Water of life ?

Water is a life saver and a life taker. It seems we either have too much of it, or not enough of it! Is this down to climate change? I can only speculate. I am no expert.

Having seen first hand the devastation caused by storm Desmond, and how two years later people are still awaiting the repair of bridges, roads and even homes. When I went to Colorado in June 2014 they'd had devastating floods in the September before with the loss of lives, businesses, homes and infrastructure.. I've also experienced (to a lesser degree) the effects of drought. The summer of 1976 when we had no rain from April to August. I recall this as I was pregnant at the time. I sat beneath a large tree in the garden , day after day...getting browner and browner . Bath water was limited to a few inches and I spent hot afternoons sitting on the edge of the tub with my feet in an inch of cold water. Subsequently I was admitted to the hospital a month before my due date. On being discharged the same regulations applied, but bottled water was delivered for the baby.

We watch dramas unfold before us in news coverage of wildfires, floods,drought, famine, deluge, landslides ...all related to either too much or not enough water. Yes. It's a life giver and a life taker.

Today's poem is taken from my archives and portrays water in a gentle form, a shower...

             The Passing of the Rain ---June 1966?

             The shower has passed and leaves behind the scent of new cut hay.

             The sky has cleared, and the sun beams down it's golden ray.

             The birds have started to sing again...

             So this is the passing of the rain.

             Mother Nature yawns and stretches out her hand

             To revive, to awaken all living things on land.

             The frisky mare tosses her mane...

             So this is the passing of the rain.

             Birds splash in puddles that are left.

             Tiny snails can leave their small wall cleft.

             Rabbits run gaily along the lane...

             So this is the passing of the rain.

Thanks for reading, and Season's Greetings, Kath

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Outsider

I've often felt like an outsider, but I know now that it all turned out for the best. I was an only child - so straightaway that made me 'different' from other children on the street and at school. We'd moved from London so I expect I spoke differently, (though truth be told I was never aware of any mickey taking, ever, over my Cockney accent in Aberdeen). My parents encouraged my hobbies, and money was found to send me ice skating and to have tuition, something that no other child in the street nor at school did. At skating of course I fitted in. We took family holidays camping and walking using a small vehicle; (nobody else in the street had a car!). Every Sunday my mother and myself went walking with a club. (My dad worked night shift for 16 years so couldn't come every Sunday). At the club I was encouraged in my interest by adult members, and again I fitted in. Neighbours thought we were bonkers!!

So it was that I was accustomed to adult company, often finding it difficult to communicate with my own age group.

Attending college I was able to live at home, but I had to conform to my parent's views: No going out weeknights, and only on a Friday and Saturday evening....returning by 11pm. Having to study in my room, or use the local library. Only occasionally socialising with college friends on a weekend and even this was usually done at my home, with an invite from my parents.

All these things kind of made me isolated. Yet I feel that because of this independence I rather revel in my own company. I am content to be alone. I can always find something to amuse myself or to do.

Yet I was popular (I think). I was head prefect and Dux...always chosen to represent the school or choir. Enjoying music, ballet, cinema. At college I was the class representative, fighting for our rights, attending meetings with staff, having charge of the library.

My first teaching appointment was in Kingussie (in the Highlands) which suited me to a T. I was actively involved in extra curricular activities of all sorts.

Moving south I didn't readily adjust to life with neighbours as I'd lived in an isolated cottage near the river Spey. Having a child changed that as I became involved in village life...then school life. Later I got a job in a school in Abingdon where I worked happily for 13 years.

So latterly I didn't feel so much an 'outsider '. Though I must admit that I'm not a kissy, huggy type of person. I feel reserved and it takes a while to get to know me.

Personally, now, though I really don't care if I am an outsider. I feel quite content to be on the outside.

Photo taken in Switzerland... I walk alone...

This week's piece was written in 1968.

                                  To You

            Shall  I  give  my  hand  to  you ?
            Perhaps  you  will  take  offence  and  shun   me.
            I  don't  know.
            I  wish  I  could  make  you  understand -
            My  intentions  are  good , I  am  sure  of  that :
            If  you  were  to  give  your  hand  to  me
            I  would  accept  it  without  a  second  thought.
            I  cannot  change ,  accept  me  for  what  I  am
            And  I  shall  give  you  my  hand.

