Forever ~ A Poem

Psyche entering Cupid's Garden ~ Waterhouse

FOREVER

It is not for fame and fortune I would seek eternal life
I've tasted from the bitter cup, the sickness and the strife
And I so loathe a world where  hate and violence is rife.
No, not for these I long to stay for countless hours and days
But for the finer things of life and quieter, peaceful ways.

To hear the birdsong break the night and herald in the morning
See glistening dew on turf and bough just when the sun is dawning.
To stand in ancient ruins and dream what used to be
And muse on knights and ladies in an age of chivalry.

To wander on the seashore and watch the ocean roll
Stroll in sacred cloisters and hear a great bell toll
To listen to fine music and see great works of art
And hear young lovers whisper that they will never part.

To hold a newborn baby or see a stranger smile
Watch little children playing and linger for awhile.
Sit before a glowing fire, make pictures in the flame
To count the flowers one by one and know them all by name.

To smell the scent of new mown grass, taste strawberries and cream
See the landscape wet with rain or bathed in frosty gleam,
Wrap up Christmas presents and walk in deep new snow
To laugh and chat with loyal friends and share their joy and woe
These things all life my spirit high, I will be loathe to go.

To see Kingfisher's vivid blue beside a waterfall,
Hear the seabirds calling and gaze on mountains tall.
To walk knee deep in cornfields and see a mouse so small
To breathe deep of the Roses that hold me in their thrall.

For that is what hurts the most - the I will cease to be
And never view again the things I have so loved to see.
That I will never do again, what I have loved to do -
See twinkling stars on velvet skies and rainbow's heavenly hue.

For all the books I'll never read, the things I'll never say,
That is why I long to live forever and a day.
For all the things unknown to me, for wonders yet to be
That is why I yearn to live for all eternity.

                                                       Copyright JMO 1990

Gather Ye Rosebuds ~ Waterhouse

River Joke

Three men were hiking through a forest when they came upon a wide, violent, raging river.  Needing to get to the other side, the first man prayed -

"God, please give me the strength to cross the river."

Flash!!!  God have him big arms and strong legs and he was able to swim across in about two hours, having almost drowned twice.

After witnessing what the first man did, the second man prayed -

"God, please give me the strength and the tools to cross the river."

Flash!!! God gave him a rowboat and two strong arms and legs and he was able to row across in about an hour after almost capsizing once.

On seeing what had happened to the first two men, the third man prayed

"God, please give me the strength, the tools and the intelligence to cross the river."

Flash!!!  He was turned into a woman. She checked the map, hiked one hundred yards upstream and walked across the bridge.

Killer Fog

Houses Of Parliament, London - Sun Breaking Through Fog ~ Monet.

I had several comments from American friends yesterday stating that they did not know about fires and fogs so I have decided to use this as my journal entry today.

Most people, reading a book or seeing a film that features Fog in London would see it as romantic.  It conjures up pictures of Sherlock Holmes, Hansom Cabs, cobbled streets, gaslight. On the other hand, one could picture Jack The Ripper stalking the filthy alleys of Whitechapel in search of a hapless victim, blood running into the gutters and an aura of fear pervading the streets.

With the coming of the Industrial Revolution, every big city in the United Kingdom began experiencing fogs. The ones that covered London were known as "London Particulars" or "Pea Soupers". Factory chimneys were belching out smoke all the time and the normal method of heating homes was the coal fire. People came to accept pollution as part of everyday life. Many thousands must have had their lives shortened by it. The fogs came in various colours, they could be brown, reddish-yellow or greenish.

As the years passed, the fogs got worse, usually beginning in November and going on through December. The coming of the really cold weather and snow would see them off.  Nothing was done about them. They were just part of life in the cities. It was not realised that man himself was adding to the problem.

Came December 1952, the month and year of the last killer fog to hit London.  It was thick and yellow, not romantic and misty.  It was acrid,  it stank of sulphur, it burned your eyes and made them water, it stung your nose and your throat. Conditions all combined to make it the worse fog known.  A warm air front had settled over the Thames valley bringing the fog.  The fog covered everything like a thick blanket and trapped beneath it the smoke from millions of coal fires that burned in peoples' homes. To make matters worse, there were three power stations situated in populous areas of the City that were also pouring out smoke.

In the early 1950's, Britain was on the verge of bankruptcy. To help the economy, the government was exporting the best coal overseas.  Britons had to contend with burning poorer and much smokier coal on their own fires.

So, came the fog.  I remember it very well. I walked in it.  Life had to go on.  My mother dared not go out because a couple of years earlier she had almost died from pleurisy, so any errands that had to be done were done by me.  We had to wear face masks and it was an unearthly experience trying to find your way through this oppressive and deadly barrier to get to any local shop that was open.

