Trams - Illuminated Train Tram

 

I’m currently enjoying a birthday break in Dumfries & Galloway, where so far, the snow has missed us out. The temperature is below freezing.  Blue skies, sunshine and hardly a breeze, but that may change in a day or two, according to the weather forecast, even in this micro climate pocket. It’s cosy in our favourite lodge. This is my happy place. While I’m relaxing I’m reminiscing about my childhood and my first encounter with trams.

That second relocation to Blackpool would have taken place in April, 1965. I was nine and a half.  My father got his wish, a pub on Blackpool promenade. Uprooted again, but I soon settled in to our home and my new school. All my pub homes were interesting, even quirky, looking back, but this one was the best. It might be to do with my father’s fulfilled ambition, but there was a calmness and happiness through the family that I was aware of. I hadn’t lived anywhere that offered such fascination through the front windows of our accommodation. South Pier, the beach, the sea in all its moody glory, the promenade that filled with people as spring turned to summer and summer ended with the Illuminations. Bay windows meant our view had a long stretch in both directions. Donkeys on the beach – I would hear their bells as they arrived and departed. Of course, those thundering trams trundling the length of the prom from Starr Gate to Fleetwood and they were loud. At least, loud is how I remember them and they seemed to be more noisy in the winter months when they had the promenade to themselves. During the Illuminations, there was, for me, the added joy of watching the illuminated trams go by, The Rocket, The Ship, The Boat and The Western Train which we always called the Puffer Train Tram, the one my sister looked out for.

Eventually I got to have a ride on one of the clanging monstrosities.  I think our housekeeper, Auntie Kathy, took us – that’s my sister and me – the first time. Other times we went with our mum and even Nanna was persuaded to come along on one of her visits.

As an adult, I have appreciated our Blackpool and Fylde coast line more than I ever did in childhood. When the new, smooth and quieter trams came on track I enjoyed taking the trip from Starr Gate to Fleetwood and back, just to look at the sea. The trams have been part of Blackpool since 1885, which makes them older than the Tower. They are an essential part of public transport for Blackpool and Fleetwood as well as a popular tourist attraction.

Moving pubs meant moving town, leaving behind the familiar comforts and friends to start again somewhere. It wasn’t always welcome but, looking back, I think I coped with the disruption. I have fond memories of people and places that were part of my childhood.

Back to the here and now, weather permitting, we’ll go out for lunch tomorrow to one of our favourite venues. If the weather is against us, we’ll stay cosy and make use of our food supply.

My Haiku poem,

Ride along the front
A new, smooth electric tram,
Starr Gate to Fleetwood.

How quiet they are!
Almost silent on the tracks
Where others thunder’d,

Rattled and trundled,
Those balloons of cream and green
Belonged to Blackpool.

Me, a nine year old,
Found so much fascination
Through our front windows.

And it got better,
Much to my delight, some trams,
Illuminated!

The ship, the rocket,
And the very best of all –
The Western train tram.

The new trams are good,
Accessible and comfy,
Have a seaside treat.

Choose a sunny day.
It’s an amazing journey
The best North West coast.

PMW 2024

Thanks for reading, Pam x

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Blizzard - The Postie Stone, Moffat

The Postie Stone (i)

How exciting it would be to become snowed in when we have our pre-Christmas break at our favourite lodge in Dumfries & Galloway. I think of this every November into December, when we spend a couple of weeks there, wrapped around my birthday, to do some Christmas shopping in the fabulous, privately owned individual shops. In anticipation of having to stay until March, unless a tractor from the farm comes along to rescue us, I take a supply of ‘emergency’ tinned food and packets, and stock up aplenty on arrival.  This time, it nearly happened. It was our last morning, the day we were leaving. Snow was about eight inches deep and still falling thick and fast. A huge mound shaped over and around our car so it looked like an igloo. We never have snow at home, not like this proper ‘build a snowman’ stuff and we stood in awe gazing at the most amazing landscape through the window.

One day, we went to Moffat, an enchanting market town north of Dumfries. We’ve been before and enjoy a stroll along the high street, seeing what the shops have and this visit was pretty with festive lights and shop windows trimmed for Christmas. It was a cold but calm, sunny day and for me, a wander into the Old Graveyard was appealing. John Loudon McAdam, of tarmac fame is buried there, also are the graves of James McGeorge and John Goodfellow. They were enroute to Edinburgh from Dumfries with postal deliveries when they were caught in a blizzard and died. 