                       

Thanks for reading, Kath

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A long time dead

Well, I must tell you that I've battled this week with  a story that I want to tell, but in the telling it upsets me beyond measure. Once before I tried to write it down but found the whole exercise too traumatic. So here goes.....

When I was born there was already another youngster in the family - a collie dog just three months old.

Laddie slept near me, ate with me , played with me. I dressed him in my clothes. We shared biscuits and lollipops.We cuddled for comfort and warmth. He was my brother. I had no siblings. If I was in trouble he too would skulk off with me to my bedroom. Leaving for school he watched me from the window and on my return ran eagerly to the door his face alight with pleasure and love. We were inseparable. Friends called round to see if Laddie was coming out to play. He'd join us in our home made concerts by performing 'sit', 'stay','lie down', 'give me a paw' - those sort of tricks. Indoors we'd always play "Hide and seek ". Me invariably hiding behind the shower curtain and he under the bed. We always knew where the other was but it didn't spoil our enjoyment.

The years passed and Laddie came with us on hiking and camping trips - and then he grew tired and my father would put him in a rucksack and carry him back. Sores appeared on his back and a growth on his lower lip. I saw, but didn't see (if you get my meaning). I thought a vet and medicines would cure him. After all we were invincible, inseparable, chums, bound together for all time (and  I'm weeping already, can hardly see the keypad).

I returned from school. Opened the door. No Laddie. I called his name , expecting to see him bounding in, all waggy tail, lolling tongue, face bright with love....but no. Thinking he was playing "Hide and seek " I searched all his favourite hiding places. Meanwhile my parents are trying to explain to me, but I'm not listening, I'm searching and calling frantically for my brother.

Laddie was 14. I was 14. My life fell apart....

My life is still apart where he is concerned. I never held him one more time. Never told him that I loved him, one more time. I was ...I still am bereft. I'm weeping buckets now and it is still so raw, so painful.

As a result I was ill and off school for many weeks suffering from grief. But that made it worse as I had no warm body to nuzzle into. No  Laddie to sit beside me as I read. To be my companion. My brother.....

Many years passed before I got a dog of my own. He was my son's companion . The two would get up to all kinds of mischief. When Yogi's time came we all went with him to the vets and hugged him, stroked him and thanked him for his company and love. That way it softened the blow for us.

The loss of a pet is devastating, but we have the option of providing that final release with dignity and avoiding suffering. It's what must be done. I've had cats for the past twenty five + years and ensured that they've departed with company and love.

 

The photo isn't of Laddie..I don't have one...but he looked like this one

 

Thanks for reading and sorry I can't write a poem about it...I can't stop crying! Kath

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Generosity

I plan to talk about ' Generosity ' in terms other than monetary. Rather the sharing of time, values, skills....being generous of spirit. For many people the giving and receiving of such is rewarding. I give time, energy and enthusiasm whenever I can. Many years ago as an amateur ice skater ( formerly a judge for the National Ice Skating association ) I gave my time and expertise to the forming of a skating club and subsequently doing the choreography for fund raising Christmas Shows. This was much appreciated and I found it tiring but fulfilling.

In more recent years I've taken the time to raise money for various charities by making  quilts, doing sponsored walks, sponsored scooting, sponsored skating ...and more. The generosity of sponsors is sometimes overwhelming and gives me a sense of achievement. Basically I think that people appreciate my efforts and want to reward me for such 'get up and go '.

Since being on my own I take the time to talk to other lone people in cafes, on the bus...where ever I am. Because they may not have spoken to another person that week or that day. It doesn't cost me anything, and I hope that I've brought a bit of light into someone's day.

I do give money to charity ...Lancashire Wildlife Trust gets a bit and I seldom (if ever ) pass a collection box without putting something in. When I shop at Fleetwood market I make a point of talking to the man sitting outside on the pavement..and sometimes I take him for lunch. You see I know his history. I know he's been in hospital. I know he's alone. He was some woman's son.....

Lately my life has taken another turn and I find myself being generous with my time and devotion. This necessitates me travelling a lot, organising things for someone else and generally thinking of another's welfare.

So that's a run down on my thoughts regarding generosity.

Today's poem was written in March 1968.

             
TO YOU

 Shall I give my hand to you ?
  Perhaps you will take offence and shun me...
  I don't know.
  I wish I could make you understand -
  My intentions are good. I am sure of that.
  If you were to give your hand to me
  I would accept it without a second thought.
  I cannot change, accept me for what I am
  And I shall give you my hand.

