tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-56396853220462905172024-02-18T21:41:08.085-08:00Witterings of Lucy the Bard Witterings and adventures of a family emigrating from Australia to England.
Lucy Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09214272515888933388noreply@blogger.comBlogger114125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5639685322046290517.post-456976857033635782023-09-26T03:48:00.003-07:002023-09-26T03:48:14.981-07:00Visiting Albania!!!!!!!!!!<p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">We ended our trip back in Tirana and were all surprised to find that we liked the city much more on our return. I'm not sure why, though I think the cocktail bar at the Opera house may have helped. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Incidentally, was a little shocked by the Opera house itself. I went into the foyer to see if there was anything going on - there were no posters, nothing to advertise any concerts. When I interruprted the conversation of the three girls behind the desk to ask if they had a brochure, was thrown a photocopied list of concerts - none of which were Opera, that would be happening before Christmas - and there wasn't much. Handing back the brochure, none of them even glanced my way or returned my goodbyes.I don't get the impression that the arts are keen to advertise, sadly.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">So, with my vast experience of an eight day trip to Albania - I keep thinking it was ten days, but it took a day to get there and a day to get back, thank you Lufthansa - I will proceed to pontificate as though I know it well. Or at least, for others planning a similar holiday, I can offer up a few tips in no particular order. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">1.It is pronounced Albanya and you will get strange looks if you pronounce it Al-bane-eeya as we did to begin with. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">2.Don't expect to lose weight, even if you are hauling massive rucksacks up vertical hills for 30 minutes. The food is too good. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">3. Yes, it's cheap, but only depending on what you want to do there. Food is cheap unless you insist on ordering the most expensive items off the menu a la Rupert. <br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">4. Take water shoes with you.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">5. Prepare to be very relaxed over bus schedules.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">6. Take cash - euros are often accepted instead of Albanian Lek, but cash is accepted more than card.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">7. Try and be fit if you plan to visit castles.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">8. Be relaxed about smoking in restaurants, it's just different.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">9. Take buses if you can, rather than hire a car. Unless you end up taking a lot of taxis because you have missed the bus, it is very cheap and you end up feeling like you've had a more authentic experience - you can sit back, enjoy the scenery and you are still immersed in the Albanian experience. Even if you end up taking taxis, I reckon you've probably spread your money around a bit more, which I like to think is better than paying it straight to Avis or Herz or other.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">10. Don't expect food to come in any particular order - even if the menu has starters and main courses listed, the food seems to come out a plateful at a time, whenever it is ready. But it doesn't matter.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">11. Like cheese.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">12. No flushing loo roll - like Greece. I'd like to say you get used to it...<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">13. Go. And have a wonderful time.</span><br /></p>Lucy Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09214272515888933388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5639685322046290517.post-34551550325990617352023-09-22T06:18:00.002-07:002023-09-22T06:18:43.965-07:00White Water Rafting with a Kitten<p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Our last stop in Albania was Permet - and our journey was a bit of a disaster, partly because, for some reason, we still believed in the online bus timetable at that point. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Having just missed a bus from Ksamil to Saranda, we panicked and got a taxi instead, as our bus was due to leave in just over half an hour. We thought. Which meant that we arrived in Sarande to find that the bus to Gjirokaster didn't leave for another hour and a half - plenty of time to determine the fact that Saranda was infinitely nicer than Ksamil, with a wide esplanade planted with palms and banana trees and boats rocking idly in the glittering blue water. There are even the ruins of a Roman something-or-other fenced into the central park. We toyed with the idea of staying on for a bit longer at the coast - Lydia wanted more beach time, but decided instead to head to Permet which we had been told was the "jewel in Albania's crown," and how can you miss out on that? </span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Bus to Gjirokaster arrived half an hour early, only for us to find that the onward bus to Permet was not till 7am the next morning. So it was taxi again - the most terrifying journey I have been on, the driver driving at at least 150 miles per hour, whilst shouting at people on his mobile and zipping around hairpin bends up and down the mountains. I am assured that the scenery was amazing, but I have to take that on trust. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Permet. Unlike the Berats and Gjirokasters of this world - or, indeed, Albania - Permet does not have a charming old town from a gazillion years ago, or a castle of any sort. It is, however, a clean, modern town where they have done their best to contrast the horrible old communist buildings with wide, stone, tree lined streets and is framed on one side by the green beauty of Vjosa river and on the other by the rising of dark, rugged mountains. On arrival, against my better instincts, we booked ourselves a white water rafting experience for the next day and then there wasn't much tie for anything else. We ate one of the best meals of our lives and retired to our spanking new, but tasteful, guest house where a family of four kittens frolicked in the garden and where we were serenaded by some local folk musicians who appeared to be having a spontaneous jam session - accordion, drum/singer and clarinet. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Got up bright and early the next day, feasted on the massive spread of food which Albanians seem to think we foreigners need for breakfast - cheese, bread, omelets, fruit, the inevitable tomatoes and cucumber, fritters the size of a baby's head - and set off for the rafting, me quaking in my boots. I'm a wuss at the best of times and my impression of white water rafting was of teams of antipodean youths with a death wish flinging themselves down Niagra falls in nothing but an outsize flipflop - a thong for any Australian friends reading this. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">It wasn't quite like that.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Apart from us, there was a busload of middle aged Bulgarians, none of whom could understand the safety instructions, but didn't admit to it until after lecture. Two large, sturdy looking rafts, with a professional on each one. And - wait for it - a kitten. Gingy, a tiny, mewing scrap of ginger fur had been found in the river a couple of weeks ago and adopted by the American woman, Stacy, who was working for the rafting company. Since she spends the best part of each day on the water, she decided to take Gingy with her, rather than leave him at home - and I have to say that I couldn't help thinking that if a kitten could survive a white water rafting experience, than I probably could too. Gingy spent the bus ride to our take-off point, climbing all over the passengers, trying to burrow into their hair and mewing at us all with his big, pathetic green eyes wide and scared. But once on the water, tucked into Lydia's life jacket, he calmed down, purring and giving every appearance of contentment as we sped downstream - as did I. Well, I didn't purr, but you know what I mean. Actually, I may have purred, I felt like it. Turns out that rafting was more like a gentle stroll in the park, the "rapids" being nothing more than a bobbing and plopping over rocks, the sight of the green water gleaming in the sunshine as it spooled through the tree gorged channel of rock, mountains soaring either side of us, Elgar and Bach and Tchaikovsky in the form of nature. When we came to the end, after only two hours, it was hard to get out of the boat and get back on a bus again.*</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwKIGAwSuHoksQ0MUzuihb2GDL1CD1D7-FsxY8McW4XtWFqzSyqe85Y9QuR9_V9yqxR_GQXdq9NK6rrfenURiYumylYDY7Wx2UgXEx5MSPF2F2HSzbc9f_57k1vxpiv4r4-oMDDZ5P-wIHN60KbMcS2XyiwWKJaHVZc9Lg7EssAt2wnhORTfftvX3DCsI/s2048/Lydia%20with%20kitten.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwKIGAwSuHoksQ0MUzuihb2GDL1CD1D7-FsxY8McW4XtWFqzSyqe85Y9QuR9_V9yqxR_GQXdq9NK6rrfenURiYumylYDY7Wx2UgXEx5MSPF2F2HSzbc9f_57k1vxpiv4r4-oMDDZ5P-wIHN60KbMcS2XyiwWKJaHVZc9Lg7EssAt2wnhORTfftvX3DCsI/s320/Lydia%20with%20kitten.jpg" width="240" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip3i0gM12jaIseaiz3CdhYSmjIYsGEUCs1ofFF61ftWcOSU0bAAhy38V6uLMuV0X7FYmO-VitNerlFv9fJE8SPPT-gdT3haVkvQcg4i7JKqjnhVF-28zvLdeJ9h4LM1Nsrpv756mTQWLGwOaXK96tJ7mpjVN1z1VFhX04H4OXEDNPnqDHTar2GSlb0fqM/s2048/Canyon%20Permet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="946" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip3i0gM12jaIseaiz3CdhYSmjIYsGEUCs1ofFF61ftWcOSU0bAAhy38V6uLMuV0X7FYmO-VitNerlFv9fJE8SPPT-gdT3haVkvQcg4i7JKqjnhVF-28zvLdeJ9h4LM1Nsrpv756mTQWLGwOaXK96tJ7mpjVN1z1VFhX04H4OXEDNPnqDHTar2GSlb0fqM/s320/Canyon%20Permet.jpg" width="148" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJQc1nqCwz3yYRwP2OiAdgVdH-jbg04LHouWg1VoafPaA7aGK83CSS78U66jkeJwXMJ38b1gkW9t_utrH92OVsSGGyQlhaWax45M3Prh0bkpo97iJekM1YHcvOplYyzVfGORwrtkURY9TptT9jGuzoeHvOmpifGi9qV9LFxNmO0CZ_4wUoQWWElicJJVg/s2048/us%20three%20smiling.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJQc1nqCwz3yYRwP2OiAdgVdH-jbg04LHouWg1VoafPaA7aGK83CSS78U66jkeJwXMJ38b1gkW9t_utrH92OVsSGGyQlhaWax45M3Prh0bkpo97iJekM1YHcvOplYyzVfGORwrtkURY9TptT9jGuzoeHvOmpifGi9qV9LFxNmO0CZ_4wUoQWWElicJJVg/s320/us%20three%20smiling.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">After our courageous fight with the Vjosa river, we headed out to the thermal baths - another canyon where there are natural springs which are said to have healing powers - some for your kidneys, some for your liver, one for your skin. The Ottomans built a very fine bridge here "at the turn of the 18th century" Whether they built it because they wanted a bridge to cross the river or whether they built it because they couldn't think of anything that could be more picturesque, I'm not sure, blending into the stone of the surroundings, but giving a focal point through which you can gaze at more mountain and river views. </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoCQ-uWusyxEq8xWsYyJqiYA16M05yqfbuyr7g5mFkhPFbcSRR2kjlzrD0qJl5tPSS1lN5B3jXKeHBbnpL_6NFZR-FPrHOqBg8JpQ5zEb7iaj9sMoJSPw8UVJnt5rQEIAE_B0rpvqstbsElbLL80BX_x7cLChC-edhxloarAHcIVTeyP_D9D1NDo7oids/s2048/bridge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="946" data-original-width="2048" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoCQ-uWusyxEq8xWsYyJqiYA16M05yqfbuyr7g5mFkhPFbcSRR2kjlzrD0qJl5tPSS1lN5B3jXKeHBbnpL_6NFZR-FPrHOqBg8JpQ5zEb7iaj9sMoJSPw8UVJnt5rQEIAE_B0rpvqstbsElbLL80BX_x7cLChC-edhxloarAHcIVTeyP_D9D1NDo7oids/s320/bridge.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">We walked a little way down the canyon - note to self:bring proper water shoes next time we go to Albania - soaked in either a kidney or liver pool, I'm not sure which. The one thing I do know is that it stank of rotten eggs so presumably it must have been good for us, eh? Then on to another pool which is a warm 25 degrees all the year round - the locals come and soak in here in the winter, whilst taking in the views of the snowy mountain peaks around them apparently. ( I'm sure the view of fields round Adstock is just as nice...) Then back to guest house for hot shower and lots of soap where we emerged only smelling slightly rank for another amazing Albanian meal.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">And to think we nearly stayed in Saranda!</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">* On this page is a very rare photo where there are three members of our family all smiling and looking happy AT THE SAME TIME. And it was not done with photoshop, I promise. So is worthy of posting in spite of my fat legs. Sorry.</span><br /></p>Lucy Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09214272515888933388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5639685322046290517.post-52992531897039256592023-09-20T07:14:00.004-07:002023-09-20T07:14:53.209-07:00Ksamil and Butrint<p> <span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Next on the trail after Gjirokaster for any self respecting tourist, is the Blue Eye - a stunning natural spring set in national parkland between Gjirokaster and Ksamil. </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjRlNRR-iTG91iiNQxOVrTGE5ytJ0dKuwN34XzNuNoqRHIGJCIWVsaMOqVj-ZVtCYFHXJLCi2PvTJyHMIIf2MTNQXRMvvOtuXvi9gW77X6mGFCJsMj8KpiLTCfGy0PDZQXTrM7NZmstwMxseY852Q0E93WFLAFEilBbnR5lXtxyafmOjCPontzHils7ls/s2048/Blue%20eye%202.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="946" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjRlNRR-iTG91iiNQxOVrTGE5ytJ0dKuwN34XzNuNoqRHIGJCIWVsaMOqVj-ZVtCYFHXJLCi2PvTJyHMIIf2MTNQXRMvvOtuXvi9gW77X6mGFCJsMj8KpiLTCfGy0PDZQXTrM7NZmstwMxseY852Q0E93WFLAFEilBbnR5lXtxyafmOjCPontzHils7ls/s320/Blue%20eye%202.jpg" width="148" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">This could have been a bit of a let down; it is a bit of a walk from the massive car park and then one finds oneself at the site of the river along with, it seems, the rest of humanity. One is well behaved and patient thought, so, along with everyone else, one follows the path, single file, before climbing up to a deck built over the Spring itself, where the water bubbles up, electric blue before flowing into the river where it is painted neon green by water weed at the edges. Swimming is banned, but in spite of the fact that there were innumerable signs to point this out, people were still swimming, squealing and shouting in the icy water, dogs running around, leaping in and out of the river and shaking themselves off next to one, barking and whimpering all the while; the air is filled with the music of cicadas - and motorbikes revving their engines, electric scooters whizzing past; but in spite of all this, it really is a place of wonder, the colours so rich and deep that they must surely belong to a world of enchantment. If ever a golden ball was dropped into a pool and brought forth by a frog, this was the place for it. The water looks as though it has the consistency of jelly - the colour too, to be honest, and if you can find a place just to sit and stare, then do. </span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUd-lBVgqkU_Zep2R9mp2zDupxRAd2QlWOAtcjLSlrulxza6vPPK-p3CmaaTjgGieQQAdfWng8SWSgUdSFlW-hgc_I0pcB-VHL6IAkpGg6kOz1UODoPPDlkZ4CXK_-7bsXZeCfAcz9EnwJ4NeZPw6i9J8DUi5aakCakEpPBfOdA1MrqzQKw0p5vBwrqwU/s2048/Blue%20eye.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="946" data-original-width="2048" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUd-lBVgqkU_Zep2R9mp2zDupxRAd2QlWOAtcjLSlrulxza6vPPK-p3CmaaTjgGieQQAdfWng8SWSgUdSFlW-hgc_I0pcB-VHL6IAkpGg6kOz1UODoPPDlkZ4CXK_-7bsXZeCfAcz9EnwJ4NeZPw6i9J8DUi5aakCakEpPBfOdA1MrqzQKw0p5vBwrqwU/s320/Blue%20eye.jpg" width="320" /></a>After spending some time sitting and staring, we then took a taxi to Ksamil, where we had booked a place for a couple of nights. Now, I don't want to upset anyone for whom Ksamil is home, but I'm afraid that, in my humble opinion, it is not the most beautiful part of Albania. I suspect that in a few years it will be a lot nicer, but at the moment there is a lot of building work going on so that lovely modern houses with bougainvillea filled gardens stand next to empty lots strewn with stinking rubbish and rusty wire. There is a plethora of restaurants and cafes, an abundance of shops selling rows of multi coloured blow up animals and beachwear, a copiousness (yes, this is a word, I looked it up) of gas stations and, as we found elsewhere, a huge quantity of the glowing green crosses or serpents of pharmacies. Every second person in Albania must be employed by the pharmaceutical industry, is all I can think...What was possibly once a beautiful coastline is split into private beaches, each sporting a cramming of beach umbrellas and pumping out disco remixes of awful-in-the-first-place songs - for which you have to pay an average of 10 euros. When we went to Sarande, the next big town, en route to our next stop, we found that it had the esplanade and centre that Ksamil sadly lacks and it would have been better to stay there, rather than trust the "sleepy village" description of the internet, but that's all part of the adventure isn't it? It doesn't help that we have been spoiled from living in Australia so long, with our pick of white sanded, nearly empty beaches.* However, we did not go to Ksamil for the scenery or for the beaches. We went as it is a good place from whence to visit Butrint - an old marshy site just over a thin strip of glittering water from Corfu. ** For me this was almost the most exciting part as I have never been to Corfu but was, of course, the land of my all time hero, the brilliant writer Gerald Durrell. So I had my own little moment of giving thanks for his weird, thwarted, generous, brilliant soul.<br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">It was here on this spit of land that, according to legend, a couple of refugees from Troy started a new colony, which later became home to the Greeks, the Romans and the Venetians before becoming a bishopric, with associated churches etc. It was eventually abandoned due to the fact that it was sinking into the marshes, but there is still much to be seen - an old amphitheatre complete with delightful Roman turtles and the remains of many houses and temples. One of the best mosaics is buried to keep it safe, but there is a picture so you pretend you have seen it. The whole place has a wonderful, Cair Paravel mystic quality to it and must have been a wonderful place to live with a view of the sea and the green hills of Corfu, albeit rather irritating, I guess, if one had to swim to bed. </span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbFQp45XxrS4W1DXRQwWJNGxZFjIAN4MC7q8I1tbN35_5oeeHYKJIHoXyfqqFn2R9DKZUfsQRmiMwNDwZBL2erNzhzW-_1IuBVSCt9oQZMiADBR3x4o_SmSTJWzcaA4J63Z1sfc3No6H97VO0rojX8cuRPdyFPghrzIEPJ-comj0scTZKya3cmJtj5LIA/s2048/Butrint%202.