The Postie Stone (ii) Detail

Taken from Atlas Obscurer –
“A roadside memorial commemorates the lives of John Goodfellow, the coach driver, and James McGeorge, the coach guard of a mail coach.

The pair were on a mail coach traveling from Dumfries to Edinburgh in February 1831. They became caught in a fierce blizzard which forced them to abandon the coach and set off on foot through the snow to try and deliver the mail and make it to safety.

They took the mailbags and horses but eventually, the men were overcome by the elements and died of exposure near the head of Cross Burn. The horses continued on, eventually reaching a nearby farm which raised the alarm.

The stone was erected in their memory in 1931, a century after the event. The men were laid to rest in the churchyard in nearby Moffat.”

(A full account of this can be found online, titled The Coaching Disaster.)

Such a sad story and I thought of them again as I watched the falling snow on our journey home. All was well until we were driving into Cumbria and coming over Shap. Late afternoon and it was going dark, the snow clouds were low and visibility was poor. The blizzard soon reduced the motorway from three to two lanes and traffic slowed accordingly. We were grateful to arrive home unscathed because soon after we heard about abandoned cars in Cumbria and jack-knifed wagons on the M6.

Being snowed in at the lodge would have been cosy, though, in my fantasy world.

 During my childhood, age 8 to 9, we lived in Padfield, near Glossop in what became one of dad’s favourite pubs and B&B to manage. We got snowed in, which still happens up there. The village was cut off for days and I remember my mum helping the neighbours out with food where she could.  School stayed open, which meant the fun of snowball fights on the walk down and up again. All the teachers – there was only four of them – lived near the school so it wasn’t likely to be closed and we were allowed to play out in the snow. Times have changed. If the travel news should mention The Snake Pass or Woodhead Road being closed due to snow I think ‘That’s Padfield cut off, then’. Fond memories.

Leaving the Lodge

Emily Bronte passed away on this day in 1848. This is one of her poems. It reminds me of Wuthering Heights as I imagine a blizzard over the moors.

The night is darkening round me,
The wild winds coldly blow;
But a tyrant spell has bound me
And I cannot, cannot go.

The giant trees are bending
Their bare boughs weighed with snow,
The storm is fast descending
And yet I cannot go.

Clouds beyond clouds above me,
Wastes beyond wastes below;
But nothing drear can move me;
I will not, cannot go.

             Emily Jane Bronte 1818 – 1848

Thanks for reading. A Merry Christmas to all, Pam x                                        

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Cracked - Ice

Feeling warm and comfortable in our favourite Dumfries & Galloway lodge, we looked out on to the wintry landscape that surrounded us. It was mid-morning and the temperature was slowly rising as weak sunshine was breaking through grey cloud. Earlier, at -7 degrees, we decided to stay put and have a restful day. Tomorrow’s weather sounded less severe. I had to venture outside. My birdfeeders needed filling and a breath of fresh air would be welcome, even icy air. Wrapped up, wellington boots on and bird seed to hand, I stepped outside, calling back to say that the veranda was slippy. Not that my husband was coming outside with me, too risky. Ice on the steps cracked beneath my feet. It was clear and shiny where water had dripped from the edge of the roof. I was extra careful. The car was iced over, sheltered under trees and away from any sunlight. A couple of steps and I was on the grass, feeling safe with a crisp crunch of frost beneath my feet. The bird feeders were dotted about, some on a tree, others half hidden in a well-established rhododendron. For reasons I couldn’t work out, the birds were ignoring the fat balls in preference for the seed mixture. On previous visits it had often been the other way round. I went to the tree last, minding my gloved fingers over the cracked bit of branch as I reached a little higher to the seed holder. Job done, I wandered along to the gate to see if any horses were in the meadow on the other side. They were further up, towards the hill and just a solitary pheasant nodded along. How beautiful they are, so colourful. Turning back towards the lodge, I walked round to where a narrow stream trickled towards a reed bed and warned the neighbourhood cat to leave ‘my’ birds alone. Nearby, a few robins were squabbling and hopping about, much to my amusement. Disturbed by my presence, they took flight into the pine trees. They made me smile and raised my heavy heart. Following an emergency incident at frozen water in Solihull, some children had fallen through the ice. They were rescued, but three of them later died. So sad. They were probably just playing and didn’t realise what danger they were in. Children. Christmas time. Heartbreaking.