I remember the silence.  Everything was muffled, everything stilled.  The visibility was so bad, particularly at night, that you could walk into someone without ever knowing that they were there.  Transport was nearly at a standstill.  Vehicles that were on the road had to be led by someone carrying a flare or a torch.

You could not escape it, it entered homes down chimneys, through cracks in window frames, under doors, it was a creeping, lethal menace. It turned the net curtains a filthy yellowy-brown, it left a grey film on everything  If you blew your nose or coughed, this horrible black stuff would come forth. Those with weak respiratory systems, the very young, the elderly - they literally suffocated to death, their lips slowly turning blue.  Ambulances could not reach the suffering, what ambulances could get onto the streets had to crawl at a snails pace.

People had no choice, they just had to make the best of it and try and continue their daily lives as best they could. Theatres were closed because not only could people not reach them but if they did, they would not be able to see the actors on the stage so thick was the acrid curtain.

Onething made it bearable  - people helped each other. Whether it was the camaraderie left over from the war or that disasters of any kind bring people together is debatable, but you did not have to feel fear when outside. Not the fear that a woman or child might experience now when out in the dark.  I remember once seeing a faint light coming towards me. I could just make it out with my streaming eyes but did not see the person behind it.  I crashed headlong into this gentleman who was coming from the opposite direction.  He was carrying a torch.  He took me by the hand and lead me safely home, going completely out of his way.

The fog lasted for four or five days before eventually dispersing.  During that time around 4,000 people died  from breathing problems. In the following four months another 12,000 people died. The government has always tried to play down these figures.

It was obvious that something must be done. So came the Clean Air Act.  Factory regulations were tightened. People had to burn smokless fuel on their fires. The fogs continued until the early 1960's but to a lesser degree and never again did the killer fog strike London.

Now we have the arrival of smog.  With the heavy traffic density and "global warming" London is now getting subject to smogs although not on the scale of some American cities. 

It was an experience, one that is engraved on my mind, one I shall never forget, but I pray to God that we never again see the like of the killer fog of '52

* Here is recipe for a warming winter soup named after the fogs*

London Particular

Half an ounce of butter

2 ounces of bacon rashers, rinded and chopped

One medium onion, skinned and roughly chopped

One medium carrot, diced.

One celery stick, chopped

One pound dried split peas

4 pints stock (can be chicken or ham or even vegetable)

Salt andpepper

4 Tablespoons of natural yoghourt

Choppped grilled bacon and croutons to garnish.

1.  Melt the butter in a large saucepan. Add the bacon, onion, carrot and celery and cook for 5-10 minutes, until beginning to soften.

2.  Add the peas and stock and bring to the boil, then cover and simmer for one hour, until the peas are soft.

3.  Allow to cool slightly, then puree in a blender or food processor until smooth.

4.  Return the soup to the pan.  Season to taste, add the yoghourt and reheat gently.  Serve hot, garnished with chopped grilled bacon and croutons.

Autumn

Autumn Leaves ~ by Millais

This picture sums up Autumn for me. The turning of the leaves, the beautiful colours. It reminds me of sweeping up the Autumn leaves when I was young, of walks in the woods ankle deep in the fallings from the trees and of how they crackled and snapped under foot. It reminds me of gathering Conkers and watching Squirrels hide nuts.

It reminds me of misty mornings and a warm bed. It signals the drawing in of the nights and the approach of winter. It reminds me of hot drinks and sitting around the fire exchanging stories.

It takes me back to raking up the fallen leaves when I was young and putting them into a neat pile under cover to save for burning on Bonfire Night along with other garden waste, pieces of old wood , in fact anything that would make a good fire.  Bonfires were common in those days and not just on Guy Fawkes night.  It was how everyone dispensed with lots of rubbish.  I used to love standing by a big bonfire, watching the leaping flames, listening to the crackling and  spitting and sometimes almost being stifled by smoke.  There are no bonfires like that anymore.  Anti-pollution laws have made them almost a thing of the past and they could be annoying when a particular neighbour always used to light one during the day making all the lines of washing reek of smoke or driving you from your garden.  There is no doubt that with nearly every household having bonfires they added greatly to the terrible fogs and smogs we used to get before the Clean Air Act. You had to experience on of those to understand. I remember the last very bad one.  It is estimated that it killed between three or four thousand people. You literally could not see your hand in front of your face. The fog even got into the houses through cracks and tiny crevices. The net curtains would turn a dirty yellow/brown seemingly overnight, people had to wear face masks and the country almost came to a standstill for days on end. It seemed it would never stop, we would never see daylight again.

Today, barbecues have taken the place of bonfires. I wonder if it is because something primal in people needs to see and experience fire.