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="945" data-original-width="2048" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbFQp45XxrS4W1DXRQwWJNGxZFjIAN4MC7q8I1tbN35_5oeeHYKJIHoXyfqqFn2R9DKZUfsQRmiMwNDwZBL2erNzhzW-_1IuBVSCt9oQZMiADBR3x4o_SmSTJWzcaA4J63Z1sfc3No6H97VO0rojX8cuRPdyFPghrzIEPJ-comj0scTZKya3cmJtj5LIA/w320-h148/Butrint%202.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHhNCrwlhT4h9wNFV-izn5zsvU8oKXjUjLsWJAq9dGDXSFcNA4kxLL7Hiih_TSKPOHYFQz8yxX56pYxxAIe1237ZBl23hxZQMXupI_gQzxSvZMxdEI2F-P-1Q_SRfIMOb1esqkaNWedHQJHMfX9ahreJ5xiUs_n5uru9iJUXiWvGbJWyAoUTvPBK8OHes/s2048/Terrapins.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="946" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHhNCrwlhT4h9wNFV-izn5zsvU8oKXjUjLsWJAq9dGDXSFcNA4kxLL7Hiih_TSKPOHYFQz8yxX56pYxxAIe1237ZBl23hxZQMXupI_gQzxSvZMxdEI2F-P-1Q_SRfIMOb1esqkaNWedHQJHMfX9ahreJ5xiUs_n5uru9iJUXiWvGbJWyAoUTvPBK8OHes/s320/Terrapins.jpg" width="148" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">* a busy beach in Australia, equates to empty n Europe. Unless you're in Wales. Or maybe Iceland. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">** oh how we laughed when we got texts welcoming us to Greece when we visited Butrint. Oh how we didn't laugh when we missed the bus and had to wait for another hour and then didn't think we had time for another swim because our phones were still on Greek time and not </span>the hour-earlier-Albanian time.<br /></p><p></p>Lucy Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09214272515888933388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5639685322046290517.post-8351175272641258882023-09-17T05:42:00.001-07:002023-09-17T05:42:34.410-07:00Gjirokaster<p> Another three hour bus journey from Berat - though it was quicker than that, which was a good thing since we were crammed in, with five people sitting in a row between the seats.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjheAtW2KV02IqgZxBqxvkpo4yZQ51MM4-U-H6sOG8cBhSBQymqTZ-evA_ULE1EBWufUMARmibqJyCm_dbt5F_rJnbP4uL7bw1HHpovcuUzNtHLHGMaFVFLXEbLUPfh1_JHjR0YQJ8h7OzgzaDsiv4B-SJs3hQ8kAs_aY-5siQzrjL1Bn4euRHoiGyT6ho/s2048/bus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="946" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjheAtW2KV02IqgZxBqxvkpo4yZQ51MM4-U-H6sOG8cBhSBQymqTZ-evA_ULE1EBWufUMARmibqJyCm_dbt5F_rJnbP4uL7bw1HHpovcuUzNtHLHGMaFVFLXEbLUPfh1_JHjR0YQJ8h7OzgzaDsiv4B-SJs3hQ8kAs_aY-5siQzrjL1Bn4euRHoiGyT6ho/s320/bus.jpg" width="148" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>Gjirokaster old town - where we were staying, is at the top of a very steep hill. The bus dropped us off at the bottom of said hill. It was a day rich in humidity and by the time we had hauled our rucksacks up hill, I was not a pretty sight, though I did manage to irritate Lydia by singing "I love to go a-wandering," most of the way up. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTk_3ZqOXmCVkD743tyjNrl_gYL9vJg6k0cvi-5uAKJKQ2AV2dkAKfrMhOGlByeAyYr9fj3bOfm2zqWdqUDnk3clFcibp1jl3feg9KCeWfcQ9L9nV8lWKDDTBJH5jcFX7vs6a5LMq_6YA2yMPczWi3gYKP7gceC3iQf20YyxFYSagYjnnCHMduJX5rnS0/s2048/half%20way%20up%20hill.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="946" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTk_3ZqOXmCVkD743tyjNrl_gYL9vJg6k0cvi-5uAKJKQ2AV2dkAKfrMhOGlByeAyYr9fj3bOfm2zqWdqUDnk3clFcibp1jl3feg9KCeWfcQ9L9nV8lWKDDTBJH5jcFX7vs6a5LMq_6YA2yMPczWi3gYKP7gceC3iQf20YyxFYSagYjnnCHMduJX5rnS0/s320/half%20way%20up%20hill.jpg" width="148" /></a></div><br />Luckily, our guest house had the most incredible views so it was all worth it <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUWR3kDyHlzhJAiLEeq1-lIki-vq4CzjeuuKXP556yEU2ow5vZXeoUwRqhLHS0L2NfzsceS2qxgkFJanx47yCWfY81nG5TwbMRk8V7nZ8I0MVli9MrFScy1MAUn0qPuekd36MAmxJhoC5qrG7cSRkbiMV-GFY3yO0iEfzCYx7gPFWypbts2USP9NsXJ_Y/s2048/view%202.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="946" data-original-width="2048" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUWR3kDyHlzhJAiLEeq1-lIki-vq4CzjeuuKXP556yEU2ow5vZXeoUwRqhLHS0L2NfzsceS2qxgkFJanx47yCWfY81nG5TwbMRk8V7nZ8I0MVli9MrFScy1MAUn0qPuekd36MAmxJhoC5qrG7cSRkbiMV-GFY3yO0iEfzCYx7gPFWypbts2USP9NsXJ_Y/s320/view%202.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />and a quick shower later we were out on the streets wandering the Old Bazaar. Whether the old bazaar really is an old bazaar or a tourist confection I'm not sure, but it is a lovely area of four of five pedestrianised streets running up and down hill, each one lined with cafes and bars and shops selling mostly tat - crockery, bags, cushion covers and rugs in traditional patterns, earrings and hideous statues of Mother Theresa, you know the sort of thing. Most of the restaurants served "traditional" food, which is very Mediterranean - vine leaves, stuffed egg plants, Greek salads, lots of liver on the menus (yum). There seemed to be a lot of casseroles and one particular - lamb yogurt casserole which was amazing, though not helping me in my ponderings on whether to become vegetarian or not. <p></p><p>The following day we did as many tourist things as we could, starting with the Castle. The Castle in Gjirokaster is very different to the one in Berat - there is no doubt that this was a fortress, one that was heavily attacked and defended over the years - starting from before the 12th century. Probably its most famous inhabitant was Ali Pasha, who was a delightful man, and friend of Byron, who liked slaughtering people. The Nazis also built a prison within the castle where unspeakable things went on, so it is a mixed bag of sobering lessons, stairs which lead to bat filled caves, vaulted, shadowy ceilings, intriguing dark corners and tunnels impregnated with a myriad stories and emotions, and all, of course, in the midst of views of blue painted mountains which make you want to weep with the beauty of it all. in the centre of the castle, where once was a small village, there is now a big green and a stage where folk festivals are held and this is a wonder of modern design, a web of orange and purple and gold thread over a black frame, so stark a juxtaposition that it works beautifully!<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP6KENOmBqXGc0V4OgjD9a3eDR0NYJCoebeD8OBFD-Nv2jHaLzD8QSwC2gBKKlXZGjzv1xt3R8NHEEXbfFKT09kOR7nvG1jc-Y4pydNEJvNR4-vbGJP9-5EOo6lDfBgcD71ssBe46ieoGFCvtwe6BvvcCtqPEnKrLnnSF9rVlDzBRdR6uyWhiHJdS6bfc/s2048/view%20with%20stage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="946" data-original-width="2048" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP6KENOmBqXGc0V4OgjD9a3eDR0NYJCoebeD8OBFD-Nv2jHaLzD8QSwC2gBKKlXZGjzv1xt3R8NHEEXbfFKT09kOR7nvG1jc-Y4pydNEJvNR4-vbGJP9-5EOo6lDfBgcD71ssBe46ieoGFCvtwe6BvvcCtqPEnKrLnnSF9rVlDzBRdR6uyWhiHJdS6bfc/s320/view%20with%20stage.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Apart from the Castle, there are two beautiful old houses in Gjirokaster - one, Zekate house, built in 1811, the other, Skenduli, in 1723. Both are beautiful examples of traditional Albanian architecture and a welcome relief from the communist housing and both with views to die for. Skenduli house has an entire room, apparently dedicated solely to weddings and its neon pink and green stained glass windows are staggeringly modern looking. I would be happy to live in either, (with the addition of modern toilets), but am not a millionaire. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIYLdV-qC7tBpgEPcaROAVH1Jyg5UoP6Ru6n4LOv-apzcktqfeB_5clO7kMVPDXEfpdVqOjmKrbMP4gd_fvt_KKeGQ4pAOJWCiM5-bjy-D2hSICv8s5WKbKX9HHjzBS8bFZuad3rxgdVoZ-5Nc6-ZsTebMo19CtCBzPecFapRGU8rYxLi2Q_YNUnTaLdA/s2048/view%20from%20house.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="945" data-original-width="2048" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIYLdV-qC7tBpgEPcaROAVH1Jyg5UoP6Ru6n4LOv-apzcktqfeB_5clO7kMVPDXEfpdVqOjmKrbMP4gd_fvt_KKeGQ4pAOJWCiM5-bjy-D2hSICv8s5WKbKX9HHjzBS8bFZuad3rxgdVoZ-5Nc6-ZsTebMo19CtCBzPecFapRGU8rYxLi2Q_YNUnTaLdA/s320/view%20from%20house.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I mean, who wouldn't want this view??????????</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk4QGfzGOGK2889dKCXuM4Z1lxFa3lQw2CFFBrMmOL6FbMaCgpKAPgs1Bf8_NpzVOvfuc3ruhA6SDYCXpGMNmVIctoetDt6AywlbcZS2BKX6xQG94zzviZ09A_ntuTEoiHatLXbSL565o6Hf3qsoEd-LuqXkN8RCdoEiuDNsig9TGqp4dZN0KfghkdUfk/s2048/skenduli%20house%20windows.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="946" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk4QGfzGOGK2889dKCXuM4Z1lxFa3lQw2CFFBrMmOL6FbMaCgpKAPgs1Bf8_NpzVOvfuc3ruhA6SDYCXpGMNmVIctoetDt6AywlbcZS2BKX6xQG94zzviZ09A_ntuTEoiHatLXbSL565o6Hf3qsoEd-LuqXkN8RCdoEiuDNsig9TGqp4dZN0KfghkdUfk/s320/skenduli%20house%20windows.jpg" width="148" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6zca1HxRXqu2Vu4lMJnj6RLIKbGIjYm1Kj-SvaInraVcAl3PMw5yGvMVh6jioM2hPvjs5oRpdkU-m187j9O1S1DFkwoVbP1MBH6b2-MBWj2ukml6qZQvqfFDKY4FciKH1tWWmhXAMOUoqbZ0muCIBn8lfLzEllngCA6K7FhipgwEWerjfu0LUSz3D6lE/s2048/Skenduli%20house.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="945" data-original-width="2048" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6zca1HxRXqu2Vu4lMJnj6RLIKbGIjYm1Kj-SvaInraVcAl3PMw5yGvMVh6jioM2hPvjs5oRpdkU-m187j9O1S1DFkwoVbP1MBH6b2-MBWj2ukml6qZQvqfFDKY4FciKH1tWWmhXAMOUoqbZ0muCIBn8lfLzEllngCA6K7FhipgwEWerjfu0LUSz3D6lE/s320/Skenduli%20house.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>The other big attraction in Gjirokaster, is the Cold war tunnel - another bunker built for the bigwigs - 200 of them! - to escape to in the case of civil war. With two toilets, it seems to me that there wasn't much intelligence in the planning. For instance, it was assumed that three months would be all that would be needed in order to avoid the harmful atmosphere, plus it sounds like the 200 were all men. Now, if you wanted to save these people in order to further the species....Not only was it a stupid idea, but unbelievably cruel - for twenty odd years, food stocks for 200 men, for three months were kept there, regularly replenished to keep fresh - and this when the nation was living on starvation rations. Unsurprisingly, as soon as the regime had fallen and the bunker was discovered everything in it was destroyed or pillaged by the furious populace. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8e7f4qEsIlY4rpc-_ON9ejNpzn1-vUAAvpSAZx9FOtpOSgeqFU6S3N2Vzmeuq26_7KPQCvsXAnZS2ARh-l9Fb1BMTXrF7aUrQaCkMRWllUxPv_TpmzJxHGQ0t_c0y8kVlnFiPssO5LmkLbgvBS7PcyIA4UmF1UiyoNnN0upclAapzwuXIyExTa8Am80Y/s2048/tunnel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="946" data-original-width="2048" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8e7f4qEsIlY4rpc-_ON9ejNpzn1-vUAAvpSAZx9FOtpOSgeqFU6S3N2Vzmeuq26_7KPQCvsXAnZS2ARh-l9Fb1BMTXrF7aUrQaCkMRWllUxPv_TpmzJxHGQ0t_c0y8kVlnFiPssO5LmkLbgvBS7PcyIA4UmF1UiyoNnN0upclAapzwuXIyExTa8Am80Y/s320/tunnel.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMQQt7i47aIdbRatA-zF2K7PkWpl8gneKc5zOR7gHvvyx2nZ5LPi6GPxU3TCmqgtafJLJmRgWHV6ShagU2Mj4egBuVEE6vE5c0f0OK2zGy8VuHN8090okXahnFVrWIXpTT9QgDPstAq5B6ZZSUvdel_S37yYfHi8PwCMc1RXZsDECZxilOUor-i-Dtz-E/s2048/tunnel2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="946" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMQQt7i47aIdbRatA-zF2K7PkWpl8gneKc5zOR7gHvvyx2nZ5LPi6GPxU3TCmqgtafJLJmRgWHV6ShagU2Mj4egBuVEE6vE5c0f0OK2zGy8VuHN8090okXahnFVrWIXpTT9QgDPstAq5B6ZZSUvdel_S37yYfHi8PwCMc1RXZsDECZxilOUor-i-Dtz-E/s320/tunnel2.jpg" width="148" /></a></div>Gjirokaster was also the birthplace of Enver Hoxha, the leader of the communist party and not a very nice man, but there is not much, that we saw, at any rate, to commemorate this. <p></p><p>There is, however, a very nice cocktail bar or two....<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></p>Lucy Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09214272515888933388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5639685322046290517.post-50824067993188721102023-09-15T03:40:00.001-07:002023-09-15T03:40:25.405-07:00Berat<p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">From our research prior to arriving in Albania it seems that most tourists follow the same route around the country, visiting the mountains of the North - Shkodra, Theth, Berat, Gjirokaster, Butrint and then whatever town on the Albanian riviera they fancy. Our attempts to add the North onto our route had fallen through, but we sheeped well, by deciding to go South to Berat after Tirana. I have a slight allergic reaction to the idea of doing the touristy thing, but hey, they're touristy for a reason.<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Berat is 43 miles down south and took a couple of hours to get there by bus from Tirana - one thing we were amazed by, was the fact that every bus journey we took was half an hour shorter than predicted - which didn't mean that we always arrived at our destination half an hour early but that's another story. In fact I might just give a little bus lesson here, for anyone who is interested in bussing it around Albania. Firstly, do not believe in the timetables that we had been advised to follow on the Girafa autobus website. The information there does not appear to have any connection to real life at all, as we found to the detriment of our wallet. The timetables at the stations themselves appear to have more clear information, or you ask around other people. Also, you can just turn up at a bus station, look for a bus that has the name of your destination on it, and, if there is a seat available, you hop on that. If there is not a seat available your bus driver might stop on route to buy one, setting it up in the aisle. The buses are clean, mostly air conditioned and fairly comfortable - if you are lucky enough to get a seat, as we were - and very cheap - just four eurosish, to travel fifty miles or so. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Berat is sometimes called the City of a Thousand Windows for the stone houses that are built, one on top of another up the sides of the mountains, either side of the Osum river, a wide blue ribbon that winds between stony shores. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"> <br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgja4RYLo5AorJ_Yn6U69o8W8Y-gwcS5qG0hTTIkvYiHwgaJubZ2LxFSD9pFeBWxFrsehz8lur2ys3ffMGUw34jwe4Dzwsg8biZnMdzDvuAQvlQJhqnZPOEwjcjp8KD2sgLPAuWiO0eTzOozH_5Zy-l7b2VSgnsKo6JDaUyor2hDr0C0PtB8ILqyCcmNI8/s2048/windows.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="946" data-original-width="2048" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgja4RYLo5AorJ_Yn6U69o8W8Y-gwcS5qG0hTTIkvYiHwgaJubZ2LxFSD9pFeBWxFrsehz8lur2ys3ffMGUw34jwe4Dzwsg8biZnMdzDvuAQvlQJhqnZPOEwjcjp8KD2sgLPAuWiO0eTzOozH_5Zy-l7b2VSgnsKo6JDaUyor2hDr0C0PtB8ILqyCcmNI8/s320/windows.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br />Looking down on the town is the famous castle - the only castle in Albania still inhabited - and unfortunately the only way to get up there is to walk/climb. As we live in one of the flattest parts of England, I was horrified to see the angle and length of the slope up to the top, but in the end, it wasn't too bad, especially as we were entertained by various stray cats and dogs on the way up. It's hard to describe the views from the top of the hill; standing on the ancient stone walls of the castle - which I'm sure will be banned in a few years - the views of the mountains are breathtaking, and it's too early in the morning for me to find words that aren't cliched, so will just do a big fat cop out and add some pictures instead.</span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzUIRMTX58i5U2EXLACdLMpXKXxy6_v6TtMqrIrTsIqru5DKDlFB1--QFZpX6eRBUPYlqTtZYQYY6V1Eo9bOKjR1ueJvFr1NdXXh5Sq8EoDpGRd_kuWe-UxnSAL6pVJtOhVIwsO4ix3PPuvdyIS1hP_Xc4qr2A8jkN-2aJdie5R9VX7ULexxWD7cY8caw/s2048/Berat%20Castle%201.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="946" data-original-width="2048" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzUIRMTX58i5U2EXLACdLMpXKXxy6_v6TtMqrIrTsIqru5DKDlFB1--QFZpX6eRBUPYlqTtZYQYY6V1Eo9bOKjR1ueJvFr1NdXXh5Sq8EoDpGRd_kuWe-UxnSAL6pVJtOhVIwsO4ix3PPuvdyIS1hP_Xc4qr2A8jkN-2aJdie5R9VX7ULexxWD7cY8caw/s320/Berat%20Castle%201.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /><br /></span><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyOP10MdW3hhtFZXH06bAPJuLDtyGrcOCuWYNFbGaRKYGb6q_i6uT5YNakEeWDXLIrqCjtxz7BkboMSW8w381wppB4izEnMEJZvNGTmrjRQ_a-uhZ6_HqUDqgbLSimdqlT_Ox_0fXDTM_P-FnlAdDkXPXWGrmlThOL1nH-oVvSpgpx7slARfKzA47f3go/s2048/Catle%20view.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="946" data-original-width="2048" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyOP10MdW3hhtFZXH06bAPJuLDtyGrcOCuWYNFbGaRKYGb6q_i6uT5YNakEeWDXLIrqCjtxz7BkboMSW8w381wppB4izEnMEJZvNGTmrjRQ_a-uhZ6_HqUDqgbLSimdqlT_Ox_0fXDTM_P-FnlAdDkXPXWGrmlThOL1nH-oVvSpgpx7slARfKzA47f3go/s320/Catle%20view.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Walking around the Castle, gazing out at the views, or following a twisting alleyway between the crunchy stone houses, your jaw soon aches from being dropped.</span><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"> Everywhere are the views of the mountains and the glittering of Berat below, the aquamarine river winding through the valley. </span><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">There are churches - Byzantine buildings with curved, red tiled roofs, decorated inside with iconographic pictures of saints and angels, painted by long dead monks; the crumbling remains of minarets reaching for the sky next to vine bedecked restaurants selling aperol spritz; vast cedar (?) trees, shushing like a stormy ocean in the wind; tiny tourist grottoes built into the castle walls and tables laid out with cups of nuts and berries, cones of dates and plums. But this is a UNESCO sight and, at least for now, the tourist shops are minimal and don't really detract from the overall beauty - and though most of the houses are restaurants and hotels now, the castle still has an air of authenticity. I just hope it remains so. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">It has to be said, however, that I am very grateful that we didn't visit Albania when the kids were little - to be honest, I had to walk alone a lot of the time to stop myself squawking at Rupert and Lydia "Keep away from the edge!" every five seconds. I would be very surprised if they don't barricade half the walls off in the near future, which will be a pity, but will also save many parents from heart attacks.