My Haiku,

Children playing out,
Fun in the winter landscape
Until the ice cracked.

Thanks for reading, Pam x

Photo is the view from the lodge.

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Days That Changed the World - WWW

30^th April 1993, a very significant date that I was unaware of until I looked it up. CERN, which is the French acronym for the European Council for Nuclear Research, put the World Wide Web software in the public domain. Since then, we’ve all been just a click away from more or less everything.  A day that changed the world.

As the level of technology progressed, the equipment for its use gradually became smaller in size. Computers nearly 60 centimetres deep and needing a massive processor, both filling a purpose built desk and taking up lots of office space – or half a room in our house – has reduced to the average smart phone. We have the whole world in our hands.

I love books and our house is full of them, but I can’t help but feel a bit sorry for a shelf full of pristine volumes of Encyclopaedia Britannica when I’m ‘Googling’ things. The information I want is right there, with links to connected interests. I can’t imagine being without the internet, or my mobile phone, not now.

I wasn’t going to bother having a mobile phone. I didn’t need one for myself. My husband got one and we’d share it while we were away. We could let family know we had arrived safely after an epic drive to Pembrokeshire and we were settling in nicely. That phone turned out to be a God-send, keeping us in touch with family when my mother-in-law, also away on holiday, had taken ill and was in hospital. It was just a phone, what else would you want? Soon, the sky was the limit.

I did get my own phone, a basic phone, oh, I think text messaging was possible, too. I wouldn’t leave home without it. The next best thing was a camera on the phone. Digital, of course. Easy to download snaps of a day out on to the PC or laptop – yes, I’d got one of those by now. It wasn’t long before I’d agreed to a mobile contract with an all singing, all dancing phone, with camera, internet data, bells and whistles. Me, who didn’t want all this ‘crazy stuff’, to start with, now had up to date modern technology in my handbag, at my fingertips.

I missed it when it wasn’t there, though it was good to ‘click off’ for a while. There was no internet and no phone signal where we regularly stay in Scotland – until recently. We would stop the car at the top of the lane, last chance for a signal, before going down to the lodge. There would be no more contact until an early morning dog walk back up the hill to check for messages. It was good to relax, no interruption. It is different now. WiFi arrived. The lodges have upgraded to smart televisions and internet routers. We’ve all moved with the times.

I send emails to the USA with immediate arrival when previously a snail-mail letter would take days.

It is all good until there’s the dreaded system failure. When this happened at work, those of us who remembered how we did it before technology sharpened our pencils and our wits and got on with it. Not easy in a fully computerised dental practice. Fortunately the occurrence was rare and promptly rectified.

World Wide Web changed the world, brought it closer, and changed the way we do things. It is the way we are.

I found this poem by Dr Wayne Visser,

Change the World

Let’s change the world, let’s shift it
Let’s shake and remake it
Let’s rearrange the pieces
The patterns in the maze
The reason for our days
In ways that make it better
In shades that make it brighter
That make the burden lighter
Because it’s shared, because we dared
To dream and then to sweat it
To make our mark and not regret it
Let’s plant a seed and humbly say:
I changed the world today!

Let’s change the world, let’s lift it
Let’s take it and awake it
Let’s challenge every leader
The citadels of power
The prisoners in the tower
The hour of need’s upon us
It’s time to raise our voices
To stand up for our choices
Because it’s right, because we fight
For all that’s just and fair
For a planet we can share
Let’s join the cause and boldly say:
We’ll change the world today!

Let’s change the world, let’s love it
Let’s hold it and unfold it
Let’s redesign the future
The fate of earth and sky
The existential why
Let’s fly to where there’s hope
To where the world is greener
Where air and water’s cleaner
Because it’s smart to make a start
To fix what we have broken
Our children’s wish unspoken
Let’s be the ones who rise and say:
We changed the world today!

