolded had to describe what I felt. So this is it ....

                             Unseen Shell

          A worn winkle, colour unknown.
         Thin now with the wearing of the sea and sand.
         Empty --sounding hollow when I tap.
         Feel the sworls - the internal spiral
         Going to a soft point
         Where once a gentle creature lived,
         Secure upon a rock - holding tight.
         Gone now, lost to the sea
         Whilst it's home lives on
         As I tap, tap, tap.


                 Thank you for reading, Kath

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Solitary Goldfish

      Ever so briefly this morning.....

            Cathedral Caves , Cumbria...

          There's a goldfish in the cave.
          Swimming freely in his own pond.
          In water that filters through the stone
          From the Fell above.

         There's a goldfish in the cave.
         He must love it there, alone.
         How does he survive the Lakeland winter
         That holds the land in an icy grip ?

         There's a goldfish in the cave.
         Where hundreds visit, say 'hello'.
         Who left him there, far from home ?
         Very lucky goldfish though !

       Thanks for reading my wee poem, Kath

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My Favourite Eras!

I have chosen two. I was born in 1950, so I was a teenager and ardent follower of fashion in the the mid to end 60's. At school I did 'O' grade then 'H' Grade Dress and Design, followed by a 3 year Diploma in the same subject from 1968 to 1971. My mother had been a tailoress, so sewing and especially dressmaking was in my genes. It was not uncommon for me to purchase fabric and pattern on a Saturday morning and wear the garment the same evening ! Sometimes we sent away for swatches of the fabrics since our choice was somewhat limited in Aberdeen and we'd spend ages choosing the right fabrics. When 'Crimplene' appeared we had to send for some. It was so innovative. So new. So trendy. I sometimes think that it's demise was caused by it's hardwearing qualities, and I've become convinced that some dresses I've seen recently for sale in the high street are made from the self same fabric (except nobody calls it 'Crimplene'). So it's obviously been stashed away...after all it is virtually indestructible!

 Now I've also chosen the 50's. Obviously I was too young to be much interested in Rock 'n' roll (though I was very keen on the Beatles, and that's how they started). No, my interest was kindled when I met my second husband, and he, being older than myself, had been a Teddy Boy in his youth. In fact he still had a suit. So it was that I discovered 'Be Bop' and the joys of this rather slower "lazier" form of jive that he'd learned at the Hammersmith Palais as a young man. We delighted in doing this at the British Legion in Buckie on a Saturday night, and we won a competition - clinched when he threw me in the air and either side of him. Now this move was not really in the Be Bop, but we'd got it just right due to our being able to do 'lifts' at ice skating. Thus it was we brought the house down...or it might have been the stockings and suspenders I was wearing!!

When we moved  to this area we attended many 50's events but we couldn't find his Teddy boy jacket. So I used my tailoring skills and made him a new one , with velvet collar and cuffs. He was so chuffed as people remarked upon it.

He left instructions that on his death he didn't want people to wear black, he wanted his favourite 50's music played and he wanted us to have a Rock 'n' Roll dance at his wake. He was dressed in the jacket and all his 50's outfit, just as he wanted and we followed his instructions. Some mourners came dressed in 50's style also, and we danced.......

A few weeks later I was clearing out the loft and lo and behold I came across his original jacket and waistcoat. I altered the waistcoat and I have subsequently worn them both with my 1950's outfits, which I often wear when I go to tribute concerts. Sometimes I cry when they play the music he so loved. For that wasn't my era, but his, and we shared it together.

Thank you for reading, Kath.

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Masking our feelings.

We all, at some time in our lives, develop a persona to mask our true feelings. Wear a smile whilst inside our heart is breaking through tragedy. Adopt an upright stance and face some challenge or obstacle. Stifle an inappropriate laugh by placing a hand across our lips. Wear makeup so as to make ouselves appear healthy and in control.

These 'masks' are adopted by us all at some time or another.

So the wearing of a mask is to emphasise an appearance that is to be conveyed. In stage or circus work a mask alters or exaggerates the image being portrayed. The idea is that it imprints a 'feeling' to the audience...to capture their attention..to emphasise an emotion.

Masked Balls were very popular as a form of entertainment and socialising. I'm sure that within a well connected social group most people knew the identity of the masked people. It was a form of amusement...and indeed would often change the demeanour of the wearer, allowing perhaps more brazen or outgoing behaviour that was treated as amusing. Also a stranger entering the scene might feel more at ease and more able to circulate as his appearance could be intriguing.

I have attended two Masked Balls. Of course we all knew each other , but it was fun preparing for the event...making, buying or acquiring a mask. How would it stay on whilst you danced? When would you remove it to show your true self? How would you eat dinner? Fun, in that context.

Thanks for reading, Kath.

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