<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">It took about an hour and a half to walk around the castle and then it was back down the hill - on a path made from slippery stones, actually worse than going up - and into town to take in the views of the houses, their windows lit to gold by the setting sun and the glinting river. Of course, I'm talking about the old town here. One of the heart breaking things about the communistic heritage of Albania is the fact that the stunning beauty of the valleys is so often crusted over with the crumbling, barnacles of grey tower blocks. But you can't have everything I suppose.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">If left to ourselves, Rupert and I may have done a tour of the local wineries the next day, but Lydia made us sign up for a canyon tour instead. This consisted of being driven for an hour, by a driver who drove with the little finger of his right hand, whilst talking on the phone and overtaking everyone he could, up and down zig zagging mountain roads next to sheer drops. I'm not a good back seat driver at the best of times - just ask Rupert - but this was hard even for him. Luckily, we were distracted by the views - the towering of mountains on all sides, covered in olive trees and vineyards, the occasional old man astride a plodding donkey, a shepherd leading his goats along the road - and the amazing soundtrack, which included songs such as Barbie Girl and The Vengabus. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">First stop was a waterfall falling from the mountainside into a deep pool with water so cold that one's feet ached the second they touched the surface. Lydia and I both forced ourselves to take a dip - I thought I would regret it if I didn't, whereas Rupert thought he might regret dying rather more, (wuss) which is why he didn't join us. It was a beautiful waterfall, reminding me very much of places we visited in the Sunshine hinterland in Australia, but it was also very busy, with so many tourists standing around, wishing the water was warmer, that it was difficult to find a place to change. It was a relief not to stay there long, not least because a group of Australian boys were dive bombing into the pool from a height of about four metres and the guide assured me that there was no way an ambulance could get up there. </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhque8U1a0ptWQny3WrZHFqzc4gtnV9iP2mbzK8OpupjTwJeeM0hQfYjLRVhGSoPMx0JfR6WtcxQ3u4Y5VWLD8Osu-saTLmoClSE6XZnL7EOpdQfu8y7jBRlXJn8pMsa9dOT_riP_ssPeDzMsLkAv-kQM-bH08R5Sx2c7fWa87Igh7ybs04XeR-K1B1sPI/s1024/waterfall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhque8U1a0ptWQny3WrZHFqzc4gtnV9iP2mbzK8OpupjTwJeeM0hQfYjLRVhGSoPMx0JfR6WtcxQ3u4Y5VWLD8Osu-saTLmoClSE6XZnL7EOpdQfu8y7jBRlXJn8pMsa9dOT_riP_ssPeDzMsLkAv-kQM-bH08R5Sx2c7fWa87Igh7ybs04XeR-K1B1sPI/s320/waterfall.jpg" width="240" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br />We then went onto the Ousumi canyon and this, ladies and gentlemen, was definitely worth every second. For anyone who has been to the Sumerian gorge, it was similar, but with water - strangely blue, thick water running along the bottom of the canyon, between tree lined, wave like walls of rock. Water shoes give a very thin layer of protection betwixt the pebbles underfoot, so it was hard going and you have to keep reminding yourself to look up and drink in the beauty of the red-grey-blue-green, undulating rock walls around you. Mind you, the pebbles underfoot were a mix of grey and green and orange and pink, ringed with white quartz and rounded by the water and well worth looking at! We had to cross the river several times and at others to swim - luckily it wasn't as cold as the waterfall pool - and we came across only a couple of other people, walking the other way. For the most part our group of ten could have been the only people on the planet - the only other living creatures on the planet, for there was nary another creature to be seen or heard, not even any birds, but a deep echoing quiet that was a presence unto itself, instilling a calm that did not even break at the repeated efforts of the aforementioned Australian boys trying to skim stones bigger than their heads. The walk ended at the site of a deep pool where there was, of course, another jumping spot for the boys and Lydia joined them, but I won't tell you about that or she will kill me....instead I will leave you with these photos...<br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfDb4JoW3JC6OXBHI5Xd16PO94EN9jpaJ3gOBDWx7NctwAEOTA-uwy3LX-LGqRT5C8-BdagmyGCMLLbxn30Mvq6_LGzAq9OzE7Y1uILfqT-wcee3Z-Uvuout-pavg-oaJr28HT5hw7DRYSP9a4TnQkje28dOl6OYZD-o5V_vKT9UBlibUdCNa7P9whYnM/s1024/canyon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfDb4JoW3JC6OXBHI5Xd16PO94EN9jpaJ3gOBDWx7NctwAEOTA-uwy3LX-LGqRT5C8-BdagmyGCMLLbxn30Mvq6_LGzAq9OzE7Y1uILfqT-wcee3Z-Uvuout-pavg-oaJr28HT5hw7DRYSP9a4TnQkje28dOl6OYZD-o5V_vKT9UBlibUdCNa7P9whYnM/s320/canyon.jpg" width="240" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">And the canyon seen from the top</span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXaULnu75c1lDczjhutHbZeJ1UIpx0yGVEqZVAE4uRvjb747wi5Luj_qK-MvqlUK8HLDMmyNE2LOIs47HVmAokF96RHH2FYbBFIfeoq5Gs0h0SqSPLvgstg9dOnx5SHu1-_Xe7kxTUx10gkmO9FhUlBudUmYlP4QI4v5ZjzK9sEerzv1uahNe_laHX5u4/s2048/canyon%20from%20the%20top.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="946" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXaULnu75c1lDczjhutHbZeJ1UIpx0yGVEqZVAE4uRvjb747wi5Luj_qK-MvqlUK8HLDMmyNE2LOIs47HVmAokF96RHH2FYbBFIfeoq5Gs0h0SqSPLvgstg9dOnx5SHu1-_Xe7kxTUx10gkmO9FhUlBudUmYlP4QI4v5ZjzK9sEerzv1uahNe_laHX5u4/s320/canyon%20from%20the%20top.jpg" width="148" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span><br /></span><br /><p></p>Lucy Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09214272515888933388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5639685322046290517.post-64772724816204433012023-09-14T04:41:00.002-07:002023-09-14T05:29:28.507-07:00Why Albania?<p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">This was the question most people asked when we said we were going.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Well, to be honest, we needed a relatively cheap holiday after our splash out in Antigua and we'd heard that Albania was comparatively cheap; but, much more than that, it seems that Albania is going to be the next Croatia and we wanted to get there before it exploded onto the Tourist Trail - plus I've wanted to go there since an Albanian friend complained to us, back in about 1995, that Albania wasn't nearly as beautiful as Park Royal, as there was nothing there but mountains and rivers and trees. We were there for ten days, travelling to Berat, Gjirokaster, Ksamil and Permet, so merely skimmed the surface of the country - worth bearing in mind when I pontificate about my conclusions.<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">So, off we went, Lydia (now almost 21, still eager to come on holiday with her parents - because she loves us so much of course, nothing to do with having a free ride - Rupert and me. We flew via Munich which was a revelation to me as I drank the first ever beer that wasn't totally disgusting, but what it was I have no idea. Rupert has made a note for future reference. It was dark, that's all I remember, and beery. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Landed in Tirana in the early evening, disappointed that the immigration process was hugely efficient and automated so that we didn't get a nice stamp on our passports - the only good thing to come out of Brexit as far as I'm concerned. Then, swinging our backpacks onto our backs and feeling very down with the youth, we headed off to the bus to Tirana - a trip which took about 30 minutes in orange glow of a gathering dusk. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Right from the beginning, Albania seems to be a country of contradictions; the capital city a disjointed, sprawling mass of crumbling old communist blocks and new, swiss chalet-style houses, glittering glass office blocks next to torn concrete buildings, spraying rusting wires, feral cats and dogs dodging the farting, honking traffic, tree lined boulevards, litter decorated streets, the stench of blocked sewers and foetid rubbish, juxtaposed with the delicious scents of roasting garlic and onions and meat. And all this, surrounded by the towering beauty of grey-green mountains, cutting into the bright blue skies. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Out first evening in Tirana was not the best from a culinary point of view and we discovered that, as seems to be the way with every place you go to, half the food on the menu wasn't available. We were already a little disappointed as we had booked a tour to the Albanian Alps the next day - the only way in which we thought we'd be able to get there in the time - which had fallen through leaving us with an extra day in Tirana, but still, it was warm, there was a bazaar which was mostly closed, as it was Sunday evening and the sound of evening prayer wafted from the near by mosques - the sound of my childhood. We had intended to skip Tirana but decided that it was a good thing to spend time in the capital. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">The following way we "did" the Et'hem Bey mosque on Skanderbeg Square - a vast homage to the wonders of slippery marble. It seems very strange to me - brought up in Saudi Arabia - to be able to wander into a mosque for a look around, but I'm glad we could. It was smaller than I expected but with stunning paintings of trees and buildings and, within the prayer hall, the intricate beauty of Arabian art. </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihZ0jhV6iEhSsYMkp6qYeKK0CT8bbY29wnAZthGTCks02WeR9p5AzIx3T-9faX7XwrE0voAOtlvXjv_E6vgK0jW5Bsn8nrntvyvpTubG5ag2XyNtZZQdvzBozVPBAtANwuoXxt6FV8w4xet_3XKavolej5JxaJjkxI4C_CTLM4pOoS_21kLU2Ay5JjUA8/s2048/mosque%20outside.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="945" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihZ0jhV6iEhSsYMkp6qYeKK0CT8bbY29wnAZthGTCks02WeR9p5AzIx3T-9faX7XwrE0voAOtlvXjv_E6vgK0jW5Bsn8nrntvyvpTubG5ag2XyNtZZQdvzBozVPBAtANwuoXxt6FV8w4xet_3XKavolej5JxaJjkxI4C_CTLM4pOoS_21kLU2Ay5JjUA8/s320/mosque%20outside.jpg" width="148" /></a></span></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIyFNxj3MO36P_U9UxWUx_3Hj5jKmQabYIJIbM_Ini2bOhfNPUQuUvjbCHGPePJT1qdvekz-n-Jj0CibcK_bXoRI5_lzt57qdocDK5aYoYJMMQ5zQrp0kS6r5Mt2Lfk0IzqGBpGqWttn1Ws3nSeV1JQWe_EBf7o5TIJ3PO5erzheET93Bea4uY9wbTDTg/s2048/mosque%20preaching%20thing.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="946" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIyFNxj3MO36P_U9UxWUx_3Hj5jKmQabYIJIbM_Ini2bOhfNPUQuUvjbCHGPePJT1qdvekz-n-Jj0CibcK_bXoRI5_lzt57qdocDK5aYoYJMMQ5zQrp0kS6r5Mt2Lfk0IzqGBpGqWttn1Ws3nSeV1JQWe_EBf7o5TIJ3PO5erzheET93Bea4uY9wbTDTg/w197-h320/mosque%20preaching%20thing.jpg" width="197" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Then it was onto the museum - the first floor of which was given over to the early history of the country, with English translations, though from then on it was guess work as one worked through the intervening centuries over the next few floors, as everything was in Albanian and no I didn't learn the language. The gist of what we learned though, was that the Chinese are one of the few races who have not trampled all over this small corner of the world, waging war on its citizens and claiming it for their own. From the Greeks to the Romans, to the Assyrians, to Italy and Germany it has been fought over by just about everyone else, which is what makes it staggering to me that the Albanian people appear to be so friendly and, it seems, tolerant of other religions and cultures. This after forty years of enforced fearmongering towards the rest of the world. It seems to me that one can take the history of Albania in one of two ways - either as a depressing lesson in the greed and violence of humankind, or as a beacon of hope in the ability of humankind to rise up against greed, violence and control and bloom anew. I know, I know, a few rainbows and puppies wouldn't go amiss here, but honestly...<br /><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjLQXrBM6CcpV-1VUXMFEQkXf3EqomY3AkrasVOtW1RBk5KJ2HazXBT9U3iYctE95ulg7B8uHMAf9BWrE1ngKjuCz1dLNn2ulw5LTNQvYZSUAWXe4-dFBW57jQ0fd-OfHyRAh2srYwoSxEa9p2bPxR_XG8zZOdpDzR3aCtdE8ihixrKwgMS-X7_Jx1xSI/s2048/skanderbeg%20square.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="945" data-original-width="2048" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjLQXrBM6CcpV-1VUXMFEQkXf3EqomY3AkrasVOtW1RBk5KJ2HazXBT9U3iYctE95ulg7B8uHMAf9BWrE1ngKjuCz1dLNn2ulw5LTNQvYZSUAWXe4-dFBW57jQ0fd-OfHyRAh2srYwoSxEa9p2bPxR_XG8zZOdpDzR3aCtdE8ihixrKwgMS-X7_Jx1xSI/s320/skanderbeg%20square.jpg" width="320" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB3LVKRbVXofH82qvWSX4WhKVw5H4w5CA7nsoOwe1_I5LRbAAs77jLSOUulybTe60BAGneHzFkhp8quv9Du1QXuq7kO-XyYrVIWVmKN1w9OQSCJcxBzMdj35frH52b4ZSfk5kUgsdg5VFDYl_hk-F-OncYQMlWrkqtEqG59iLUERpB_trSBhMPVb105Ss/s2048/front%20of%20museum.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="946" data-original-width="2048" height="167" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB3LVKRbVXofH82qvWSX4WhKVw5H4w5CA7nsoOwe1_I5LRbAAs77jLSOUulybTe60BAGneHzFkhp8quv9Du1QXuq7kO-XyYrVIWVmKN1w9OQSCJcxBzMdj35frH52b4ZSfk5kUgsdg5VFDYl_hk-F-OncYQMlWrkqtEqG59iLUERpB_trSBhMPVb105Ss/w361-h167/front%20of%20museum.jpg" width="361" /></a></div><br /> </div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">After the museum, we visited the House of Leaves - a beautiful name for a building which started life as a maternity hospital and was then turned into the centre of the great Albanian spy machine. At one time a quarter of the population was called upon to watch their fellow countrymen and this was the place the people at the top came to inform, or to interrogate, or to imprison and torture as the case may be. We were surprised to learn that the vast majority of the people at the top were left free to continue their lives, after the fall of communism, though it wasn't clear why. Was it just too big a fight to take on for a weary nation? Too expensive? Was it thought that these people would suffer enough through guilt, or would jungle law prevail?Anyway, we came out of the House of Leaves and made straight for the Aperol Spritz and then onto an amazing meal which rebuilt our faith in what we'd been told - that the food in Albania is pretty damn special. Not that dissimilar to Greek food, a plate of grilled courgette and aubergine can be turned into a thing of beauty and as for the bread! And the meat and the olives... but more on this later. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Went to bed to the sound of fireworks/gunfire/ music, ready to be up early the next day for the rest of the adventure! </span><br /></p>Lucy Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09214272515888933388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5639685322046290517.post-54324428260945490342023-09-14T02:52:00.002-07:002023-09-14T06:04:33.988-07:00Travels!!!!<p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">This blog was first intended to document the return of the Family Bignall to the UK from Brisbane and thus, I have let it wane over the last few years. I don't get much time for blog writing nowadays, but since this was always a bit of a travel blog, I thought I would write a bit about our more recent travels.<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Firstly though, in order to put things into perspective, I'll digress a little bit. Looking back on it, it is only now that I realise that leaving Australia was more traumatic than I thought at the time. After all, I spent more of my life in Australia than in any other country - fifteen years - and of course the children had spent their entire lives there - except for Sam who was thirteen months old when we went. Though we were very lucky to be moving back to a beautiful part of the country, to a lovely old house and to relatives we had missed over the years, it was a huge wrench to leave Brisbane and all our friends and much loved family there.The general stress of packing up a huge Australian house and moving into a small English cottage, of worrying that we were doing the wrong thing by moving the children, all at a time when we were under a certain amount of stress already - hence the move - took it out of us. It didn't help that England seemed to have changed since we left and, instead of bringing the kids back to what we hoped was a more tolerant country and one where they would have easy access to Europe, we came straight back to the trauma of Brexit and massive family upheavals - which I won't go into, but, other than the fact that Rupert's father and my mother were hospitalised within months of us getting back - were not fun. Rupert became quite ill for a while, whilst my depression returned big time. For at least a year I didn't want to EVER go ANYWHERE again, outside England. I intended to stay firmly in one place FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE.<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">HOWEVER. Here we are now, nine years on, children fled the nest - one to Hemel Hempstead, one to Birmingham Uni and one back to Oz; we are postish Brexit and pandemic and the travel bug has certainly come back. I have been very fortunate to have visited Dubai, Crete, France, Antigua, Wales, the Czech Republic and Albania since last August and before the pandemic we had trips to Scotland, Ireland and Italy. I always mean to write a diary when I go to places, but never do, to the extent that I have been horrified to find that we often have conversations along the lines of: "Was that in France or Italy?" and "No! That happened in Crete, not Scotland!" and so I am going to write as much as I can remember from our trips over the last few years before I forget even more. Starting, of course, with our latest, our trip to Albania.</span><br /></p>Lucy Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09214272515888933388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5639685322046290517.post-62501125519810626522019-06-19T02:01:00.003-07:002019-06-19T02:02:52.599-07:00Oh England<br />
<div align="CENTER" class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1cm;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; text-indent: 1cm;">Alan pulled on the flesh at his throat, snorted a gulp of beer. He
wasn't sure he could bear this, he should have stayed at home and
watched by himself. This was too hard, all the noise from everyone
else – for God's sake, there were people in here who weren't even
watching, just chatting to themselves, laughing and clattering
cutlery and as for the bloody morris dancers, walking round in their
bloody noisy bells! He could feel sweat breaking out on his top lip
and the back of his neck. There was Jones, running across the pitch,
what the hell was he doing? He was offside! The flag was going to go
up any minute – yes, up it went, the whistle blew out, full screen
picture of Jones looking downcast as if he hadn't noticed, the prat.