Wayne Visser © 2018

 Thanks for reading, Pam x

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Silence - I'll Settle for Quiet

“Go placidly amid the noise and haste and remember what peace there may be in silence.”  (From Desiderata by Max Ehrmann, 1927)

How refreshing it feels just to be quiet with no distraction. I like to have the radio or a CD on, but sometimes it’s good not to bother and go about my housework duties in silent prayer or lost in my thoughts. My thoughts are bordering on torturous at the moment. A mini crisis which I needn’t bore you with and I’m sure it will blow over with some self-counselling and a quiet word above.

The place that offers the most silence is our favourite lodge in Dumfries & Galloway. Off the beaten track, hidden by trees and foliage, any sounds come from nature – and the fridge thermostat kicking in – owls, foxes, deer and the ripple of the nearby stream. Dare I believe that we’ll be there in just a few short weeks? Recently arranged and neatly in line with my retirement, we will sample summer time at the lodge. Very rare, we’re usually out of season visitors, but very welcome after lockdown.

The back garden offers tranquillity, depending on the day or time. The sheltered side, nice for a quiet read, never on a Sunday, though. Someone in the neighbourhood will fire up their lawn mower, strimmer or electric hedge cutter and kill the moment. No one around here has a massive garden, so what takes hours with some extra loud machine, I do not know. Someone else nearby likes to entertain outside and after winter and lockdown, it is clearly back on the agenda. Raucous laughter, which we hadn’t missed, and, I am told, the smell of a barbecue was apparent at the weekend. The best time to sit out is on a week day during school hours, until the boy across the back comes home and starts kicking his football against their wooden fence. They have to start somewhere, bless him.

At work, we hear the sound of silence at the end of the day when the fluorescent lights are switched off and the high-speed drills stop buzzing in our ears.  It isn’t my domain but there is something I find peaceful about a spotless, empty surgery, prepared for the next day. I accept that I’m a strange one. Somewhere a phone will ring and an answer-phone will take a message. I won’t miss much of this.

I am happy to fill my house with the noise of four lively grandchildren coming to tea, make sure they have fun and enough to eat and enjoy the peace and quiet when they’ve gone home.

My Haikus:

My washing machine
Is torture to all ear-drums
When it’s in a spin.

Stressed and troubled, then,
When dental drills stop whining
Serenity calms.

When the noise has gone
And there’s a moment to think
About what makes peace.

Hushed in the darkness
The unsettled baby girl
Loved and nursed by me.

PMW 2021

Thanks for reading, keep well. Pam x

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Tracks - We'd Better Make Tracks

It is the moment I dislike the most. Our peaceful time in Scotland, staying in the quiet of a hidden-away lodge has reached an end. The car is packed for home. The rooms of our accommodation  are clean and tidy, we’ve checked and double-checked for anything forgotten and one of us says, ‘We’d better make tracks’.

The fact that we’ll be returning soon is of no consolation when the sadness of leaving has already taken hold.

I’ve been trying to find out where the term ‘making tracks’ originated and it is so frustrating not to discover a definitive answer. All I have found is a reference to early 1800s slang for running away in a hurry and leaving footprints. 

Quote -  “This nineteenth century American colloquialism was recorded by Thomas Chandler Haliburton (1796-1865) in his ‘Sam Slick’ papers, which originally appeared in a Nova Scotia weekly in 1836, as well as several earlier journals…”

I wanted to know why the saying is ‘making tracks’ when ‘following tracks’ seems to make more sense. I hoped to learn something more and I haven’t, so if any reader knows, please share with me.

‘We’d better make tracks’ was my father’s way of bringing a summer picnic to an end on a Sunday tea-time. Pubs were closed between 2 p.m. and 7 p.m. in those days. My family would get together and drive in convoy to a suitable destination to spend the afternoon, everyone bringing food to share. We were all based in Lancaster and Morecambe for a while and our outings were Crook O’ Lune, Littledale, Glasson Dock, Heysham and Ingleton Falls. I was aged four or five, the only child and got made a fuss of. Everyone was relaxed, life was simpler, or that’s how it looked to me. No one rushed. There would be glancing at wrist-watches and mutterings about getting back for opening time as thermos flasks and rugs were put away into car boots in a leisurely fashion.