Thanks for reading, Kath

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Clouds

   My friend Don likes clouds. He spends his time looking out the window and seeing shapes in them. When I phone him he inevitably mentions 'clouds'. When I'm driving he points them out ( I can't look I just agree ). Many of us look up and see other things - it's a relaxing pastime. I photograph them when I'm out walking. I keep a weather eye on them too as they predict a likely outcome. However I don't know the technical names for all the different types ( that would be an interesting lesson ).
  Clouds feature in many sayings " Every cloud has a silver lining ", " Red sky at night, shepherd's delight "( not strictly clouds ). A sunset or sunrise is made possible by cloud formations...a clear sky seldom gives that reflected colour that spreads across the sky without clouds.
  My niece in Canada often posts cloud photos and these always look like something...a fish, a car, a child, an angel. So she too must be a cloud watcher.
  Now there's something to put in your CV.....Cloud Watcher....

The photo I took whilst walking from Tarnbrook to the Hornby ( Roman ) road.

My poem this week is one from the archives and probably written round about 1966.

Night Descends

10.30, But it is still light.

Even at this time it's still daylight.

A few clouds are clustered in the west;

A lonely seagull flies that way - home to rest.

Children are called in and say their goodbyes.

All is quiet except for the hum of flies.

A night breeze is making the sky a sea -

A sea with islands of clouds, just for me.

But as the sun sinks slowly behind the hill,

I think, I meditate upon the still,

The still of the earth, the peace, the goodwill.

But hark ! the cry of an oyster-catcher the silence doth kill .

Thanks for reading, Kath.

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Northern Soul

Hello and welcome to Friday's contribution to the blog. I will apologise first for the shortness of my piece, but I'm off again on my travels on Friday. Going north again. I turn left when I leave Blackpool, it's the way to freedom , uncongested roads and a relaxing time.

You see my soul is in the north I'm afraid. Despite my husband's insistence that I'm English (for I was born in London and moved to Aberdeen aged 5), I've always felt Scottish. My formative years, education, cultural input and upbringing was Scots. Sorry to say I knew (know?) little of English history and found the teaching of the subject to be rather biased towards the downtrodden and hard done by Scot.

I have a Northern Soul. However, it seems I'm not alone. My father never returned to London preferring to remain in the north: this remains true for many "white settlers". Recently I watched a programme about the most northerly Shetland Isle and many settlers there were not Scottish (in fact Shetland has always felt isolated from the Scottish mainland, being closer to Scandinavia). It seems that many people feel compelled to visit and eventually reside there. When I lived in Buckie we ran holiday accommodation and three couples who visited in various years quickly returned home to sell up and return to the area. Probably the lure of the lifestyle, the scenery, the slower pace of life called to them. They are all still there whilst I found myself 'south of the border' once again. This was because my husband (from Oxford), although he adored the lifestyle, the people and the history, just couldn't put up with the cold weather anymore. So when I have holiday time I always choose to gravitate north, and so it is this coming week....and another week in September.

Something stirs in my Northern Soul...........

The photo is of Loch Leven near Kinlochleven.

THE NORTHERN LIGHTS. ( written circa 1966)

They dance, like heavenly ballerinas:

They prance, like skipping children.

The colours change from red to green,

Oh! They are a wonderful sight to be seen.

They are the reflection of the cold waste.

They are the perfection of poise and grace.

The heavens suddenly give way

To a brilliance - such heavenly array.

They give a feeling of emptiness,

You feel like kneeling at their greatness.

Up there they regard us with eyes

That are not real. Just images in the sky.

They flit like swallows across the sky

Their long tails trailing behind them.

Come light they are gone away

And you may not see them another day.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Thanks for reading....................Kath

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History

As a schoolchild I was not at all interested in history as I found it altogether boring. It seemed that I was expected to just remember a list of dates, and who was the Scottish King at any given time!

As for prehistoric man- well he was dismissed as being unintelligent and just grunted! Of course I know the latter to be entirely untrue as many television programmes show us.....if only history had been so vividly brought to life for us all those years ago.

Nowadays I avidly watch any ' history' programmes and really enjoy them. This enjoyment and interest is mostly due to my late husband who was very interested in the subject. He filled my bookcases with " Egyptology", history of the "Bible Lands ", English history......then laterally Scottish history. Days, weekends and holidays were spent exploring archaeological sites, castles, vitrified forts...to name a few.