What was Gary Larson thinking? Standing there in his suit and tie, at
least he was sweating as much as Alan.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1cm;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">
Would you believe it, someone was singing now – some godawful pop
song, nothing to do with the football – what were they thinking? It
wasn't as if this were just any match, this was the final of the
World Cup for God's sake! Other people were hissing at them though,
thank gord, it wasn't just Alan, of course, straining forward; Heaven
Almighty, there was Jones streaking across the field again, he wasn't
offside this time, yeah, go on Jones, go on and.... the ball went in,
sailed right over the head of the goalie and right into the sweet,
back corner of the goal and now the whole pub was on its feet, beer
fountaining into the air, Alan wasn't sure whether it was beer or
tears running down his face – they'd done it! Only five minutes
left, there was no way France was going to get another two goals
please Sweet Heaven, don't let that happen!</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1cm;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">
Seven minutes later and the referee's whistle went. Yes, it was truly
done. 'It's coming home, it's coming home, football's coming home!'
Everyone in the pub now was laughing, hugging, singing, shouting.
It's coming home! Home to England!
</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1cm;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">
They were definitely tears falling down his cheeks now -though Alan
didn't care. This was what it was all about. England, England had
won, they had won the world cup, after all these years and everyone,
even the bloody morris dancers - maybe <i>especially</i> the bloody
morris dancers - were ecstatic. They were all streaming outside now,
with fresh pints, into the pub garden, where the roses were in bloom,
their perfume mixing in the air with the smell of beer and
cigarettes, the gold wash of late afternoon sun shining on all faces,
making everyone beautiful, united in their joy. Alan closed his eyes
and breathed in the heady mix, absorbing the sounds of laughter, the
music of an accordion playing, the bells – how could he have
thought the bells were annoying? The sound of morris bells was the
sound of distilled laughter, wasn't it?
</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1cm;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">
This was what sport did for you. Myra could turn her nose up all she
liked, but this was what it was all about, people united in their
pride because, after all the taunting of years, after the
embarrassment of the last World cup, they had picked themselves up,
as only the English could, and gone back into the fray and this time,
they'd done the unbelievable, they'd done what Alan never thought
he'd see in his lifetime – they'd won! They were the world
champions! Alan opened his eyes and there was even Raj, grinning all
over his face, as though he'd personally kicked that last, winning
goal. 'We did it Al, we did it!'</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1cm;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">
And Alan grinned in return, slapped him on the back. 'Right you are
mate, we did it!' though, at the back of his mind was a tiny grain of
sorrow for his friend. Poor Raj, he was as proud as the rest of them,
but when it came down to it, he must know, deep down, that underneath
he wasn't really English, not like Alan, whose Dad and granddad and
great granddad and so on for generations had farmed this little
corner of Oxfordshire. Raj had been nearly two or three or something
when his parents had brought him over from India and India itself
hadn't even qualified for the World Cup! Never mind, now was not a
time for reminding his friend about that. Alan himself had travelled
all over the world and he'd enjoyed it. He'd worked in Dubai for a
couple of years, sweating it out in dusty, over air-conditioned
offices, then in Germany for a year. He'd holidayed in Thailand,
riding elephants and swimming at pristine beaches, climbed Ayres Rock
in Australia. He'd been all over Europe too, seen the Eiffel tower,
the tower of Pisa, gone skiing in the Alps. Yes, there were some
great places, but nowhere was really like England. He only had to
look over the old stone wall with its icing of roses, across the road
to the old village green, with its sward of emerald turf – you
didn't see green like that anywhere else! And the old cottages, that
looked like they'd been made from crumbling flapjacks, hollyhocks
growing up the walls, more roses; beyond the houses, over their slate
tiled roofs, were the hills, fields of sheep, you could hear them
bleating even now, joining in the celebration as if they knew. This
was the real England and nowhere in the world could beat it. Even the
music was the best.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1cm;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">
The dancer next to him was playing a concertina, pumping it out and
in, fingers flying over the buttons, and, for the first time in
years, Alan felt his fingers twitch towards it. He couldn't even
remember when it was he'd last played the instrument, he wasn't sure
why he'd stopped. It had been when he'd first started working in
London – it hadn't really fitted in with his yuppy image, something
stupid like that. Oh well, he'd been young, going to the pub was all
about drinking and making connections then, not about playing music
and having a good time.
</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1cm;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">
'Hey, you want a go?' The dancer was grinning at him, from beneath
his pheasant feathered hat, holding out the instrument. Alan stared
down at it, fingers twitching again. Did he dare? Why not? No one
here was in a mood to judge! He took another slug of beer. “Thanks.”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1cm;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">
Bloody hell, it was like he'd never stopped playing it! His fingers
seemed to find the buttons with ease, instinctively seeking out the
tunes he'd once played.
</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1cm;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">
'Wow! You're good!' the owner of the concertina was staring in open
mouthed admiration and Alan laughed. Yes, he was good, or he had been
at any rate. People were turning to look, smiling, Raj was
gobsmacked, he'd had no idea Alan could do anything like this. Okay,
it was probably the beer talking, he knew he'd regret it later, but
maybe he should sing something too? There was a song he'd learnt as a
boy, an old folk song that came from round here - what was it? It was
swimming around there, somewhere at the back of his brain, he just
knew it was right for the occasion. Something about the Kings of old,
it was meant to be about the old burial mounds off the A423, some
story that one day the Kings would wake and England would be restored
to all its former glory. It was just perfect for this moment. Oh yes,
that was it. He opened his mouth and started to sing:</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1cm;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1cm;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">
'The time has come, awake my Lords</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1cm;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">
The time has come today...'</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1cm;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1cm;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">
'Bloody hell, it's years since I've heard that song!' someone was
saying and then others were singing, it had a great tune, a lively,
heralding tune and Alan wasn't surprised when some of the dancers
started to dance along. Then they were all dancing, everyone in the
pub was dancing, shouting out the words.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1cm;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1cm;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">
'Come wake and rise,
</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1cm;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">
Gather your steeds</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1cm;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">
Raise England right up high!'</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1cm;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1cm;">
<i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And deep beneath the earth the King stirred, shifted in his bed to
the sound of the silver voices, calling him, calling him. It had been
a long sleep, but the scents of the earth, of river and valley and
mountain, of forests and deer, pheasants and hare, was calling him
awake, so that he sat up and stretched, opened his eyes.</span></i></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1cm;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>But what he saw did not please him. What he saw was an England
that was overrun with the enemy, people from foreign lands, who
worshipped heathen Gods and heathen money and his sluggish, tired
blood stirred and fired with rage. He saw palaces of evil destroying
the beauty of hill and dale, he saw simple people with no royal
blood, who had risen to hold themselves higher than those whom God
had set to rule. </i>
</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1cm;">
<i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">This was not the England he had reigned over for so long, this was
not the England that he had sacrificed himself for, binding his soul
forever to its green pastures. No. They were right to call him. He
reached for his sword, speaking the words of the ancients, a breath
that wafted out and over the mounds and the grass, calling forth his
latent army. There would be strife and there would be bloodshed,
there would be famine and war, but England would rise again, a
glorious Island of its own, away from the rest of the world.</span></i></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1cm;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1cm;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">
Alan continued to sing, tears in his eyes, whilst all around him the
dancers leapt and twirled, the other revellers shouted out the words
of the song, sending them to breathe new energy into the long-dead.
And none of them noticed the dark menace of the shadows that were
growing, stealing through the countryside, spreading to cover all of
England and beyond.</span></div>
<br />Lucy Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09214272515888933388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5639685322046290517.post-42157834172855211112018-08-28T05:35:00.000-07:002018-08-28T05:35:52.036-07:00The House and the Mansion<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I haven't written anything on this blog for ages, but thought I'd put this up here for a friend. I wrote it a while ago, so can't vouch for the quality of the writing, though it was shortlisted for the Fish memoir prize. </span></span><br />
<div align="CENTER" lang="en-AU" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="CENTER" lang="en-AU" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="CENTER" lang="en-AU" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><u><b><span style="background: transparent;">The
House and the Mansion</span></b></u></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-AU" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">We
never told The Parents about our visits to The Mansion. Parents had a
way of forbidding us to do the most exciting things in life and
besides, we knew we were trespassing. It never occurred to us that we
could be putting our lives in danger.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background: transparent;">“<span lang="en-AU"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Can
we go and play outside?” we would ask whenever we went to Janet's
house. And, in their innocence, the grown ups would smile and nod and
my mother would say: “It's so nice that the girls can go and play
outside whenever they like. They couldn't do that in England because
of the weather.”</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-AU" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">And
Janet would nod. “Yes, it's great for kids to be outdoors. It keeps
them out of mischief.”</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-AU" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">So
we four sisters would open our eyes wide with innocence, before
slipping from the cool depths of the house, with its jungle of pot
plants and sofas and head out into the hot, yellow and green and blue
of the world outside. </span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-AU" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">This
was a different world to the one we usually inhabited, in the town of
Harper, on the coast of Liberia. Janet's house lay outside the town,
away from the exploding Atlantic breakers, away from the swarming
activity of the tribal villages and the markets, away from the
fragrance of woodsmoke and rice, the odours of fish and faeces. </span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-AU" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">Janet's
house lay in a world of open grasslands - a world where the sky was
enormous and empty, where the air was heavy with the smell of hot
yellow grass and guavas and red earth; a world where the only sounds
were the roaring of the cicadas, the rustling of the breeze in the
grass heads and the liquid twittering of the tiny brown and yellow
weaver birds. </span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-AU" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">We
walked in single file, the Big Girls flanking us Little Ones:
Mary-Anne, the oldest at thirteen, leading the way, followed by nine
year old Bernadette, and then myself, the youngest at a mere seven
years old. Bringing up the rear was Lalla, eleven years old and quite
grown-up already.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span lang="en-AU"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">Sometimes
Mary-Anne made us march: “LEFT, LEFT, LEFT, right, LEFT.”
Sometimes, we would sing as we walked: </span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span lang="en-AU"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">“</span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span lang="en-AU"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">I
love to go, a-wandering, along the Mountain track..</span></span></i></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span lang="en-AU"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">.</span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span lang="en-AU"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">”</span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span lang="en-AU"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">
But most often we would wander along the track through the grass, not
even talking, simply luxuriating in the glory of existing in this
place - in watching the weaver birds as they busied themselves with
their basket nests, which hung, like overgrown dew drops, from the
tallest blades of grass, or keeping an eye out for snakes, or lifting
our faces to feel the kiss of the hot sun on our noses, or the soft
touch of the breeze on our cheeks.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span lang="en-AU"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">The
Mansion was ten minutes walk from Janet's house, standing by itself,
amongst the grasses, the garden encircled by a barricade of barbed
wire. We would slip between the strings of wire and enter yet another
world - a world of mystique and fantasy. This was a world which lay
in a realm somewhere between </span></span></span></span></span></span><span lang="en-AU"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">The
Secret Garden </span></i></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span lang="en-AU"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">and
</span></span></span></span></span></span><span lang="en-AU"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">Sleeping
Beauty</span></i></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span lang="en-AU"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">.
Untended bougainvillea exploded in a profusion of thorny branches,
starring the head high golden grass with its luminescent pink
flowers; a paw-paw tree stood bowed under the weight of fruit the
size of rugby balls, filling the air with a thick sweetness;
frangipani stems, with their bouquets of white blossom and fat green
leaves ran rampant. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-AU" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">We
crept through the grass, hearts pounding, avoiding thorns and trying
not to crush the flowers, and tiptoed up the wide stone stairs to the
front door, which stood slightly open, enticing us to enter. One by
one, we slid round the door and into the front hall. Before us, a
curving staircase swept up to the floors above; but the banisters and
treads were covered in a thick layer of dust and, lying scattered
over the floor, were a thousand rainbow droplets from a fallen
chandelier.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background: transparent;">“<span lang="en-AU"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Do
you think they're diamonds?” Bernadette breathed in excitement, but
Mary-Anne shook her head in scorn. “No, of course not - they're
just coloured glass.”</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span lang="en-AU"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">Bernadette
and I exchanged a raised eyebrow. </span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span lang="en-AU"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">W</span></span></span></span></span></span><span lang="en-AU"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">e</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span lang="en-AU"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">
knew otherwise. Surely, in an enchanted place such as this, they </span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span lang="en-AU"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">must</span></span></i></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span lang="en-AU"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">
be diamonds. When the Big Girls weren't looking, we slipped a couple
into our pockets. It didn't really seem like stealing, and besides,
even if it was, we </span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span lang="en-AU"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">were</span></span></i></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span lang="en-AU"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">
pirates in training, after all. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-AU" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">On
either side of the front hall, room after room lay quiet and still
and filled with golden light. Some were carpeted in thick, white,
dusty carpet, others were tiled. The bathrooms had gold taps but they
didn't turn and gave off a rancid tang; the sinks were covered in a
film of dust and stained with streaks of blood coloured rust. Over
all the floors was a scattering of dead leaves and cockroaches, and
the corners were clogged with spider webs. We found an old beehive in
one of the rooms upstairs, a dead mouse in a chest of drawers. In the
kitchen somebody had lit a fire on the floor and the tiles were
cracked and covered with ash and soot.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-AU" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">The
whole house seemed to be lying in wait – but for whom? </span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-AU" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">Walking
home again to Janet's house, our imaginations would run wild. Had the
owners been abducted by aliens? Perhaps they had been struck down by
some deadly disease? Perhaps they were merely on an extended holiday?
Perhaps they had lost all their money and become paupers overnight,
forced to live the rest of their lives on the streets or in the
jungle? Perhaps - just perhaps - a witch had put a spell on the
people who lived there? But though we came up with countless
explanations, none of them were completely satisfying - because they
never answered the question as to why nobody else had moved in - why,
in a country with so much poverty – where so many people lived in
the worst possible squalor - nobody had taken the furniture for their
own use, or even for fire wood. We wondered who had made the fire in
the kitchen - but we didn't worry unduly. And it was probably a good
thing we never came close to thinking of the answers that now, thirty
years later, come so readily to mind.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-AU" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">In
fact, if anything, I felt safer prowling around The Mansion,
fingering the silk drapes and gazing, lust-stricken, at the diamonds,
than I did in our own house – the house we had moved into several
months earlier and christened, with our usual originality, The House.
Though we loved our new home, living in it could also be the stuff of
nightmares.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-AU" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">The
day we first drove down the road which ran beside the beach and saw
The House, we children thought we had died and gone to heaven. It was
a hot day in February 1980 – and we were blissfully unaware that
this was about to become one of the most significant years in
Liberian history. As we stepped from the car and stood gazing up at
the massive building before us, we had no idea that over the next
couple of years we would see The House as both a place of refuge and
of terror. </span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-AU" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">What
we saw was a massive, palatial house, even bigger than The Mansion,
with its six storeys - three floors of living quarters and three
floors of ornamental balconies and roofs above, built around two
massive rainwater tanks. </span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-AU" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">Painted
a bright aquamarine with red and yellow trimmings, it looked like an
enormous, psychedelic wedding cake. We children hardly noticed that
the paintwork was faded now, the walls streaked with rust stains, the
grey of the concrete showing through in places. We saw the Kru
village built up beside it, but did not notice, to begin with, the
stinking quagmire of mud and filth in which it was built. We gasped
in awe at the marble tiled floors in all the rooms - marble was
surely something that you only got in Palaces, after all - but didn't
notice the film of slippery brown grease that covered them. We ran
our hands over the smooth mahogany of the stairs and the window
brackets, hardly noticing that the mosquito netting hung in broken
folds and that the windows themselves were almost opaque with dirt
and salt spray.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-AU" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">We
moved in, the next day, full of hope and excitement, ready to explore
and discover.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-AU" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">The
ground floor was rented out to various mysterious people and a
scabrous dog the size of a horse called Rastus, but our domain
covered the two upper floors and the roofs as well. These living
floors consisted of a myriad large rooms – five bathrooms, most of
which never worked, seven bedrooms, a dining room, sitting room,
kitchen and several other rooms we never found a use for and which
never quite shook off their smell of abandonment and mouse nests. As
for the three upper floors, the first two were a delight of balconies
and mysterious dark corners and nooks. A flight of stairs led to the
top roof where one was mistress of all she surveyed - from the palm
feathered roofs of the town behind, to the heads of the villagers
below and, at the front of the house, a glorious vista of golden
beach, scarlet hibiscus, pink and orange bougainvillea and waves that
reared in glistening cliffs of aquamarine, before exploding onto the
beach in fountains of crystal spume.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-AU" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">At
the back of the house was a concrete courtyard with a lone almond
tree, which we shared with the house next door. Mrs Anderson lived
there, though there always seemed to be an assortment of at least
twenty other people coming and going from it at any given time. Mrs
Anderson was a widow, we were told, the daughter-in-law of old Mr
Anderson, our landlord - a wizened old nut of a man, who came round
every month to grumble at us and collect the rent. James Anderson,
his son, had built both houses a few years beforehand.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-AU" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">We
children were not officially told the full story of James Anderson,
but we picked it up from eavesdropping on the adults. </span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-AU" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">It didn't take
me long to work out that when my mother was having a cup of tea with
Nuela, the Irish girl who worked for the Catholic mission, or with
Nancy, the wife of a Baptist missionary, and they looked sideways at
me and leaned in close, that that was the time to go very quiet and
pretend a deep and abiding interest in my drawing, or my books, or in
picking the scabs from my mosquito bites. I became expert at exuding
an air of non-interest, whilst keeping my ears pricked hard enough to
hear the whispering of a mouse. </span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background: transparent;">“<span lang="en-AU"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">He
was hung for murder and cannibalism last year – he and his gang.
