Build Up - We Wish You a Merry...NOT YET!

 

Christmas is coming. Commercially, the big build up began around September, as always, and started to wind me up immediately. I can’t stand it. As a Christian, I look forward to Christmas and celebrating the birth of Christ. Non-believers please respect as I do you. This year, the build-up seems to have annoyed me more than ever. I felt brain washed into thinking I was behind with my own preparations. I’ve grumbled at every TV advert and moaned about decorations being displayed early. Bah humbug. December 1^st is soon enough. My whole year has been a roller-coaster ride consisting of more downs than ups with no end in sight to balance things out. Everyone, well, nearly everyone wanted me to address my 70^th birthday with bells and whistles. I didn’t, but anyone who wanted to celebrate on my behalf was welcome to go fill their boots – at their own expense. There were some special moments. Thank you for the fine dining, you know who you are. I was so glad to go and hide and hibernate for a couple of welcome weeks at our favourite lodge in Dumfries & Galloway, out of the rat-race and with a fabulous view.

Of course, the Christmas build up was also under way in Castle Douglas and Kirkcudbright, but in a nice way and I could cope quite happily. I’m better suited to the pace of life there.  We’d missed the arrival of Santa who made his annual sail into Kirkcudbright harbour the week before we got there. It is a spectacular event and great for the children. We’ve seen it before and filmed most of it, still on a camera somewhere. As I fretted over Christmas and not being ready, I did some gift shopping as calmly as I could, keeping panic mode at bay. I enjoyed a quiet afternoon using my new, birthday present pen to write the cards that required posting. Anyone receiving my card through the mail can be forgiven for thinking we’ve moved, at last. I wish.

The build up to Christmas continues at home, now that we’ve returned. With four excited grandchildren still of an age to be enchanted, I can’t be too ‘humbuggy’. Our tree, old faithful that I intend to replace and say so every 12^th night, was hurriedly put together so the kids could hang their chosen decorations. It’s since had a small tidy – sorry, but I had to – and looks okay, if a bit askew.

This week, I’ll return to the school library and enjoy the company of more excited children in Christmas jumpers, and some naughty elves, I’m informed. My eyes will be moist as I hear their carols and Christmas songs coming from the hall, and I’ll put maudlin to one side for a while.

This is a poem from a Christmas card I have in a frame and bring out every year,

Christmas Memories

Christmas memories stir the waters of the well of thought –

And reflect the best of what the passing years have brought…

Past and present mingle when we hear the Christmas chimes.

Names come back as we recall good things and happy times.

Patience Strong  1907-1990

 

Thanks for reading, Pam x

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God - Keeping My Faith

 

I believe in God. I don’t know what God looks like and I wouldn’t know where to start to guess. God’s appearance is not important, it’s the sense of being I reach out to and, for me, God is a presence to be aware of rather than something visible.  I have what my husband would call ‘blind faith’. I get what he means, but to me my Christian faith is not blind.  Each to their own and we respect our opposite views. We trust each other to follow our funeral wishes, but hopefully they won’t be needed for a while yet.

Before school broke up for the Christmas break, I was in the infant’s library with a small group of children. I was asked if there was a book about Egypt and luckily I found something considered ‘perfect’. Bright and polite, the boy went on to explain to me that his family were from Egypt and don’t celebrate Christmas, so they were going there for the holidays to visit family and show off the new baby. He wanted to learn about the country before he went. I was pleased to help. I learnt a lot about his culture that afternoon. It was nice to catch up with him in the new term. His family visit had been very good and he’d been much warmer than we were.

It’s not unusual for my six year old grandson to have us in fits of laughter. He has a natural wit about him, inherited from his mum. One family tea time he commanded attention with, “Listen everybody, if I was the Son of God...” he proceeded to list the things he’d do to make a perfect world with lots of football and Roblox involved.  I wanted to know where this had come from so I asked him who the Son of God is. Confusion or Marvel characters had taken over as his answer was something about a man who lives in our heads and eats our brains.  