A holiday on Orkney delighted him. Beforehand we read books, collected leaflets, organised our trips and gathered together the necessary equipment to explore less popular attractions.....like torches, hard hats and boots! On Orkney there is a site of either historical or archaeological interest every mile and a half! You can imagine his excitement! Unfortunately the weather was not kind and we put up with frost, sleet, rain and gale force winds for a week ( we'd planned two ) and we were driven away as we were in an unheated VW camper.

Of course I've always appreciated the link between history and geography (the subject that I took to Higher level), and when explaining map reading to beginners I point out historical references, place names, battle fields, ancient roads etc, showing that the two are related to each other in many ways.

I've looked through my poetry archives this morning and come up with this one, intending to show that " history repeats itself ". I probably wrote this about 1967 ? I think it's still relevant .....
   
Powerseeker

Did you see the dove fly out from the smouldering rubble?
Did you hear a child laugh in the empty streets?
Did you listen to the music of the birds in the ruins of silence?..
Then you are dreaming , my friend.

I did not see the dove fly out from the smouldering rubble,
I listened and heard no laughter in the streets
and no birds sweet music made.....
Yes, you were dreaming my friend.

For man's cruelty to his kind is his downfall,
and nothing survives.
The impulsive lust of the powerseeker
pushes him on to greater triumphs!
And his reward?
Smouldering ruins of an empty,silent world.

Kath Curtiss

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New Shoots

There is something uplifting about spotting new growth after winter's icy grip and barrenness .  We expound on the sight of the first snowdrops and speculate then on when the first crocuses and daffodils might appear. There is the constant fear that frost or snow may return and spoil the chances of this new growth, especially when fruit trees blossom, as we fear for the demise of the flowers or the non appearance of pollinating insects.

Today as I drove down the Amounderness Way I was suddenly aware of the ' greenness' of the wayside trees catching the sun's rays . Now further into the fells or hills the appearance of new shoots comes a little later , and it's interesting to note the differences, as this affects the behaviour of wildlife that inhabit the different areas.

I was walking by the Lancaster canal recently and the catkins were well on, but no sign of other buds on the blackberries for example, as  some plants can produce buds earlier , being resistant to frost and cold winds.

This week' s poem is from my archives ( yet again) and was possibly written in 1965...it's entitled
"April Comes" ....you will now appreciate that it was written in Aberdeen and that the appearance of new shoots is later there than here!

           April Comes

           The daffodils are as yellow as a duckling's down,
           Their petals are as soft as a silken gown.
           The butterflies have woken up and are flitting to and fro,
           Watch them land, try to catch them, and away they go.

           Little green shoots are peeping through the ground,
           Taking in the sunshine of a world new-found.
           The trees are covered in blossom bright
           Open all day and closing at night.

           The days are warm and sunny, the nights are clear.
           The moon is silver when the stars appear.
           The wind blows warm in a southerly breeze,
           That whispers like voices through the trees.
       
               
Thanks for reading Kath.
                   



 

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Meat or Murder ?