Yet, there was something magical about bonfires.  Seeing the faces of you family illuminated by the light of the fire and how they smiled to watch the small inferno. My Father turning the burning pile to keep it going and me staying outside until almost the last flicker then returning indoors to be warmed by a hot cup of tea or cocoa or something delicious to eat.

The leaves have turned colour here late this year and are still hanging on but the rain is now bringing them down like showers of confetti and the first frost will see the end of them.

Autumn, the time when Summer sheds it memories and goes to bed to gather energy for re-awakening in the Spring.

Lighting The Candle Of Hope

This candle of hope was lit by Angel for all of us.  There is a lovely prayer that accompanies this candle. It can be found at " A Lil' Country Charm" (link on the left).  She has kindly offered that everyone can take a candle to display on their journal for hope and healing for all those in J-Land.  Let us keep this candle burning.  Please go and read the prayer and take a candle of your choice and keep the flame burning for all of us, whatever our troubles might be.

And now, another of my poems.  It seems just right for today.

FRIENDSHIP

Friendship is the voice on the phone
When you are sad and all alone.
Friendship is the clasp of an outstretched hand,
It is the smiling face, the warm embrace.
Secrets whispered, not to be revealed
A lasting union that is forever sealed.
Faults accepted, arguments withstood
Harsh words sometimes, taking bad with good.
Ebbing and flowing like the tide
But ever there
To share each joy, each hope, each care -
Friendship, like a murmured prayer,
Binding us together, you and I
Until we die.

                                             Copyright

 

I had so many lovely comments on "our boys" yesterday. Thank you all. So, here is how they look now -

Pip And The Pup

We have always had two dogs.  We acquired our Pip when Bonnie and Brandy were very old, so, at one time we had three. We lost Brandy and Bonnie was very lonely and went into a quick decline.  So, we bought a puppy, a Border Collie we called Pip because we had "great expectations " of him.  He did not let us down.  Bonnie immediately treated him as her own and he gave her a new lease of life.  Her tired old legs actually wanted to run again.  They chased each other over the fields for ages.  It was wonderful to see and even the vet was amazed at her "second life" which lasted another three years.  Inevitably the end came and there was just Pip.  Of course, we spoiled him terribly to make up for his loss as well as ours.

He would still love to chase around the fields but often he would stop and look around as if searching for his old friend. We looked for another Collie to keep him company but nobody seemed to have them.  Naturally, we spoiled him even more.

So, Pip got to the age of five before we one day heard of some Pups that were available.  We had found out very late and by the time we rang, there was only one left, a tri-colour male.  Hubby went to see him. I gave him strict instructions not to bring the pup home if it was not what we were looking for. I was worried about having two male dogs anyway as I had heard they would fight and not get on and Pip had been on his own for a long time. We had also hoped to get another long-coated dog.

I was doing the washing up when he arrived home carrying a cardboard box.  I could not believe my eyes when I opened the box.  This bedraggled little scrap, soaking from where it had wet itself with fright.  He was short-coated, tiny and looked like a rat. My immediate reaction was that he was not for us!!!!  However, pity overcame me so I took him out and washed him and wrapped him in a fluffy towel.  He licked my hand. I was almost won over.  Then I held him up to have a good look at him.  His golden eyes looked steadily into mine and then his pink tongue gave my face an enormous lick.  That sealed it.  I could not let him go.  So, Jester (Jess or Jesse) came into our lives.  But, would it work?

Pip had only really known Bonnie, our cross-colliebitch whilst he was growing up.  We placed them in the same room.  Pip wandered over and gave a quick sniff and then walked off. Well, at least there was not trouble.

The following day we allowed them into the garden together. Pip wandering around his usual haunts with the pup on his heels all the time.  We decided to leave them to it for a few minutes. A while later, having looked out of the window, I shouted to Mike to grab the camera. He raced out and took the following picture which has always been one of my favourite photos.  As you can see, we need not have worried. They had bonded.  They are the greatest of friends and play for hours with each other. Pip will be 9 in December and Jess is 4.  They are both very special to us.  They are "our boys."  I think you will find this picture as charming as I do.

P.S. Thinking of my friend Sandra, she of Sandra's Scribbles who has just lost her beloved Labrador, Hannah, and has posted a moving entry to Hannah on her journal. If you would like to leave a message, you will find her link on the left.

More Local Pics

This is where our daughter lives.  It is about six miles from us.

The first two are different views of some cottages which are just next to the river. Built in 1758.

Below is one of the two pubs.  Originally just called "The Smugglers", it has been renamed as you can see. It fronts directly onto the river so the views are lovely. This area was rife for smuggling because of the river and its many creeks.

Now for two shots of the river -

In Elizabethan times there used to be a wooden bridge across the river.  This was much later replaced with a ferry but both are long gone now.

And finally

Because I like Swans!