I’ve turned to God for help and guidance throughout my life. Growing up without my mother, who died young, was hard. Difficulties were magnified by my father’s swift remarriage which resulted in me trying to fit in but left feeling abandoned and not welcome in the new family. It was a long time before I found any hope and I never got any answers, but I got through it.

‘Are You There, God? It’s Me, Margaret’ is a book by Judy Blume. It’s a wonderful read for girls growing up, having anxieties about every aspect of puberty and not feeling confident about asking. I believe it’s a film now. I’ll look out for it. I had grown out of that stage of life by the time I read it, but I could relate to most of it and hoped it was useful to my daughter when she built an invisible wall to keep me out.

Life throws hurdles into the mix, or maybe just mine, and some higher to clear than others, but again, I never gave up and any obstacles haven’t been impossible to conquer, so far. Sometimes I’ve been my own worst enemy. I’ve broken more than one of the Ten Commandments, some more than once. I’ve tried to disregard God, only to realise that I can’t get by without my faith. For this and for past misdemeanours I have been aware of forgiveness.

This year has already brought challenges. I’m shuffling about as I write this, easing off one physical pain for another and trying to keep mental stresses in proportion. Someone once said, “When things look like they’re falling apart, it might be that they’re falling into place” or something like that.

Having a faith and believing in God is who I am. I don’t carry a banner, I don’t evangelise, I just do my best for everyone and in everything I do. I live and let live, accepting people for who and what they are, hoping they offer me the same.

The words of Desiderata mean a lot to me.

Go placidly amid the noise and haste and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly and clearly, and listen to others, even the dull and ignorant; they too have their story. Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexatious to the spirit. If you compare yourself with others you may become vain and bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself. Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time. Exercise caution in your business affairs; for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals; and everywhere life is full of of heroism. Be yourself. Especially do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass. Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth. Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness. Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be. And whatever your labours and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul. With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.

Max Ehrmann. 

Thanks for reading, Pam x

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Class - Upstairs or Downstairs?

I’ve spent the last month or so re-reading my collection of ‘Upstairs, Downstairs’ books. These slim paper-backs tell the story of the popular TV series about the ‘upstairs’ Bellamy family of 165, Eaton Place, Belgravia, and their ‘downstairs’ servants. The drama series began in 1971 and taught me more about social class and modern history than any amount of school lessons. The books followed the TV programmes series by series and each chapter is an episode, written by the same screen-writer.  They work quite well as novels. Fading, falling apart and with tiny print that made me wonder how I was managing without my hands-free magnifying glass, these are part of my ‘most treasured possessions’. For back up, I have the complete set of DVDs.

History was, and still is, a big interest to me. Unfortunately, the history master at school failed to ignite any passion in the subject, standing at the front of the class non-stop talking about one of the wars like he was presenting All Our Yesterdays. The boys drew Spitfires, us girls yawned. Instead, I learned social, economic and political history from the events going on in Upstairs, Downstairs. At the time, 1971 onwards, class distinction was mostly lost on me. I loved the servants, Mr Hudson the butler, all his staff and everything they got up to and I equally loved the members of the well-to-do Bellamy family. There was just one thing that grated on me and opened my eyes to class differences of the time. In an episode where Lord Bellamy’s brother is briefly staying at Eaton Place, Hudson’s brother and family are also visiting from abroad, staying in London, and unintentionally, they are all lunching in the same restaurant. This is a regular place for Richard Bellamy to be eating out, but Hudson has had to borrow money from cook, Mrs Bridges, to fund the outing. Bellamy and Hudson seeing each other in the restaurant causes embarrassment for Hudson, who, in an attempt to big himself up a bit for the benefit of his brother  now feels that he is aping his betters. Later, he offers his immediate resignation. Bellamy won’t hear of it and tells Hudson he was pleased to meet his family and that sadly, he, Bellamy, will not be seeing his own brother again. I was glad of the happy outcome, but it made me wonder why being in the same place should be a problem. Surely the butler could go wherever he likes on his time off, and how he funds it is his own business?