Our first pub was in Manchester, close to Piccadilly railway station. I was too young to remember much about it, but I knew it was the Star and Garter on Fairfield Street and my walk to nursery with my father took us under a railway bridge. On a recent day at Manchester Christmas Markets with my friend, I suggested that we look at the pub, from the outside. Our train was taking us to Piccadilly so we weren’t going out of our way. I’m easily lost in a city without a coastline to guide me, so it was no surprise to find us following Fairfield Street in the wrong direction. We hadn’t gone too far, luckily. We strolled back and eventually reached the pub, took a few photos then went shopping. Later, waiting on Platform 14 for the train home, I was absent-mindedly gazing around when I realised that right in front of me, across the lower level train tracks, stood the Star and Garter. My friend and I laughed. We’d walked for ages looking for that.

Before long, it will be time for rest and recuperation in Dumfries & Galloway. The car will be packed, the house in good hands and I’ll be happy to say, ‘We’d better make tracks.’

 

I found this poem,

 

Flowered Tracks

 

The breeziness of gentle winds, leafs rustle as trees sway
Sunlight rays a partial light, that shine across the bay
Summers warmth an evening sky, are setting on the day
Dusk approaches through the trees, as the daylight goes away

Flowered tracks along the gorge, a gentle mountain breeze
Dusty valleys lead the way, past the old oak trees
Down to flowing waterfalls, the beauty that one sees
Flowered tracks floating beside, are following with ease

Deep inside the canyon walls, the water hits the stream
Shimmers from the waters edge, upon a golden gleam
The beauty of a secret place, waters merged with a sun beam
Is this a true reality, or flowered tracks last dream

Between the hills on golden ponds, lies colours of tracks flowers
Where the rocky crescent forms, and where the sunlight cowers
Moon light shadows visible, only after sunlight hours
The beauty of a litten dusk, the light the moon devours

A wolf howls above the rocks, high upon the glade
One heart beat I can hear, I am feeling so afraid
Full moons light upon my soul, the wolfs cursed life is paid
Wolf's blood bite on flowered tracks, a glistened moonlight trade

Wolfs eyes glare standing alone, no hunters and no packs
Were wolfs fangs on shadows moon, blood seeping through the cracks
A man once stood is now transformed, his humanity life lacks
The werewolf curse is fulfilled, complete on flowered tracks

 

Written by Kirk, from Hello Poetry.

 

 

Thanks for reading, Pam x

 

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Tanka - Just A Few



I'm away at the moment, yes, again. I know I've only just returned home long enough to do the laundry and re-pack the case, but here I am, in the wonderful Dumfries & Galloway countryside, comfortable in a hidden-away lodge that I've already written so much about.

This week's theme being Tanka - five line poem based on a 5-7-5-7-7 syllable, I've had a try.

Not only have I managed to write a few Tankas, I've found a wifi connection. One of the attractions about being here was the seclusion, no signal, etc., but hey ho, things move with the times and we don't have to use what we don't want. Anyway, to my own advantage today, so here goes. They are written randomly.

Lonely roads so dark,
Driving back from Kilwinning.
Two hour journey
On the A seven-one-three
And it's creepy and scary.

List'ning to John Lodge
On his live 'B Yond' cd
Some old tunes remixed
And some new ones blended in,
Salute the Moody Blues man.

Watching the robins
Bossing round the bird feeders.
Claiming ownership,
Puffing out a proud red breast
Homing in on the fat balls.

A drive to the hills
Then all stops for 'Popmaster'
Wherever we are.
Some questions are too modern
And correct answers are few.


Thanks for reading, Pam x

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The Wild Side - Red Kites

     One of the things I like so much when staying in the lodge at Dumfries and Galloway is the     abundance of woodland animals. It’s so relaxing to watch the rabbits at play or the birds that come to the feeders we provide when we are there. Foxes and deer tend to keep their distance, too timid to roam close to the buildings. Usually, its night time when we might be treated to a glimpse of one or the other, caught in our headlights as we drive slowly along the narrow lane. Deer tend to be in pairs or small groups. They leap into the hedges or bushes as we approach, but not before we’ve had a brief moment to admire them. A fox will hunt alone, stalking rabbits and rodents to catch to feed his family.  Once, I was horrified to witness a fox snatch a rabbit from close to the lodge and run towards the woods, carrying the lifeless creature. It is nature, prey and predators.