Meat or murder ? It's a very stark emotive phrase. Firstly let me say that I am an omnivore. Because of a condition that I have, I thrive -nay, I require a high protein diet. That means protein of the highest caliber. Very good friends were vegetarians and now are vegan - that's fine by me: they don't judge me nor I they. I asked them what made them become vegetarians and they told me that they camped adjacent to a field of ewes and lambs - deciding then that meat was not for them . However I point out to you that if there were no demand for meat and meat products then we would not see that lovely scene in Spring, for there would be no need to breed livestock for meat, nor to replenish stock. Furthermore the lovely English Lakes deplete of grazing livestock would soon become overgrown and impassable. As would the New Forest and many areas of the Welsh and Scottish uplands. Grazing and foraging animals are a necessity to maintain nature's balance and we must now rely upon domestic animals to a great degree since there are no longer reindeer , bison, wild cattle, wild goats and the like to assist with this.
    My late husband was a hunter and fisherman....but give me a chance to explain. He fished as a lad, coarse fishing..where the fish are generally not really edible and are returned to the water. So when we moved to Scotland he took up other types of fishing..sea fishing, fly fishing, lure fishing, bubble float fishing...in fact many methods that he saw others use. As for the sea fishing, this was by rod and line and usually comprised catching the odd pollock, mackerel ...and one time a conger eel !! Just something to take home and eat...other smaller varieties were returned to the deep. Much more sustainable than the new process imposed upon commercial fishermen of discarding full nets of  " over the quota " dead fish back to the ocean ( for their swim bladders burst as they are taken from the depths ). He also helped a friend to lay creels and this meant the occasional crab-- again of the allowed size. Now to the shooting part ......well he shot rabbits, for the local golf courses who reported damages over £ 1000 / week, and for local farmers. But here I hasten to add - only for the pot ! There were customers glad to receive ( for free ) a rabbit or two, and he had a barter system with the local fishmonger in which he traded for fish. He was a good shot and would never never just injure an animal, he hated to see suffering, and should he see a rabbit with myxomatosis then he would quickly dispatch it. Also he abhorred the use of snares and always destroyed those laid by poachers ( so he wasn't always popular, for he had permission to be on the land ). Shooting game was not on his remit as a different licence was required plus he considered wholesale  " shoots " as somewhat barbaric. No, he was glad to have food for the pot and he enjoyed the outdoor life and the exercise.......sometimes he could go all day and not catch anything. Farmers troubled by rabbits complained that the rabbits lived a charmed life , eating the very best of arable crops, leading to tremendous losses. So it's really a balancing act..it's about maintaining our natural surroundings ( or at least how we've come to see them ) and maintaining a balance for the production of cereals and crops.
     Methods employed in abattoirs nowadays are strictly controlled in the UK , and seem to be more thoughtful than many years ago. Many farms are choosing to raise and slaughter their own stock on their premises thus avoiding any stress to the creatures by transporting them long distances.
     I know that this is a difficult subject for some to even consider, and it seems to be a necessary evil. But if we wish to continue to see a variety of livestock in the fields, and to marvel at the scenes then we have to accept farming, fishing and culling methods.
     My poem this week is about geese...my husband absolutely adored ducks and geese and would never consider shooting them !!

           Wild geese ( 25/1/72 )

Today I saw the geese fly north.
Wet day, dreary day.
Take me with you, fly you forth.
Cold day, weary day.
Let's glide over houses-over roofs.
Damp day, black day,
Wing beats sounding like horse's hoofs.
Dull day, bleak day.

Change position leading goose.
Glad day, happy day.
Shake your feathers, shake them loose.
New day, sunny day.
Today I fly with you far north.
Glorious day, smashing day.
We are free and we fly forth.
Oh happy, happy day.

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Family Gathering

  Well I can't recall the last time I had a family gathering. My only son is a London policeman and leads a very hectic and stressful life, so we seldom get together. In 2014 he came with me to Colorado where we spent 2 weeks high level trekking in the Rocky Mountains and staying in  a log cabin. Then we flew to Arizona, travelled along Route 66 and spent a few days seeing the Grand Canyon. We parted at Chicago airport...that was the last time I saw him. However we do keep in touch by social media and telephone.
   So friends have come to be my 'family', and it's with a friend that I will be spending Christmas day. Don't feel sorry for us ....two lonely women ! For we'll spend the day swopping stories and telling funny tales... there will be much hilarity.
    When I was young, family gatherings took place at Christmas at my parent's home in Aberdeen. My father being English then Christmas meant a lot to him. Uncle and aunt , cousins and grandparents met for lunch, gathered around the large table ( it was only ever used that day ! ). Then on New Year's Day the family all met again at my grandparent's house. My Gran made wonderful Scotch broth...I still can't make it like her !
    After marrying we moved to the outskirts of Oxford and had a son....so family gatherings were much smaller, more intimate.....quieter - but nonetheless memorable.
     So many people are alone --- and not only at this time of the year. So spare a thought, give an invite ( thank you Adele for yours, it meant so much ).
 
  We are the family of mankind.

Family Gathering - Red Rocks Arizona

Song Of Mary

I , the Virgin

Have travelled far to have my babe within this land.

This child of God and in his image

Is brought to you with trust and love.

Who'll give me shelter and give me rest

A feather bed to rest a miracle ?

I , the Virgin

Am weary of foot, weary of mind and deep in labour

To bear for you this child of mine,

Blessed in wedlock, but conceived in shame.

Who'll be my midwife, ease my pain , 

And wrap my babe in silks ?

I , the Virgin

Am forced to lie on straw and share my bed with donkeys.

This child of mine is born to suffer 

For your injustices and crimes.

Who'll bow down before him now and pray

For his small insignificant soul ?

Kathleen Bennett....April 1971.

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