I have followed Downton Abbey, Belgravia and others, but nothing captured the essence of the time period quite like Upstairs, Downstairs. I couldn’t decide where I belong, up or down, or somewhere else entirely.

Re-reading it reminded me of a time at work, not where I am now. We had coffee mugs for ourselves, but there were cups and saucers for visiting senior staff and directors. When I brewed up, I gave everyone mugs and no one said anything. Sometimes, we used cups and saucers in our office. No reason not to.

Growing up in pubs, we had domestic staff. I called them ‘Auntie’ or ‘Mr’ and they were very much part of the family from my point of view, particularly our housekeeper ‘Auntie Kathy’ who I adored and was close to, and ‘Mr Joe’ who came with the pub and was like another grandad. I was brought up to treat everyone with respect and kindness. We are all the same.

Is that the time? I’d better ring for tea – or go and make it.

Here's John Betjeman:

How to Get On in Society

Phone for the fish-knives, Norman

As cook is a little unnerved;

You kiddies have crumpled the serviettes

And I must have things daintily served.

Are the requistites all in the toilet?

The frills round the cutlets can wait

'Till the girl has replenished the cruets

And switched on the logs in the grate.

It's ever so close in the lounge, dear,

But the vestibule's comfy for tea

And Howard is out riding on horseback

So do come and take some with me.

Now here is a fork for your pastries

And do use the couch for your feet;

I know what I wanted to ask you -

Is trifle sufficient for sweet?

Milk and then just as it comes dear?

I'm afraid the preserve's full of stones;

Beg pardon, I'm soiling the doilies

With afternoon tea-cakes and scones.

John Betjeman  (1906 - 1984)
 

             
Frost Report Social Class sketch: click here to play

Thanks for reading, keep well, Pam x

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Truth - Be Honest

I overheard something at my mother’s funeral. Fifty years have passed and the words still hurt.

“Poor Sheila, so young. Still, she lasted longer than we thought.”

My auntie, dabbing her eyes, was holding court with other relatives outside Carleton Crematorium Chapel. I can’t remember if it was before or after the service, not that it matters. Nothing mattered, except the deep deception that cut through my very soul. All these people, family and friends of the family had known that my mother was terminally ill, yet they had spent the last however many months speaking to me along the lines of, “When Mummy’s better…”, “When your mum is better…”, “When Sheila gets over this…”.   At nearly fourteen years of age I was old enough to ‘be grown up about all this’, but not considered to be old enough to be included in what was happening or given a chance to say goodbye. I was shattered. I had believed I was secure in a close-knit family. Everybody was hiding the truth.

Well, not quite everybody. My nanna was honest without actually coming out with the words. She was looking after us, my sister and me. Our family ran pubs and we were staying out of town at their pub, rather than ours. I adored my nanna, she was my rock. I wouldn’t usually have stepped out of line with her for the world. There was much love, respect but also a tiny bit of fear because I expected she could be even angrier than my mum if she was cross with me. I don’t know where it came from, but for the one and only time in my life, I gave her a glimpse of my 'stroppy madam' mood and I answered her back. I don’t remember what was said between us or why but I regretted it immediately and braced myself for a slap. It didn’t come. Instead, she hugged me tight and I cried. Tears for being rude to my lovely nanna and tears for worrying about my mum.

“Where there’s life, there’s hope.” Nanna’s words spoke volumes. Sheila, my mum was her daughter. Nanna had already suffered the loss of a daughter, a child, before my mum was born. I wish I had half of her northern grit.

What I overheard at my mum’s funeral taught me about truth and about compassion. My relatives wanted to protect me, though deceiving me into false security was the outcome. It was with the best of intention, I can understand that. My importance of honesty in life-threatening situations is borne of that experience.

 My husband was very ill when our son was about twelve, maybe thirteen. The illness seemed never ending. He was in hospital for months, no diagnosis, no improvement. I’m sure our son thought long and hard before asking me if Dad was going to die. The situation was on his mind more than I realised.  I told him with total honesty, that until it was discovered what was wrong, we didn’t know what would happen, but we hoped Dad would pull through and I promised, I would always tell him the truth. My husband recovered, eventually, thank goodness. My children appreciated the truth.