Have you seen the gallows out by the airport? Nobody's been game
enough to take them down yet.”</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-AU" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">Hanging
around my Father while he talked to his colleagues from the local
college could be even more enlightening. They tended not to notice we
were there and so didn't even bother to lower their voices.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background: transparent;">“<span lang="en-AU"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">It
was all political.”</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background: transparent;">“<span lang="en-AU"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">You
mean they didn't do it?”</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-right: 0.99cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">“<span lang="en-AU">No,
they did it alright. Killed about one hundred people all told, and
ate their eyes and ears and livers. All part of some ju-ju rite -
James Anderson wanted to be Liberian representative to the UN and
knew he hadn't got a hope in hell, so he decided to use black magic
to get himself there.”</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-AU" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">So
this was the man who had built our house. </span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-AU" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">And
was this the man who we sometimes saw leaving a room when we entered?
A shadow man who flicked the light switches and plunged us into
darkness even on days when there was no power cut? The man whose
footsteps followed us up to bed at night when we knew there wasn't
anybody there? The being who caused doors to shut and glass to
shatter for no reason?</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-AU" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">Our
parents told us not to be silly, that there was no such thing as
ghosts, no such thing as black magic, or any sort of magic at all. </span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-AU" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">But,
if they really didn't believe, they were an island in an otherwise
believing world. At least once a week I would lie in bed at night,
eyes frozen wide; and in spite of the fact that the sweat was running
down my body, I would pull the sheets up over my head and shiver at
the sounds that issued up from the village below. Sometimes it was
just a party, the voices raised in song, feet stamping the earth
around the fire, raucous laughter and drums that throbbed on and on
and on, throughout the night, drumming away evil spirits, calling up
the good ones. But oftentimes it was a funeral; for a baby who had
died of malaria, or a man who had been bitten by a shark, or a woman
who had been struck down by the Evil Eye, or a child who had been
beaten once too often by its parents. As the sun went down and the
world turned swiftly to black, a woman would raise her voice in a
terrible, wailing, keening and soon the whole village would be
screaming and crying and beating their chests, tearing at their hair
and stamping the earth as the drums beat a rhythm of menace and
heartbreak into the night sky. </span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-AU" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">And
I would lie quaking in bed, and think back to those conversations I
had heard earlier in the day. </span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background: transparent;">“<i><span lang="en-AU"><span style="font-weight: normal;">And
did they capture </span></span></i></span></span><i><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span lang="en-AU"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">all</span></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span lang="en-AU"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">
the members of James Anderson's gang?”</span></span></span></span></span></i></span></span></span></span></div>
<i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span></i>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none;">
<i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background: transparent;">“<span lang="en-AU"><span style="font-weight: normal;">So
they said. But people still go missing from time to time. Didn't you
hear about the little boy from the Grebo village? He disappeared a
month or so ago, and they found his body floating down the Hoffman
river – all of it, except his eyes and liver. And then there was
the Bishop's sister, you know. Found dead on the embankment near St
Theresa's with her ears cut off. And there are a couple of deserted
houses around town that the gang were said to meet in – the locals
still won't go near them. They say they're still haunted by evil
spirits. But you've got to wonder whether it's just spirits...”</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></i></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-AU" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">Even
though those words chilled me in the heat of the night, it never
occurred to me to make a connection between such evil and The Mansion
that we explored with such excitement and delight, during the day. It
never occurred to me that this could be the explanation as to why the
house had been left, apparently untouched for so long. </span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-AU" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">Not
that the Mansion was the only deserted house in the area.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-AU" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">Four
months after we arrived in Liberia a group of soldiers scaled the
walls of the presidential compound in Monrovia, five hundred miles to
the West, and shot President Tolbert dead, to the general jubilation
of the people. But whilst the population of the Kru village danced
and sang their exultation, shooting repeatedly into the air from an
old rifle, the weathered fabric of Liberian society and economy was
finally tearing apart. Within hours, members of the aristocracy –
the “Congo People”, all descendants of freed American slaves -
were fleeing for their lives. </span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-AU" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">For
several days, we huddled inside The House; we weren't allowed to go
swimming at our favourite beach, weren't allowed to go and see
friends, or go shopping in the market. Instead, we stood and watched
from the windows, as khaki clad soldiers with glittery eyes and
concrete mouths walked the street below.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background: transparent;">“<span lang="en-AU"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Come
away from the windows,” Mum and Dad would say, “Don't stare.”
So we would sidle away from the windows, but as soon as their backs
were turned, we would creep back again. We hadn't seen guns like that
before – long shiny black guns with spears on the end, that looked
as though they Meant Business – and we had never seen the streets
as stark and empty as they were in the wake of the soldiers.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-AU" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">All
those miles away in Monrovia, men were being tied to stakes on the
beach and riddled with bullets, before being left to die in agony.
There were stories of people being shot by snipers in the street,
hundreds of students rioting and being mowed down with gunshot. </span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-AU" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">Randolph,
who lived below us and came up to wash the floors twice a week, was
thrilled. Samuel Doe was a great man, he said. Randolph was so
excited by the reforms taking place in Monrovia, that he didn't even
tell us Little Ones off for running over his wet floors with dirty
feet - merely swinging us over his head and spanking our bottoms instead - to
our great delight.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-AU" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">In
the meantime, we still had to stay indoors,
while they waited to see which way the wind would blow. Our new baby
sister was due to be born and my mother was suffering from very high
blood pressure.Though we had been issued with
emergency exit visas and given permission to make our way over crocodile infested
waters to the shores of Sierra Leone, we were stuck where we were. </span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-AU" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">And
a few days later, our little sister came into the world, a faintly
mewling baby who looked, to me, like a little pink prawn.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-AU" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">A
little pink prawn who took to bleeding copious amounts of blood every
few hours. The only doctor within five hundred miles was now under
house arrest – a man who had give his life to helping the people in
the town, but who, unfortunately, came from a line of “Congo
People” and was therefore unable to help.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-AU" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">So,
for the next few weeks, Mum held our baby tight, feeding her and
praying and we all tiptoed around the house, not sure whether to be
more afraid of the threats inside or outside. And, somehow, for no
apparent reason, little Clara began to recover, gaining weight and
strength. The light of life grew in her blue eyes until she became a
fat little pink and white baby, beloved to the children in the Kru
village, who ran up to us whenever we left the house - “Starra!
Starra! Baby Starra!” </span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-AU" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">Life,
after a fashion, was returning to normal. People adapted to new ways
and continued on with their lives. Due to the new curfews, the
fishermen could no longer row out to sea at sunset to fish through
the night, as they had for who knows how many millenia. But they had
to find food for their families, and fish to sell at the market, so
they adapted, fishing through the blinding heat of the day instead.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-AU" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">Along
with the rest of Harper, we all spent weeks battling various bouts of
malaria and hepatitis. Over the course of several months my father
became dangerously ill - his flesh melted away and his skin turned
yellow, till he looked like a jaundiced skeleton, his eyeballs bright
enough to light up a room – and we had to adapt like everyone else.
So we called in the local Witchdoctor, a sombre man who dressed in
Hawaiian shirts and checked trousers. We children were thoroughly
disgusted as we had been hoping for someone with a bone through his
nose and a grass skirt, but he prescribed my father a diet of several
pints of green palm-tree goo, to be drunk twice a day, and,
eventually, Dad recovered.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-AU" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">Between
times, we went swimming in the warm ocean, befriending octopus and
eels. We fished for barracuda in the still waters of a Lake. We drove
into the deep, emerald green bush on roads carved from bright orange
earth and discovered yet another world of hushed and living mystery.
We made friends among the local children and taught them how to play
French Skipping with an old length of elastic. We children were
hardly aware of the increased price of rice, the increase in power
cuts. We became used to the stories of more riots and more shootings.
Here in Harper, there were more important things to do – and what
with the funerals and parties going on in the Kru village next door,
more than enough to worry about.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-AU" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">Sometimes,
we went to Janet's house for the afternoon and we girls would excuse
ourselves to explore a deserted Mansion. </span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-AU" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">Whilst even </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">Randolph could see that the freedom and riches that had been
promised to the Liberian people with the death of Tolbert were not
forthcoming. and the students at my father's college were
growing restless</span></span></span>, my heart unfurled its roots and buried them deep in
this beautiful country. </span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-AU" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
</div>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-AU" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">And then one evening, whilst we sat around the table after dinner, the
announcement came: “Girls, we'll be moving back to England at the
end of the year.”</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-AU" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">From
outside came the sound of the sea, the waves breaking on the beach,
the chirruping of frogs, people chatting in the village below.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background: transparent;">“<span lang="en-AU"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">For
how long?”</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background: transparent;">“<span lang="en-AU"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Why?”</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background: transparent;">“<span lang="en-AU"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Do
we have to?”</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background: transparent;">“<span lang="en-AU"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Yes,
we do. We might go somewhere else, maybe even somewhere else in
Africa, but we won't be coming back here.”</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-AU" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">A
woman's rich voice, raised in song, drifted up from the village below and the sea
murmured it's twilight song.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background: transparent;">“<span lang="en-AU"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Not
ever?”</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background: transparent;">“<span lang="en-AU"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Probably
not.”</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background: transparent;">“<span lang="en-AU"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">But
why?”</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background: transparent;">“<span lang="en-AU"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Because
it's not safe.”</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background: transparent;">“<span lang="en-AU"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">But
that means we won't see Mary again, or John, or Randolph!”</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background: transparent;">“<span lang="en-AU"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">We
know that, but you'll make more friends. Sorry children, but we have
to go. You'll have to say good bye to all this.”</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-AU" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">So
we did. We said goodbye to our friends, to the lagoons and the
beaches, to the waves of the Atlantic ocean. Goodbye to the golden
grasses and the hot amber earth and the unique, salty, smoky, fishy,
flowery fragrance that was Harper - goodbye to the earthy, grassy,
fruity smell that was the Bush. We said goodbye to The House and to
The Mansion. </span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-AU" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">And
then we packed our belongings and left - and we never returned.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="CENTER" lang="en-AU" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">*****</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-AU" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">But
I never forgot Liberia, though I know that it is now a different
country to the one we knew. Thirty years on, thousands of people have
been massacred, tortured, raped. Thousands have lost their homes and
in the last year, the terrors of Ebola have been enough to make
Liberia a household name.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-AU" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">I
try not to wonder whether any of the people we knew are still alive.
I try not to wonder what horror they may have witnessed, if so.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-AU" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">But
sometimes I allow myself to wonder whether I would still recognise
any of our old haunts. I wonder if The House is still there. I wonder
if The Mansion is still there and whether there is anybody living in
it now.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span lang="en-AU"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">And
I still wonder </span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span lang="en-AU"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">why</span></span></i></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span lang="en-AU"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">
the Mansion was deserted. I wonder whether its owners had fled
Liberia, or were tied to stakes on the beach and shot. I wonder
whether it was always deserted - whether it </span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span lang="en-AU"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">remained</span></span></i></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span lang="en-AU"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">
deserted when the sun disappeared beneath the sea and the shadows
blackened and the frogs and owls took up the chorus of the night.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-AU" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">I
wonder if I will ever be able to go back and see it all again.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span lang="en-AU"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">And
if there </span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span lang="en-AU"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">is</span></span></i></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span lang="en-AU"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">
such a thing as magic, then I think I have a good chance of doing so;
because, thirty years ago, two little girls dug a hole beneath a
bread fruit tree and buried a stash of treasure - a green glass hair
bobble, some cowrie shells, the blue carapace of a beetle and a
diamond from a chandelier: their most treasured possessions, buried
in the Liberian soil so that surely, surely one day they would make
it back to Harper again.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-AU" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
<div align="CENTER" lang="en-AU" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">The
End</span></span></span></div>
Lucy Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09214272515888933388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5639685322046290517.post-13147358620984063182018-04-27T00:48:00.003-07:002018-04-27T00:48:41.533-07:00Henshaw Press<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Hi,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Been rather busy recently so not updated much, but feeling rather chuffed that I won first prize in the Henshaw Press Short Story competition.Please head over there to have a look!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">https://www.henshawpress.co.uk/march-2018-competition-winners/</span>Lucy Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09214272515888933388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5639685322046290517.post-38348981110632328702017-10-16T05:56:00.001-07:002017-10-16T05:58:36.620-07:00What price Instrumental lessons in Schools?<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">So, the science is out. Music education has
been proven, time and time again to benefit academic progress –
something of which the vast majority of educationalists must be
aware.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">
</span>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Yet, time and time again, music, along
with all the arts, is the first thing to be cut, when budgeting
becomes an issue. In a sensible world, this of course, would cause a
huge outcry, there would be protesting on the streets, blah de blah
de blah. But as we know, apart from a few disgruntled music teachers
turning to drink, not a lot changes, here in the UK, at least. And I
think I know why.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">
</span>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">This was the situation at one of the
schools I taught at last term – and I would like to point out here,
that this was a nice primary school in a beautiful town in
Buckinghamshire, where most of the pupils I talked to were planning
trips to the Maldives/Florida/Australia, over their summer break.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">
</span>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">My brief was to teach violin to several
groups of children, in twenty minute blocks, over the course of three
hours - the majority of the groups being two to three children.
</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">
</span>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Once I started, I realised that the
groups I was teaching had been selected for their academic years, not for
their ability and that, within each group, there was a huge range,
from complete beginners, to children who had been playing for three
years. (and I was asked NOT to interfere with said groups.) Only two children EVER turned up for their lesson on time,
which meant that I had to spend at least five minutes of the allotted
twenty, tracking my pupils from various parts of the school. When
once I had got them back to the room, (which incidentally, was so
cramped that they couldn't do an up bow without hitting the wall)
fixed and tuned the violins (because yes, there is nearly always at
least someone whose bridge has fallen down, or whose chin rest has
come off, string broken etc etc) we had a maximum of ten minutes
before I had to go in search of the next few children. When I asked
the children why they didn't come to their lessons on time, it turned
out that may of them couldn't tell the time, so had no way of telling
when their lesson was, the others were so deeply engrossed in their
Maths, that they had forgotten the time, or the timetable (which
changed every week) had been placed too high on the wall for them to
read. Though I asked several times, it was apparently impossible for
the class teachers to remind the children to go to their lessons.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">
</span>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I hasten to add that there is a lot of truly wonderful teaching that goes on in schools, but sadly, the above experience of teaching is not uncommon. I
have often had teachers roll their eyes at me when I come to collect
children for their lessons, or children who have been told off for
interrupting their teachers when they try to come for their lessons
themselves.In another school I had to teach six children in 20 minutes, in a room which doubled as Special Needs teaching room/library/photocopier room, which meant that I had a constant stream of people walking in and out to choose books, uses said photocopier, and kids with special needs having lessons at the same time. The best class I ever gave was one where all the children were ten minutes late, two children had broken their violins and one child weed on the floor. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">
</span>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And of course the result of this sort
of teaching is that the children do not progress as fast as they can
and I shouldn't think it does much at all for their academic
progress. Parents who have paid for years for
lessons, will read articles about the benefits of music education and
might nod their heads or even go so far as to share them on Facebook, but at the back of
their minds will the thought that they never saw those benefits
themselves. The children will grow up, look back on their childhood
lessons and wonder why <i>they </i>never felt the benefit. And so the cycle
continues....</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
Lucy Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09214272515888933388noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5639685322046290517.post-18036500495533268402017-10-09T03:26:00.001-07:002017-10-09T03:26:34.379-07:00Part 1 of...
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Last week, I wrote about some of my
experiences as a musician, in an attempt to explain why I have had a
rather love hate relationship with music and, to some extent, why I
am the weird person that I am. Over the years, music has meant so
many things to me, as a profession and as something I love doing. Is
is something which has led to many beautiful friendships, something
which has led to a lot of fun, laughter, tears and something which
has led to a huge amount of FRUSTRATION.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">And one of the many frustrations I
would like to write about now, is that of music education.