 

The lodge is close to Galloway Forest Park. Within the huge expanse of carefully  managed woodlands, there are conservation areas for otters, red squirrels and deer. And lots of birds, especially the red kite. The first time I saw one, we were sharing binoculars focussing on a herd of deer, willing them to come close enough for a photograph. The red kite swooped to the ground in front of us, black tipped white wings and forked tail with the distinctive rusty-red colouring across the body and into the white feathers, spanning about two feet. I was fascinated. I’d never seen a bird of prey close-up in its own environment before and this was beautiful. They are protected and looked after. I found information from the RSPB and this paragraph from the Galloway Kite Trail.  

“Red kites have been congregating at Bellymack Hill Farm since 2001 when they were reintroduced to Galloway. This is partly due to the prevailing SW winds which create updrafts from the hillside, enabling kites to ride effortlessly over the farm. Since 2003 the feeding has allowed visitors to get close firsthand experiences of these gregarious birds when they come in to spectacularly snatch food provided for them.”

Our visit to the farm was breath-taking and a haven for proper photographers with sophisticated equipment. My shots are a combination of Olympus compact and mobile phone.

     Going on safari is not my thing. Galloway Forest is as wild as it gets for me.  

 

 

 Thanks for reading, Pam x



 

 

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A Very Private Place - Sanctuary

 

I’m back from a welcome break. I dread this time of the year, miserable mornings and dark tea-times. Everything seems like a major effort. It’s like an illness and the older I get, the worse it feels. The best thing is to go away and talk myself into accepting winter. I spent a few days of rest and recuperation at my favourite location in Dumfries and Galloway. Close to Loch Ken and on the fringe of Galloway Forest, a concealed single track lane winds through the countryside leading to a cluster of timber-clad lodges. They are each set in their own space, surrounded by trees and shrubs and positioned so that none over-looks another. Next to the lodges, a couple of stone-built cottages face the courtyard of the old manor house where the lane ends. We stay in one of the lodges, quiet, hidden, a very private place.

We found it by accident. A few years ago we were searching online for weekend accommodation in the far north-west of England to meet up with family who were travelling down from Ayrshire. Our previous destination at the top of the Lake District was too expensive at this time and we wanted an affordable alternative. We didn’t intend to go into Scotland, but we found this place – well within budget, even with extra travelling costs – and decided to go ahead, with the understanding that ‘you get what you pay for’. With that in mind, we were not expecting much. We were certainly not expecting the high standards that we found in a warm, cosy, spotlessly clean, very well equipped wonderful lodge, in the middle of nowhere. Of course, we missed the turn off. It’s easily done.

That was the first of many visits. I love the isolation. The nearest shops are six miles away in Kirkcudbright, or seven miles the other way to Castle Douglas. There’s nowhere within walking distance for us, apart from, well, going for a walk which is usually my first occupation in the mornings, taking our spaniel out. No WiFi, no phone signal, no trappings of the fast moving electronic world. It’s refreshing to escape, listen to the sounds of nature, watch woodland animals and relax. 

We’ve got it off to a fine art, now. We pick up groceries and supplies on the way and upon arrival we are soon unpacked and settled in. This was our third visit this year. The woods and hedgerows were rich in autumn and winter colour of reds, rust, gold and green, edged in white with morning frost. Walking our dog early one morning, I was thrilled and surprised to see two deer very close to the lane. A little further up, our presence disturbed a pair of pheasants, the majestic male with his glorious blood-red plumage and golden speckles took flight, quickly followed by the brownish, chestnut speckled female. It’s a privilege to be so close to nature. I’d rather listen to owls at night than speeding cars and sirens. 

This hidden gem is my perfect sanctuary. I feel a lot better for my visit. 

Sanctuary

This is a very private place,

A comforting, cosy retreat

Where we find peace in our own space

And rest until we feel complete. 

Close to the forest, near the loch

This is a very private place

Beyond the grazing Blackface flock,

A home from home, a perfect base. 

We snuggle up in warm embrace

And listen for the woodland sounds

This is a very private place

Where playful rabbits have no bounds. 

In the semi-dark of twilight

An owl, a fox, maybe a trace

Of deer or something to delight

This is a very private place.

 

 

 

Thanks for reading, Pam x

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