 

A poem from Muhammad Ali,

 

The face of truth is open.

The eyes of truth are bright,

The lips of truth are ever closed,

The head of truth is upright.

 

The breast of truth stands forward,

The gaze of truth is straight,

Truth has neither fear nor doubt

Truth has patience to wait.

 

The words of truth are touching,

The voice of truth is deep,

The law of truth is simple:

All that you sow you reap.

 

The soul of truth is flaming,

The heart of truth is warm,

The mind of truth is clear,

And firm through rain or storm.

 

Facts are but its shadows,

Truth stands above all sin,

Great be the battle in life,

Truth in the end shall win.

 

The image of truth is Christ,

Wisdom's message its rod;

Sign of truth is the cross,

Soul of truth is God/

 

Life of truth is eternal,

Immortal is its past.

Power of truth will endure,

Truth shall hold to the last.

 

Muhammad Ali  (1942 - 2016)

 

 

Thanks for reading, Pam x

 

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Treatment

This week's theme is " Treatment". This may pertain to medical intervention, or how we regard or respect other people, animals or the environment.

Like Adele, I sought and used a second opinion some 39 years or so ago following a horrendous time suffering from ulcerative colitis, that would not respond to the treatment, which included high doses of Prednisolone tablets. The side effects of which proved to be worse than the disease ! So, being told at age 29 that part of my bowel would have to be removed, I sought an answer elsewhere. Homeopathic treatment was my choice , and following a strict dietary regime the symptoms disappeared within a week ! Now,if you know someone who has this disease the path I chose won't suit all - it's a fickle and individual disease, that can be very debilitating. I could write a book on the subject. Suffice to say that I have been in long term remission, due to the diet I follow, the three tablets I take daily and the relaxed lifestyle that I try and lead. ( Stress is a major factor). A successful treatment.

The treatment of people has been for me an acquired art. As I've got older I've put into place those manners and actions learned as a child , and try my utmost to treat everyone with respect. As a teacher I tried to be fair and honest....sometimes a very difficult set of attributions, given some circumstances!

The treatment of animals has always been to the forefront. I abhor cruelty of any kind. I even try and capture spiders and release them to the outside ! I adore dogs , but no longer have one as I appreciate at my age it would not be fair to take on a young dog. Besides which , although I do a lot of walking, the Lancashire fells are set aside for grouse shooting and dogs are not allowed, and I enjoy holidays away.

I had cats  (although I do not regard myself as a cat lover ) . The first had been my sons and the second was because my husband adored cats and missed the first one when she died. Now I have acquired a " visiting " cat . He owns me I don't own him ! I know the owner and she knows where he spends most of his time ! I guess he knows where he'll be treated kindly!

We should all treat the environment with respect. We are only custodians . It has been entrusted to us. And quite frankly mankind is not doing a very good job. It seems that after a catastrophe of some kind is when ' we' get concerned. Hunting animals to the edge of extinction and then suddenly waking up to the fact that they are disappearing . Exploiting the earth's resources and putting the brakes on at the last moment. Attempting to extract or capitalise on a resource without fully understanding the consequences ( or choosing to ignore them ).

As the song goes " when will they ever learn?"

Once again I've trawled through my archives and found this piece, that I think epitomises man's treatment of others.
   
War Orphan ( circa 1967)

Rejected, he stands looking down at his feet;
There hundreds of footprints lie in the snow,
But none of them stop before him.
He looks up at faces he doesn't know,
They glance at him and don't want to know.

The sky is grey, it reflects his mood:
Sad and sorry, in a world of strangers.
Nobody loves you, little boy,
And you have no one to love;
Someone must have loved you once,
And you must have loved once.

They shall take you where they like.
Who cares about your feelings ?
You are too young to have emotions-
Too young , they always say to you.
You are not too young to realise this-
Poor child, you are now homeless, parent less and friendless.

Thanks for reading, Kath.



 

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