</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">So this is Part 1 of 10,000, dealing
with my FRUSTRATION with MUSIC EDUCATION.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Garghh!!!!!</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">It seems that there are a myriad
reasons why parents wish their children to learn a musical
instrument. Here, I believe, are the ones you hear most often.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><ul>
<li><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">they themselves never had the
opportunity as children and so would like their own children to have
the chance</span></div>
</li>
<li><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">they learned as children, felt
they gained hugely as a result and want the same for their offspring
</span></div>
</li>
<li><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">they have heard/read that learning
an instrument can benefit their child's wider education</span></div>
</li>
<li><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">their child has asked to learn (!)</span></div>
</li>
<li><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">they believe that their child will
have more chance of getting into the school/university of their
choice if they have certificates of achievement in musical
performance.</span></div>
</li>
</ul>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">It seems that nearly every day, the
results of another study into the benefits of music education are
published. Music education has been shown, time and time again, to
enhance children's listening skills, their co-ordination, problem
solving, social skills. Students who study music have been shown in
numerous studies, in numerous countries, from kindergarten through to
University, to have higher grade point averages than their non music
learning peers. Of course it can be argued that the people who fund
the studies have an agenda; that families who can afford to pay for
instrumental lessons are more likely to come from academically
focussed backgrounds or are more likely to pay for extra tuition in
other areas too. However, very few people ever argue that music
education is NOT important, or that they are glad that they never
learnt to play an instrument or that their children have never wanted
to learn to play.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">And yet, here are some of the things I and most instrumental teachers
hear on a regular basis: </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> “We didn't have time to practise
this week, she had too much
homework/ballet/drama/swimming/guides/tennis/football.”</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> “He didn't want to practise and I
didn't want to push him.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">And, the most dreaded: “There's not
much point if he's not enjoying it, is there?”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">So let's think about that last point. Yes indeed, music can be a wonderful world, filled with
unicorns and fairy wings, where one can soar ever higher on clouds of
rosy self expression, whilst one's intellect sharpens into diamond points
of Einsteinism. </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">But it can also be a hard slog and when you've just
had a long day's schooling and it's cold and you're tired and hungry,
even taking your instrument out of the case, fitting a reed or
tightening a bow, can seem a herculean task, however keen one might
be. Playing an instrument is a physical task, make no mistake.
</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">HOWEVER.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">How many parents go to their child's
teacher and say: “My child isn't going to learn Maths/English
Science any longer, because they no longer enjoy it?” </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
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</span><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">And here's the Thing; children <i>know
</i>that their parents are not going to say that. And so here's the Question: Do they also know that, deep down, their parents are not
convinced that, actually, music is that important after all?</span></div>
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</span><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><a href="https://www.theguardian.com/education/2017/oct/03/school-results-music-bradford">https://www.theguardian.com/education/2017/oct/03/school-results-music-bradford</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
</div>
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</span><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.childrensmusicworkshop.com/advocacy/academicsuccess/">http://www.childrensmusicworkshop.com/advocacy/academicsuccess/</a></span></div>
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</span><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">http://mabryonline.org/blogs/doemel/archives/2005/08/music_education.html</span></div>
Lucy Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09214272515888933388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5639685322046290517.post-58305762399664035872017-10-06T01:11:00.001-07:002017-10-06T01:11:22.563-07:00The Contradictions of it all.
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
This is something that I wrote two years ago - in recent times I have had some happier experiences as a performer and as a teacher, but this was relevant at the time, and so I am publishing it anyway.<br />
</div>
<br /><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"></span><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">“Music education
is so important for children,” I say, putting as much conviction
into my voice as I can. “It helps in so many ways - to develop the
brain, to develop self expression, it can even help children with
their maths!”</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Ben's mother nods
and smiles, her eyes tired and rather desperate as she looks at her
son, who is attacking the music stand with his violin bow, à
la Jack Sparrow. I must
sound convincing, because I can tell that she's beginning to think
that yes, maybe it <i>is</i> worth plodding on then - maybe it is
worth the fights to get him to stand his testosterone-fizzing body
still, for ten minutes three times a week with a violin clamped under
his chin - maybe it is worth the money she pays to bring him for his
lessons every week, worth the trauma of listening to him whine and
squirm the notes out of his small, factory made instrument.
</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I feel a worm of
guilt wriggle in my stomach. Should I have my fingers crossed behind
my back, when I spout this “music teacher” talk?
</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Should I tell her
about my performance on Saturday evening? Does she really need to
know? Does she need to know how I, a grown woman with three teenage
children, the product of so many music lessons, spent all Saturday in
a cold sweat, my fingers shaking, the vomit churning at the bottom of
my throat - just because I had to perform a Bach solo that I love?
Would it help her to know how I washed down my beta-blockers with a
glass of wine before the performance – and how all I wanted to do,
in the hours leading up to it, was to leave my children and husband
of twenty years and run away to Peru? Does she need to know about the
humiliation, the great feeling of worthlessness that drained me, the
next day, because, even after the wine and the beta-blockers, my
hands shook so much that the bow felt as though it had shrunk to the
size of a pencil and spent the entire piece bouncing up and down like
a rubber ball on the strings?</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">No, of course she
doesn't need to know about those things. Instead, I tell her about
those times when I was a child and fell in love with music – the
times I will never forget. The Wednesday evenings in Saudi Arabia,
when my father would load four of his six daughters into our rusting
Chevrolet and we would ride through the dusking city, through the
blare and snort and fart of Riyadh traffic, past the flashing neon
signs and the feathery palm trees, the high rises and the mud houses.
We would drive right to the edge of the city, where concrete melted
into sand and rock and you could look out for miles across flat and
empty desert, to where the sun was sinking in a welter of dusty pink
glory. And there would be our friends, Ruth and Erasmus, middle aged
doctors with grown up children, who would welcome us into their house
with beaming smiles, would ply us with tea and orange juice and
sticky cakes from French Corner, filled with custard and fruit.
Malcolm would be there as well - fierce, eagle eyed Malcolm who, in
his youth, had played with the great recorder players of Europe and
Knew His Stuff. We would sit in a circle, in the orange light of the
lamps and put up our music stands, take out our recorders and open
up the boxes of music that stood in the centre of the room.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">We never knew what
was going to come out of those boxes – whether it would be music by
Telemann, or Purcell, or Bach, or Schickhardt or Loeillet. Sometimes
it would be music we had played before, but more often than not, it
wasn't. Ruth would hand out our parts and we would open them up, see
the squiggles on the page – flat instructions, printed black on
white. And then we would begin to play, Erasmus on the guitar –
pretending it was a lute - his eyebrows disappearing into his hair as
he peered at the music over the top of his glasses; Ruth with her
fat, sausage fingers sticking out high over the holes of her
recorder, so that she was always a quaver behind the rest of us, her
soft grey hair, loosening from its bun and waving around her round,
sparkling eyes; Malcolm, his breath rasping from his nostrils into
his beard, stamping with a desperate foot and wagging his recorder up
and down in an attempt to keep us all together; my sisters and I, our
cheeks flushed, all bright eyed with eagerness.
</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Sometimes the music
was pretty, sometimes, it was lovely, but sometimes, it would spark
and catch and lift off the page and it was as though a time warp had
opened up between this concrete house in Saudi Arabia and the Europe
of past centuries, the music redolent of old stone churches, organs
and choirs. Sometimes it was music that was rich with the
extravagance of marble floored dance halls, gold trimmed cherubs
singing from pink-cloud ceilings – or sometimes it was music which
smelled of beer and roared with the life of Bruegel-busy taverns. Our
hearts would race, any evening fatigue would vanish and when we had
finished it was: “Let's play that again – <i>please</i> can we
play it again!” till late in the evening.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">This is what I tell
Ben's mother. About the times when music turns into a magic gift of
creation across time and centuries and people of different ages.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">“You're so lucky!”
Ben's mother exclaims. “You must have had the most amazing
experiences.”</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">And I nod and smile
again, “Yes,” I say. “I am very lucky.”
</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I don't tell tell
her about the years at music college where I learnt that my worth as
a human being was in direct proportion to my worth as a musician. I
do not tell her about the years of practising in practise rooms with
the light switched off, or up in the towers behind the organs where
no one could see me, terrified that someone would discover that I had
only just started learning my Tchaikovsky, or that I had not yet
perfected my Bach, or that my scales were not as well in tune as they
ought to be.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I tell her, instead,
about sitting on stage with tiger cubs, acrobats swinging overhead,
the most famous stars in the land singing and dancing beside me. I
tell her of the camaraderie of the orchestra pit, the crosswords and
knitting, the book clubs and jokes that form over a season. I don't
tell her how quickly that camaraderie can fade, once the season is
over. How colleagues that have shared a desk with me, every night
over the course of six weeks, can come to return a greeting with
glassy eyed indifference, mere weeks later. I don't tell her how,
when working with other musicians, you come to <i>expect</i> the
jealousy, the bitchy rumours, the snide comments.
</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">“I wish I could
have been talented enough to be a professional musician,” Ben's
mother says and her eyes are wistful as she watches her son fold his
music into an aeroplane and send it shooting at the neighbour’s
cat. “It must be so wonderful to do something you love. When I
came to your last concert and heard you play, I could just see how
much you love it!”</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Again, I nod and
smile and think back to the week before that concert - how I had been
counting down the days: “a week and it'll all be over...three more
days and it'll all be over...two more hours and it'll all be
over...two more pages....three more lines....two more bars....” how
I had looked out over the happy, applauding audience and wondered
why, at the age of forty-one, I was still putting myself through all
this.
</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I tell her instead,
about playing sonatas with my pianist, the excitement of trying
different interpretations; trying this passage a tad slower, or maybe
that one much faster – the process of searching for the door into
the music – the magic of discovering that you're there! This is it
- <i>this</i> is how it's meant to go!
</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I tell her about
playing Elgar - those moments when I feel as though I can see right
into his soul and my own heart breaks with the music, but is filled,
at the same time, with the rushing thrill of it.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">“Well, we'll
persevere,” Ben's Mum says, eyeing her son as he throws his violin
into its case and slams the lid on it, as though trapping a wild
animal. “I'm sure it will be worth it in the end.”</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">And I bite my lip
and smile and the worms of guilt dance a jig in my stomach.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">After Ben's Mum has
gone, I sit for a while and wonder: why <i>didn't</i> I tell her all
those things?</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Was it just because
I need the income from Ben's lessons? Is the income from Ben's
lessons, come to that, really worth the hours I have spent, listening
to his squalling attempts to ring a tune out of the violin, trying to
persuade him that he really does have to take his violin out of its
case and at least look at it, between lessons?
</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">No, it is nothing to
do with income. It is because, in spite of everything – in spite of
the fact that I probably have a stomach ulcer the size of Japan, in
spite of all the tears I have shed over the years, the fact that I
know I will always feel like a failure, always feel as though I have
missed something, never feel as though I am worth anything as a
musician; in spite of the fact that I know it will not get any better
– in spite of all this, I know that Ben's mother is right.
</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I <i>am</i> lucky. I
love what I do and I do not regret a single moment of my life as a
musician.</span></div>
Lucy Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09214272515888933388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5639685322046290517.post-66184679725481258692017-02-14T10:47:00.002-08:002017-02-14T10:47:53.422-08:00Kindle Book<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">As you may have noticed (!) I've not had much time for writing this blog recently. Though I asked Father Christmas for a few more hours in the day, there has been no sign of them as yet and I have so many projects on the go, I don't know which way to turn most of the time. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">However, one of the projects I've just finished is something I've been meaning to do for a while - putting up another collection of short stories on amazon Kindle. I am happier with the quality of these stories than I was with the last; many of them have won or been placed in competitions, or published in literary magazines though some of them are just there because I have a particular fondness for them myself! The first story in the collection is very imaginatively based on a true family story and many of the others deal with the treatment of women in some parts of the world. So if anyone wants a read, please look this book up, and by all means let me know what you think of it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Enjoy!</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B01MV2C5ER/ref=sr_1_7?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1486563495&sr=1-7&keywords=The+Song+Maker</span>Lucy Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09214272515888933388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5639685322046290517.post-26960203488424489582016-10-31T07:33:00.005-07:002016-10-31T07:33:42.120-07:00Happy Halloween!!
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">This is one from the archives that I just dug out and anglicised. Hope it gets you into the spirit!</span>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><span style="background: transparent;">Roadsend</span></b></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">I
was really pissed off at first. The guy didn't even have a credit
card on him, just a bit of cash - all of 70 quid - and his iPhone, of
course. Spent most of an evening, patiently watching this table of
blokes from the other side of the pub, as they got drunker and
drunker, biding my time, because they were all the stockbroker/lawyer
types, I thought it'd be worth it. Even when they started calling out
to the girl behind the bar, I didn't say a thing and I don't like it
when people talk to a Lady like that, I really don't. But I didn't
want a fight. I'd been down on my luck for a while, needed more cash.
Wasn't sure I was going to score this time, but, as I said, I was a
bit desperate, and so I hung around, waiting and watching and then,
at last, they decided to call it a day, most of them went off in a
cab, quick like, out the pub and into the waiting car, so there
wasn't much I could do, but then I realised that this one guy was
still waiting for his, leaning up against the wall of the pub,
smoking. I'd thought I was scoring a credit card at least, he looked
the type. The only guy in the whole pub who didn't have a credit card
and I picked him. Said he'd lost it that day. </span></span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">Still,
I had his iPhone and I hadn't got one of my own. I don't have a clue
when it comes to modern technology. I can just about manage email and
google, but I'm not even that great with Facebook, don't really get
it, though I knew enough about stuff to know that the police would
try and track it, so I switched it off and put it in the back of a
drawer for a while. </span></span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">Got
it out for the first time this morning. It's been six months so I
reckon that's enough time. They'll have given up on it by now, won't
they? It was quite interesting, it had his Facebook stuff on there
for anyone – or me, anyway! - to see. Made me feel a bit weird at
first; there were all these pictures of him with his kids and his
wife, or out with his mates. I didn't know he had kids - not that it
would have made much difference anyway. It's not as if I didn't ask
him nicely at first - I'm not an ogre, I always ask nicely to begin
with, and if he'd just handed it all over, I'd probably have left it
at that. But he didn't, so it got messy, and it was his fault. </span></span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">And
when I looked a bit more at the pictures I stopped feeling weird
about it anyway. This guy had it coming to him really. He'd got all
these photos of himself up, to show everybody what a rich git he was.
Pictures of him on holiday in Thailand, sitting on an elephant with
a a bunch of flowers round his neck, on holiday in New York with the
statue of Liberty, standing in front of the Eiffel tower in Paris,
the Leaning Tower in Spain, skiing in the snow, water skiing at some
fancypants resort. Loads of pictures of him sitting in posh
restaurants, eating posh nosh and drinking champagne; pictures of him
in what must have been his house – this huge, pretentious place out
in the country somewhere. And in all the pictures he looks like he's
stepped straight out of a car ad - all ironed T shirts and levis and
thick blonde hair, arms bulging with gym muscles. Huh. Those muscles
might have looked good, but they didn't do much for him when he found
himself up against me, did they! Well, that'll teach him. It did
teach him, in fact. Life's not meant to be perfect, not like that. </span></span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">But
looking at those pictures of his house made me think. They were just
pictures of his family at Christmas, but you know, there were all
these iPods, and laptops and stuff just lying around. There'd be
rich pickings in a place like that. You get some people who have
their houses booby trapped to the gills, but then, out in the
country, people often think they don't need to worry about stuff like
that. I looked at his profile and saw that the stupid git had
actually put the name of his village on Facebook as well, so I
thought I might as well check it out, it wasn't that far away. I was
still short of cash and didn't have much to do, so thought I'd come
out tonight.</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">So
that's where I'm heading now. I'm not planning on working exactly,
I'll probably just cruise round the area and see what it looks like.
It's a good idea to get to know a place before I start working in it
anyway. It's handy you know, just in case I have to make a quick
getaway. I wouldn't want to get lost with the cops behind me - drive
up a dead end and find I couldn't get out again.</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">So
it turns out he lived in this small village, all Ye Olde this and Ye
Olde that, Holly Bush Lane, Ivy Corner. Cor blimey, it's really the
sort of place that screams Bank Managers, or Rich Scurvy Lawyers at
you. Some little cottages but a load of big houses as well, too posh
for numbers, all with names, you know. It's hard to see in the dark,
though there's a bright, full moon shining so I can just make out the
name of this one yeah, this one's called Daisy Cottage, then there's,
let's see, Ivy House next door and The Rectory next door to that. Ah,
here's Copse Lodge – that looks like his place, though of course
it's hard to see much with the moon behind the house and there's no
lights on. Wonder if the wife and kids moved, or if they're in bed
already, watching their big screen TVs or playing on their iPods or
whatever it is that kids play on nowadays. Big front lawn, an old
bird table, looks like some late flowers still blooming. Big, square,
up and down Tudor sort of place, with the white walls and black wood
bits all slanted across it, though I'd bet a fiver it's all fake.
Probably quite a bit of it is fake around here.</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">Some
of the houses have thatched roofs, with flowers and big hedges and
it's all meant to look really countrified, but then they've got a
bloody great jaguar sitting out the front. It's the sort of place
where you know all the kids are probably off at private schools, all
smarmy in their little smarmy uniforms, their iPods in their ears. </span></span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">There's
a pub and I can see lights, but there's not much noise. Not like the
Red Lion back where I kip, which is all Nirvana thudding out, and
puddles of beer and piss out the front, hookers and their guys
hanging around, the hookers all eyes and tits, their guys all
shadowed faces. This is all Ye Olde Flickering Fire and Candlelight
and more food than drink, bet they don't even have a fruit machine.</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">Nah,
I have a feeling that these places are probably all wired straight to
the Police station, not sure it's worth me hanging around, it's too
quiet for me. </span></span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">I
wind the windows down and all I can hear are the engine of my car and
the wheels whispering along the road, the wind in the trees. There
goes some bird, an owl or something maybe. It doesn't half pong
though. There's a really strong whiff of manure in the air and
something else – an old mossy, stoney smell, maybe it's the smell
of rotting money. This place is beginning to give me the creeps
actually. In one sense, you think you could mug someone out here and
they could scream blue murder and nobody would hear, or come even if
they did, because they wouldn't want to get caught up in anything
that might get their clothes dirty. On the other hand, it's the sort
of place where the head guy at Scotland Yard probably hangs out,
probably sitting there in the pub with his wife and daughters, having
a nice meal of Pasta-something-or-other and talking about Opera or
their latest Hockey game or something. No, there's not much point in
hanging around. Think I'll just go back, find a MacDonald's, if you
get them in these parts. If I go now, I might catch that new show on
telly. </span></span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">That's
the good thing about this iPhone of his. It's got a sat nav on it, so
I can just follow that, don't need to go reading any maps or anything
like that.</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">I
put the address in and that little whirly thing goes round and round
for a bit and then the Google Lady finds my house and starts talking to me, all robotic lah-de-dah.</span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="background: transparent;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background: transparent;"> “<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Drive
down Main Street, turn left onto the Ablah-de-blah.” </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="background: transparent;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background: transparent;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">It's great,
this sat nav, thing. Never had one before, but it means I can just
drive along and think my own thoughts, look around a bit - not that I
can see much now I'm out of the village, as it's pretty dark, in
spite of the moon. There are no street lights round here, it's just
little narrow roads and high hedges so I have to use my full beamers.
Funny, I didn't think I came this way, but maybe this is a better
route.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">Bloody
hell, the petrol light's just gone on. That probably gives me another
twenty odd minutes before I run out. Took an hour to drive out here,
I'll have to fill up before I get home, but I should be hitting
Aylesbury soon, I reckon, or I think there were another couple of
little towns that should have a petrol station.</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">Oh
come on! Still, more little dark lanes, winding between higher and
higher hedges, now there are are trees both sides, the trunks
looming, gleaming like silver zombie bodies in the lights of the
headlights – oh God, what am I doing, getting all poetic? And now
the wind is picking up, sending leaves scuttling across the paths,
slapping onto the windscreen, and it's getting darker, where's that
bloody moon when you need it? Shit, I'm going to have to pull over,
check the Sat Nav, see if it can take me to a petrol station instead.
</span></span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">For
****'s sake! I must have got it wrong, it wasn't even taking me home!
Somewhere called Roadsend instead. Probably driven miles out of my
way now. Okay, search for petrol stations, Thank god there's one just
ten minutes drive away, should just about make it.</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">Staring
down at the map, seeing the little blue ball that is me, is
reassuring, though heaven knows why. I guess it's just good to know
that someone knows where I am, even if it is just a bloody satellite
somewhere up there, past the trees and the clouds, out in the
blackness of the night. There's another little ball thing now, a grey
one, showing up on the same road where my blue one sits. Unlike mine,
it's moving though, coming closer up behind – what the bloody hell
is it?</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">Better
get going. Back onto the road, moving fast, put my foot down, come on
little Sat nav Lady, get me to a petrol station, okay?</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="background: transparent;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background: transparent;">“<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Continue
on Dread Road for half a mile, then take a left at Sinking Street.”</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">God
these roads have weird names. Still, I don't care just so long as I
get to civilisation and a petrol station soon. Don't like the way
it's getting darker. Really don't want to be stranded out here for
the night. The moon's gone now, covered by thick clouds. It's getting
much colder as well, hands feeling stiff on the windscreen. Times
like this I wish I had the RAC or something, but I can't risk calling
anyone like that. Should have paid my bloody road tax.</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="background: transparent;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background: transparent;">“<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Take
the next right onto Revenge Lane.”</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">Really
don't like the names of these places, what happened to all those
Holly Bush Lanes and Ivy Corners? That little grey dot on the sat nav
is catching up with me, almost level, which is really weird as there
are no lights behind me, can't see a bloomin' thing.</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">Ah,
at least I can see something ahead now, great big stone gateposts
rising up in front, looks more like the entrance to a grand property
or a park or something. Can't be right, can it?</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="background: transparent;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background: transparent;">“<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Continue
straight ahead onto Roadsend.”</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">Oh
for bloody bloody. The Sat nav's bloody reverted again.</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">A
great gust of wind shakes the car, sending the leaves blustering
through the air, and then, when they clear, the clouds have blown
away and so I can see, all around me, the silver silhouettes of
headstones, shining like iced teeth in the light of the moon.</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">It's
a graveyard. I'm in a graveyard. </span></span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">I
hate graveyards at the best of times, but I really don't like this
now on this cold, black night, with a moaning wind whipping dead
leaves across the windscreen, and bollocks only knows where I am. The
car's really struggling as well. I need to turn round get out of
here, but the petrol light's winking on and off on and off, and,
Bloody Hell, now the engine's groaning and now it's dying and that's
it. Turn off the engine, turn it back on again but there's no sound. </span></span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">I'm
sweating now, in spite of the cold. Do I spend the night here, wait
till it gets light?</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">There's
a knocking on the window and my heart slams in my ribs, but it just
looks like some bloke and I've got my knife. The window's jammed so I
have to open the door.</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">"Good
Evening. You look like you could do with some help.” It sounds like
he's laughing, but I can't see his face, he's got a hoodie on. Who on
earth would be out on a night like this – and in a graveyard?</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">"Too
bloody right I could do with some help. Who the Bloody Hell, are
you?” I can hear my voice shaking, though I'm trying my best to
keep it still, so I get to my feet. My height is usually enough to
intimidate people, but turns out he's just about as tall as me when
he stands up straight. The wind is blowing sharp and I can feel ice
in the air. It's started to rain and the air smells of damp earth,
deep earth, rotting vegetation.</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">"Don't
you recognise me, Kevin? We met a few months ago."</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">Kevin?
Who the bloody hell is it? Where did I meet him? How does he know my
name?</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">What
with all the darkness and the rain, I can't make him out at all. And
then the rain slows and the moon's back, shining down, right on the
figure so that I can see it – so I can see the billowing cloak, the
gleam of bone where its face should be and the grinning teeth of the
jaw. And I see its eyes - eyes that are oddly familiar – eyes that
I have seen recently on the internet, smiling up at me from various
photographs; eyes that I saw in reality a few months before, begging
for mercy from a bloody face. But now those eyes are cold and
merciless as the wind that comes shrieking around me.</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">Then
I see the bone of the figure's arms as it raises something in the
air; and I see the glint of moonlight on a curving metal blade as it
comes slicing down towards me and the gaping, hungry mouth of the
fresh dug grave lying at my feet.</span></span></span></span></div>
Lucy Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09214272515888933388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5639685322046290517.post-17029989637933111792016-06-24T06:07:00.000-07:002016-06-24T06:08:27.998-07:00What Price Democracy?<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Democracy is a beautiful word, liquid and crunchy at the same time, a river of fairness flowing over a pebbled creek bed of justice. It resonates with echoes of history, of age and wisdom; it is a word which conjures up beautiful old Greek men and women in their marble togas, debating in a temple of peace and prosperity.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">An archaic view perhaps, but maybe one that is more fitting than the idea of millions of British people lining up at polling booths? For surely the concept of Democracy was born out of the idea of people having facts, time to debate them, to turn them over and look at them from every point of view?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">In any other part of my life, I tend to ask for expert opinion. If I am ill, I take the advice of a qualified doctor over a group of friends who have no experience in the medical field, I would go to a solicitor on matters of law, to a plumber for trouble with our never ending sewage issues (though maybe the latter is something I need to rethink!) Sometimes, there may be things I could fix myself, but because I run a family and work etc etc, I do not have the time to do the necessary research, or gain the expertise, and I don't think I am unusual. And yet, I, along with 64 million others, have been asked to make a decision on an issue with massive legal, economic and environmental implications. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I have done my best to research as best as I can, dipping into the quagmire of lies and arguments, counterarguments and vitriol, that the media of this country have drummed up, whilst the people who I believe should be the experts, the people who have the details and facts at their fingertips, have spent their time mud slinging and whining, pointing fingers and making wild claims that they are already, less than twenty four hours later, rejecting. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Now that the results are in, I feel heartbroken, devastated, terrified for the future of my children. I would love to shout and scream and blame all the people who have voted against my own beliefs, but at the same time, I know that they too will have been fighting their way through life, many of them too busy to do anything other than glance at the headlines of the Daily Mail. How many of us have the time, the energy or the wherewithal, to sift through the lies and hate? How many of us have the experience, the knowledge, to make decisions such as this, on the very little knowledge available to us? </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I believe that Great Britain, and maybe even the world is a much darker place this morning and all for the sake of "Democracy"?</span>Lucy Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09214272515888933388noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5639685322046290517.post-45271495157015869422016-06-01T02:29:00.001-07:002016-06-01T02:29:27.543-07:00Remembering Music<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">According to Facebook, my followers would like to hear from me...not sure that's true, or if I even have any followers.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Be that as it may, I have been thinking of a series of Rants that I intend to write, regarding music education,have just been trying to pluck up the courage/ find a minute in the day to write them. In the meantime, thought I might just witter on a bit about some thoughts I had last night, which could, possibly, be connected in some way.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">So, last night I was Morris Dancing with Owlswick Morris in a pub in Whitchurch, a lovely old building called, rather originally for a Buckinghamshire pub, The Swan. Whitchurch is a gorgeous village only slightly marred by being carved in two by the A413. As in so much of England, the architecture ranges from lopsided cottages with pudding basin hair cuts, cuddled up to little houses made of flapjack coloured Cotswold stone, or medieval black and white timbered buildings with diamond pane windows. Church towers, turf covered graveyards, pubs with swinging signs, stags, swans, you get the picture. Last night was the last of May and a cold wind was blowing, slanting rain etc so there was no one but us dancers in the pub, dancing to ourselves. The musicians started up a tune - Beaux of London City, which is a tune I have danced to countless times, occasionally with Owlswick and, for a couple of years, with Windsor Morris, in Ales all over the south of England. And yet, as soon as I heard the music, blowing out into the wet, grey English evening, I was transported to a place and time where the air was hot and dry and smelled of dust and wide open spaces, eucalyptus trees. Behind the notes, I could hear echoes of the call to prayer, the hum of the pool pump, the confused chatter of parrots, laughter, the clink of tea mugs and cns of 7Up, I could feel the thump of teenage adrenalin in my veins, see the inky darkness beyond the floodlights in my parent's garden. Because, in spite of the fact that I have heard this tune played so often, in so many places, the first time I danced this dance, heard the music, was in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, when I was about fifteen.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">It is the same with Elgar's Pomp and Circumstance March. I have played it numerous times, most often in Best of British concerts, for instance, in Australia with the Queensland Pops Orchestra; I have sung along to it at the Albert Hall, standing squashed into the Arena with hundreds of other promenaders at The Last Night of the Proms. And yet, whenever I hear the opening flurry of notes, I am filled with the atmosphere of a gymanisum in Riyadh, heaving with drunken, homesick expats, all singing their little hearts out, to the backing of an out-of-tune concert band, in the nerve wracking days leading up to the first Gulf War. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">When I hear the first notes to How Great Thou Art, I see the dim flickering of candles on the altar of St Theresa's Church in Harper, Liberia, hear the deep, rich harmonies of many African voices, the crash and thunder of tropical storms and the swelling of the red earth as it is pounded by the rain. When I hear the Skye Boat Song, it is not a Scottish Loch that comes to mind, but the magical smell of petrol, hot sand and wind and fish, salt water and sea weed that was the smell of Lake Shepherd, the Lagoon that lay in front of St Theresa's and the place where we had many a barricuda filled adventure in our days in Harper. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I have heard it said that the sense of smell is that that is most closely linked with memory, but I wonder. If, after all these years, the very first notes of music can bring back such strong memories of every other sense, does that mean that music is a sense of its own? And, I know that in the past, music has often been used as a memory aid, in story telling, for eductional purposes - and I don't just mean music education here. But I feel that, in Western society, more and more, music is just used as a means of "entertainment" with a definitely small e. I know music is used wonderfully by many therapists, but is it not time to see how we may use music more effectively again, in every day education and life?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Anyway, just some preceding thoughts. Would love to hear of others experiences re music and memory, if anyone ever reads this blog after my long absence of writing...?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />Lucy Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09214272515888933388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5639685322046290517.post-50093441727981296002016-03-09T10:32:00.001-08:002016-03-09T10:32:18.504-08:00Sight
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">So it was International Women's day yesterday, a fact that I missed, due to having my head down every spare minute with a new project of mine. But here's a story I wrote a few years ago, to celebrate womanhood.</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Enjoy! (or else!)</span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="CENTER" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><span style="background: transparent;">Sight</span></b></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">She
was bored. Not that that made a change, of course. She'd been bored
yesterday, and the day before that and the day before that. In fact,
if she thought about it, she'd been bored for most of her existence.</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">Yes,
the grass she sat on was soft and silky, caressing her skin; the sun
on her face was warm and nourishing; the air was full of birdsong and
the perfume of a thousand flowers. But the grass had been soft and
silky yesterday, the sun had been warm and nourishing yesterday,
there had been bird song and the perfume of a thousand flowers in the
air, yesterday as well. And it had been the same the day before that
and the day before that.</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">She
wasn't hungry, but she put out a hand and felt the soft, furry
plumpness of a ripe peach beneath her fingers. She pulled gently on
it and it fell into her hand and she brought it up to her teeth and
took a bite, enjoying the explosion of juice in her mouth. She tore
the skin from the fruit in strips, sucking at the flesh, before
taking tiny nibbles and swallowing. It took her about twenty minutes
to eat the whole fruit down to the stone, another ten minutes or so
to extract every last fibre from the stone itself. Then she sighed
and lay back in the grass. She wondered where her husband was and
what he was doing. Off picking berries somewhere, probably. Or
bathing in the pool. There wasn't much else he </span></span></span></span></span></span></span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">could</span></i><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">
be doing.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">In
some ways it was quite nice to be by herself for a change. He had
been particularly smug and self satisfied recently. She stretched out
on the grass and wondered if she would be able to fall asleep. That
was one good way of passing the time.</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">"Hello."</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">She
sat up. What was that? Had she gone to sleep? She could have sworn
she had heard a voice - a voice that wasn't that of her husband.</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">The
voice came again. "Hello. How are you?"</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">It
was a friendly voice, smooth and deep, deep enough to be male, but
almost high enough to be female as well, coming from above her, so
she knew that whoever it was, was not as tall as her husband. Who
could it be? She hadn't thought that there was anybody else living
here.</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">"Who
are you?" Her heart was doing something funny, beating fast,
thump, thump, thump, in her chest. Was she scared? She wasn't sure -
she'd never been scared before. Maybe she was just excited. </span></span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">"I
am your friend."</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">"My
friend? But I have no friends..."</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="background: transparent;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background: transparent;">“<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Wouldn't
you like one?”</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">She
thought about it for a while. It had never occurred to her that she
might be able to have a friend - other than her husband of course.
She felt a warmness that had nothing to do with the sun, rise up in
her chest, filling her up, and her mouth stretched into a wide,
exultant smile. A friend. A </span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">Friend</span></span></i></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="background: transparent;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background: transparent;">“<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">I
think – I think I'd love a friend,” she responded at last. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="background: transparent;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background: transparent;">“<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Well
then, you've got one.” There was a hint of laughter in the voice.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="background: transparent;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background: transparent;">“<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Really?
Just like that?”</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="background: transparent;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background: transparent;">“<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Really.
Just like that.”</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="background: transparent;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background: transparent;">“<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Oh
</span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">thank</span></span></i></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">
you. It will be lovely to have a friend." She spoke the word
slowly, luxuriating in it, rolling her tongue around it.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">"Oh
dear. I'm guessing you must get lonely sometimes." </span></span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">"Well..."
Not lonely so much, as her husband was there most of the time...but
she knew him so well, and there wasn't much to talk about. "I
don't really get lonely - but I do get a bit bored sometimes,"
she replied.</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">Her
new friend chuckled. "I'm not surprised. I'd be bored if I were
you. There's not much to do here all day is there?"</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">She
shook her head. "We walk around and eat fruit and, well, we sit
down sometimes as well and talk and sometimes my husband goes off
like now, to bathe or pick berries or something and then I get to
think and stuff...I don't know, what else </span></span></span></span></span></span></span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">could</span></i><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">
we be doing?"</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">There
was a sigh, a hissing sigh. "You poor thing. You have no idea.
There's so much more to life. S</span></span></span></span></span></span></span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">o</span></i><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">
much more to life."</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">"Really?"
Her heart had slowed after the initial shock, but now it started to
beat a little faster again and the breath caught in her throat. "What
else is there? Tell me - please tell me."</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">Again
a sigh and then a small, thoughtful pause. "Well, for one
thing, there's sight."</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">"Sight?"</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">"Yes,
sight. Put your hands up to the hollows in your face on either side
of your nose."</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">She
did so, feeling the tender, soft swellings under her fingers.</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">"Those,
my dear, are your eyes. If they were opened, then you would be able
to see things. Not just feel them, not just hear them, not just taste
them, but </span></span></span></span></span></span></span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">see</span></i><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">
them. You would be able to see the golden sunset of a peach, the blue
of the sky, the glorious colours of the flowers, the green of the
grass. You would be able to see </span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">me</span></span></i></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">
- the birds, your husband."</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">She
frowned. "What do you mean, I would be able to see? What do you
</span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">mean</span></span></i></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">
- </span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">see</span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">?"</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">Another
pause and then the voice said: "There's only one way of finding
out. Would you like me to tell you how?"</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">"Yes,
</span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">please</span></span></i></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">."</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">"Okay.
Well, you'll have to get up and walk into the centre of the garden
where there is a big tree."</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">"Oh
yes, I know the one you mean - the Special one."</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">"That's
right."</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">She
got to her feet and walked in the direction of the special tree. She
always knew where the tree was, because it smelled different to the
others. She could tell her friend was coming with her as she could
hear him rustling along beside her. She was surprised by how good it
felt, to be walking along with a friend. She held her head high and
smiled.</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">She
knew she was at the tree when the scent was all but overpowering and
she could feel the deep coolness of the shade it gave out.</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">"Okay,"
she turned to her friend. "Now what?"</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">"Now
all you have to do is reach out and pluck a fruit from the tree and
take a bite."</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">"Take
a bite?" Now her heart really was thumping. "But we
mustn't!"</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">"Really?"
Suddenly, the voice was just a touch less friendly. There was a note
- just a semiquaver of a note, but a note all the same - of boredom,
and even, she thought, of contempt in it now. "Why not?"</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">"We
have been told that we mustn't."</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">"Hmm."
There was definitely contempt there now, and she felt a wash of cold
disappointment steal over her. Not just disappointment, but a
nameless fear, like a lump at the base of her throat, a dragging ache
in her stomach. Her Friend said nothing for so long that she thought
the silence might go on for ever and she couldn't bear it. She'd been
so excited to have a friend and now it looked like she had blown it
already. "It's the one tree in the garden that we're not meant
to eat from," she said at last, unable to bear the silence any
more.</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">When
her Friend spoke again, there was a coldness in his voice."Well,
suit yourself, I was only trying to help." Again, a short pause
and the lump in her throat swelled so much, it hurt her.</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">"I
guess I'll see you around."</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">"No!
Don't go, </span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">please</span></span></i></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">
don't go." The words were out of her mouth before she could stop
them.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">"Why
not? If you won't let me help you..."</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">She
took a deep breath. "Look, I'm sorry, it's just...please, tell
me - why should I eat the apple?"</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">"So
that you can see," there was a tiny thread of warmth back in the
voice again, and her heart swelled with hope. Even though the warmth
was surely nothing more than impatience - anything was better than
cold contempt. "I thought I had explained that well enough."</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">"You
said it would help me see. But why is it so important to see?"</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">Another
hissing sigh. "Oh dear, my poor sweet child. Put it this way.
You can carry on life forever, as you are. Lying around, eating,
drinking, bathing, picking berries. Nothing will ever change. It will
be the same, day after day, after day for all eternity. But if you
can see, it will add another dimension to your life. You will have
knowledge."</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">"Then
why has it been forbidden for us to eat this fruit?"</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">"I
don't know. Maybe because you are too naive. Maybe He thinks he
couldn't trust you to do the right thing if you could see.”</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">A
hot flush rose in her cheeks then. "But that's not fair. I've
never done anything to make Him think that. Of </span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">course</span></span></i></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">
I can be trusted!"</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="background: transparent;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background: transparent;">“<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Yes,
my dear, I'm sure you can. I trust you, you see, but there's probably
only </span></span></span></span></span></span></span>one
way to <span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">prove
</span></span></i></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">you
can be trusted.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">
Take one of the fruit, go on. Just take one and have a little nibble.
You don't have to eat the whole thing. That's probably what's
forbidden anyway. I'm sure it wouldn't matter if you just had a
little nibble.”</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">"You're
really sure?"</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">"Absolutely."</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">Her
heart was beating hard now and her head was whirling with so many
thoughts she couldn't tell which was uppermost. Her fingers itched to
reach out and pluck one of the fruit, but there was guilt there as
well. Should she? Would there be big trouble? But her Friend
obviously knew what he was talking about and if he thought it would
be okay, then it must be. And if she refused, then what? Would her
Friend go away? Would he never come back again? The thought made her
feel so cold and desperate inside that she found her hand rising to
the tree almost of its own accord.</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">"Go
on, go on," her Friend hissed softly. "Just take one, just
one small nibble. I promise you won't regret it.”</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">"Alright."
She reached out, felt the leaves, dry and thin under her fingers and
then a round, hard fruit. She fingered her way to the stem and gave a
sharp tug and the fruit came away, falling so easily into her palm
that she laughed with delight. She sniffed and was surprised that it
didn't smell as strong as she had expected; a faint, but sweet smell.
She opened her mouth and took a bite, her teeth breaking into the
hard flesh. A delicate sweet flavour, just a little acid, filled her
mouth. She chewed, then swallowed and then suddenly, she was bent
over, she had dropped to the ground, her head was pounding and there
was light filling her head – and her eyes were open. For the first
time in her life, she was seeing things - light and colours and
shapes and, above all, beauty such as she had never imagined. Without
knowing it, she was on her feet again, racing around grabbing at a
flower here, at a leaf there, bringing it right up to her eyes and
staring at it, with wonder and awe. Then she gazed down at her hands,
her feet and at her body, at the brown skin, the soft swelling of
breasts and hips and muscles and the hard lines of her bones. And
then she looked over to see her friend watching her and saw that he
was completely different to her - long and thin and shiny, the same
colour as the grass. </span></span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">"You're
different to me," she said.</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">"Yes,
I am," he replied, and she could see he was about to say
something else, but then he put his head on one side as if
listening."Is that your husband returning?"</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">She
listened as well and was rewarded by the sound of her husband's
footsteps moving over the grass. Her heart leapt. Oh, to be able to
show him this wondrous new gift! "Adam! Adam! " she called,
and then she saw him, for the first time, striding towards her. He
was tall, with strong, noble, handsome features and a thick shock of
black hair; wide shoulders, a beautifully muscled chest and stomach
and...well, well, so that's what it looked like was it...and long,
straight, hairy legs. Hmm, not bad, she thought. Not bad at
all."Adam, you have to meet my new Friend!"</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">His
brow wrinkled. "Your new friend?"</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">"Yes
-" She turned, but to her astonishment, there was no sign of her
Friend anywhere. "Oh, he was here a minute ago...” She
wondered where on earth he was, but she was so excited, she turned
back to her husband. “Oh Adam, he showed me the most amazing thing!
I can see - I can </span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">see</span></span></i></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">!"</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">Adam's
forehead wrinkled even further. "See? What do you mean?"</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">"I'll
show you. Just take a bite from this fruit."</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">"But
Eve! That's the forbidden fruit!"</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">"Oh
yes, I know that, but Adam, you've got to try it!"</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">"Eve!"
His voice had gone high and staccato with shock. "Eve! Please
tell me you haven't eaten the fruit!"</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">"Only
a nibble and it's the best thing I've ever done. oh Adam, you've </span></span></span></span></span></span></span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">got</span></i><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">
to try it!"</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">"But
we </span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">mustn't</span></span></i></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">!"</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">"Oh
come on Adam, don't be such a goody goody. Just a nibble. You don't
have to eat the whole thing. He never said we couldn't nibble on it!"</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">"But
it's forbidden!"</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">"Oh
for heavens sake, it's forbidden to eat the whole fruit, but just
have a </span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">nibble</span></span></i></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">.
Go on, you can do it!"</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">Adam
stood for a while, silent and she could see he was wavering. "Look,
I've had a taste and the only thing that's happened to me is that I
can see - which is the best thing that's ever happened to me!"</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">His
mouth turned down at the corners and his shoulders drooped. "The
best thing that's ever happened to you?"</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">She
sighed. "Okay, the </span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">second</span></span></i></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">
best thing that's ever happened to me."</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">He
smiled then and stood straighter.</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">"Come
on, open wide."</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">He
hesitated for just a moment longer and then opened his mouth and she
pressed the apple to his teeth. He crunched and chewed and then
swallowed. Eve watched, entranced. First he frowned, then his eyelids
began to flicker and then at last they lifted, revealing beautiful
dark brown eyes that were flecked with gold and fringed with dark
lashes. Unlike her, Adam stood still, gazing around for what seemed
like an age, his mouth hanging open with astonishment and awe. And
then his eyes came to rest on her, running up and down her body,
making her flush and feel embarrassed for the first time in his
company. </span></span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">"You're
naked," he said.</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">"So
are you."</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">He
looked down at his own body then, at his hands and legs and stomach
and..."Good grief!" He reached out to a tree and yanked a
off leaf, placing it at his groin. "Eve, cover yourself!"</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">She
cast her eyes heavenward, but even as she did so, there came a
blinding light and a Voice, a deep and beloved voice, rang out into
the garden. "Children, what have you been doing?"</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">They
stared at each other, immobile with terror and guilt. "It was
her fault," Adam began. "She made me do it..."</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">"I
don't care whose fault it was. You both </span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">knew</span></span></i></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">
you weren't allowed to take fruit from that tree."</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">Eve
stared around for her friend, but he was nowhere to be seen. Surely
he should be here now, to explain it all? Where was he? She opened
her mouth to call out, but then realised that she didn't even know
what his name was.</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">"Children,
you have disobeyed me and there will now be consequences."</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">"But..."
They both spoke at once, but their words were drowned out by the
sound of a rushing wind. It tore around them, whipping their hair
around their faces, dark and harsh and terrifying, so that it was
almost as though they were blind again. </span></span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="background: transparent;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background: transparent;">“<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Friend!
</span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">Friend</span></span></i></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">!”
Eve screamed into the darkness, but all she heard was a hissing laugh
that speared her heart with agony. The wind buffeted and pulled at
the two humans so that they had to cling together to keep their
balance, and then suddenly it was gone and so was the garden. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">They
were standing on an outcrop of bare rock, and before them was the
World.</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">The
voice spoke again, but this time it seemed to come from a great
distance. "Okay, " it said. "You think you know best,
so from now on, you're on your own." And then it was gone. </span></span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">Adam
fell to his knees in an orgy of weeping and wailing, banging his
chest with his fists, his head on the ground, kicking his legs out in
grief.</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">Eve
stood with her arms wrapped around her chest, trying to contain the
tearing pain in her heart. She lifted her head and looked out to the
horizon – and paused. </span></span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">She
could see rain forests out there; jungles and deserts; an ocean that
surely stretched to the edge of the world and high mountain peaks.
She could see flocks of parrots, herds of deer, the flight of a
butterfly. </span></span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">She
could see danger out there and hardship, hunger and disease. She
could time which changed and muttered and ended.</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">Then
she looked down at her handsome husband, with his broad shoulders,
his hard muscled stomach and his fig leaf. Her heart still burned
with grief, but she felt as though there was a tiny light growing in
there as well.</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto; page-break-inside: auto; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: transparent;">She
straightened her shoulders. "Come on Adam," she said.
"There's a whole new world out there, and it's ours for the
taking."</span></span></span></span></div>
Lucy Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09214272515888933388noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5639685322046290517.post-36774490588500128202016-02-20T03:29:00.000-08:002016-02-20T03:29:31.805-08:00Litter Rant<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Anyone who has ever read my blog has probably arrived at the conclusion that I rather like walking in the English countryside.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I am in the very fortunate position, of being able to step out of my front door and go for a walk up the road out of the village, which winds between fields of cows and sheep. It is not a dramatic landscape round here - there are none of the peaks and waterfalls and lakes of the North, there are no glittering sea views or rearing white cliffs. But there are hedgegrows that are alive with sparrows, robins, bluetits, chaffinches; there are enormous black cows which blow at me as I pass, curly haired brown cows like teddy bears who came and stare at me over the gate, fluffy white, bouncy, silly, sheep. Many of the fields still roll and dip from their days as medieval Ridge and Furrow fields and, with approaching spring are sprouting with daisies and the bright, glowing yellow of celandines and dandelions. The ancient hedgerows are beginning to sprout a green fuzz of new leaves and will soon be starred with hawthorn and blackberry blossom and briar roses, the verges of the road are emerald green with thick grass, clumps of daffodils and snowdrops, nodding their heads every few feet.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">However, the verges and hedgrows, the ditches that carry the rainwater to the streams are also liberally decorated with coke and red bull cans, wine bottles, fanta bottles, juice boxes, plastic bags, polystyrene boxes, Mcafe cups, ciggarette packets, crisp packets. Once every week or so I take a rubbish bag on my walks, but I have always filled it within a hundred yards or so, though I concentrate mainly on filling it with the plastic, and aluminium and glass, leaving the cigarette boxes and paper cups, because I simply can't carry them all and I hope they will break down without releasing too many poisons into the environment.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I'm afraid that this absolutley baffles me. I can understand why, in poverty stricken areas of the world, where people are uneducated, desperate, have given up hope, that they don't care about chucking the odd crisp packet on the ground. But in middle class Buckinghamshire? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I realise that a lot of this rubbish will have been blown here (I have worked out what most meteorologists still haven't; namely, that wind has nothing to do with cold fronts or warm fronts or freezing bottoms, but likes to blow hardest on rubbish days, when the streets are lined with bins) but I can't believe the wind is responsible for it all - the other day, I was working an area I had "cleaned up" just two weeks before and found nine wine bottles, seven plastic bottles, numerous aluminium cans etc etc. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Now I walk at least once, if not twice or three times a day with the dog as I know a lot of people do. And though it's tricky to manage a dog on the road and a rubbish bag, I figure I can do a "clean up" of sorts at least once a week - and obviously, the more of us who do this, maybe we can mae a tiny difference, which is better than nothing. I realise that I am probably preaching to the converted, but if anyone is interested, I have started a "Dog Walkers for a Cleaner Britain" (yeah, I know, snazzy title!) page on Facebook, in the hopes that some people may join me in my quest. So please pop along and like it, if you can, or share it! </span>Lucy Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09214272515888933388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5639685322046290517.post-14299609052842063892016-02-04T01:58:00.001-08:002016-02-04T01:58:49.725-08:00Adstockistan
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Fiery sparks streamed from the torches
of the villagers, lighting their faces to demony in the blowing
darkness as they surged down the lane towards the village.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">A lynch mob, you wonder? No, this was
the first Adstock Wassail, held last weekend for the Adstockistan
orchard.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">First things first. Adstokistan: A
community apple orchard planted and run by some wonderful people in
the village, who served in Afghanistan, primarily to raise money for
Afghanaid. Each tree in the orchard has been sponsored by someone in
the village – half the money went towards buying the trees
themselves, whilst the rest was donated to Afghanaid, where it is
used to support orchards in Badakhshan province. Badakhshan has very
little arable land and the people there are forced to exist on
subsistence farming, so the orchards not only provide an income for
farmers, but help protect the soil from erosion, preventing the
deadly landslides that occur in the area.
</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Adstokistan itself now has 74 trees; it
will be a place where people can picnic, with a purpose built shelter
and there are plans to hold an Adstocktober Fest and a Wassail ever
year.
</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Which brings me to:</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">A Wassail - an ancient ceremony held in
orchards, to wake the trees from their midwinter sleep and wish them
health and happiness for the coming season. Personally, I had only
ever heard of Wassails in the context of Christmas, drinking, eating,
etc etc, so this was fascinating for me, not least, because I also
made my debut with Owlswick Morris Side, (we were the pagan
representatives, I think) dancing dances I had never danced before,
which was interesting.
</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The orchard lies at the top of a
hill(ish), but it was a cold and stormy afternoon, so that the
pastoral view of rolling fields and hedgerows was shadowed by the
wind whipped winter trees and the shredded grey clouds that scudded
overhead. In the midst of the orchard was a gigantic kadai (an
enormous barbeque grill!) which was streaming flames into the sky and
surrounded by torches. After a few morris dances and communal singing
of the Wassail song, people were invited into the orchard to feed
their trees with toast, soaked in cider – thus inviting birds to
the tree – and a Tree Wassail was spoken:
</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>Old apple tree, we wassail thee and
hoping thou wilt bear,</i></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>Hatfuls, capfuls, three
bushel-bagfuls</i></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>And a little heap under the stairs,
Hip! Hip! Hooray! </i></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">After which, there was much banging of
pots and pans and screaming to wake the trees and chase off evil
spirits.
</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">There followed a blessing and the
lighting of the twelve torches around the kadai – making thirteen
fires in all, representing Jesus and his apostles. The thirteenth
fire, that of Judas, was put out (actually I think the wind blew it
out before anybody else could!) before it could take hold. Then there
were a couple of hymns sung, a final blessing and the villagers were
invited to light their torches and head down the lane to the village
hall for warm cider.
</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">So that, my friends, is an Apple
Wassail and very good it was too. I wanted to write about this, for
many reasons; firstly because I am a sucker for anything old or
ritualistic; secondly because I love the connection with Afghanistan
– whilst never having been there myself, I have friends who have
worked there and anyway, it's one of my favourite parts of the world
and one that mostly gets bad press; and thirdly, because I think it's
a jolly good cause and I have a lot of admiration for the people who
run it.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Jo Nicholson and Danny Tomblin, two of
the people involved, are both running the London Marathon to raise
money for Afghanaid, so if anyone is interested in this project,
please head over to this page:</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">https://www.justgiving.com/TeamAdstock</span></div>
Lucy Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09214272515888933388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5639685322046290517.post-78439509657619858602016-01-27T03:26:00.002-08:002016-02-02T01:16:09.736-08:00Is This the Real Life? Or Just a Fantasy?<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The thing about living in the English
countryside, is that, most of the time, it can feel as though you are living in the pages of a book or some such fantasy. At least, that's what it feels like to
me, anyway.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">
</span>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">In the mornings, when I take the dog
for a walk, it is pitch black, the lane out of the village often
shrouded with mist, the hedgerows a looming dark mass on either side.
The birds are just starting to stir, their anxious twitterings blown
through the air by the wind, rattling and sushing the branches; if
there is a moon, it is enveloped by shredded silver clouds. If a
Woman in White were to step out into my path, or a Baskervillian
hound were to start baying from the undergrowth, I don't think I'd
bat an eyelid. (Then I come home, walk through the back door and am
hit by a barrage of “Mum, where's my tie? Mum, did you put a wash
on, I need my sports kit for today! Mum, someone's used up all the
hot water and I haven't had my shower yet! Mum, there's no muesli
left.” And I wonder if Arthur Conan Doyle or Wilkie Collins ever
had mornings like that.)</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">
</span>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Then there are the mornings when the
frost is thick as snow on every twig and branch, when the fields are
cloaked in a thick white mist and you know that the Snow Queen is out
there somewhere, casting an icy and cynical eye over the landscape.
(and you threaten to ground any child who even <i>thinks</i> of
giving a rendition of the world's worst fart song.) When (and if) the
sun comes out, firing the frost into a rosy, golden sparkling, you
feel like Cinderella at the end of the ball, realising that dreams
may come true after all!</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">
</span>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">When the fields are covered with snow,
each branch of every tree painted with a line of white, you are back
in the land of Narnia, looking out for lampposts and wardrobe doors;
walking through the village, seeing the thick white icing on the
roofs of thatched cottages, on the gravestones of the churchyard,
along the old stone walls, you have to blink, and stare again to
remind yourself that yes, this is where you live, you haven't just
been eaten by a Christmas card.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">
</span>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The other afternoon, as I was walking
back down the lane, the sun was slanting over the fields from a
pink, rain-washed sky, making Bonnie's purple hedgehog ball ($3 from
Pets at Home) shine with a golden, translucen<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">t splendour</span>, turning the asphalt
into a shining lavender ribbon winding down towards the village and I
found myself watching for the Highwayman to come riding, riding,
riding....</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">
</span>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">During the Spring, walking around
amongst the cottage gardens, bursting with daffodils and spring roses
and buttercups and tulips, I am back in the world of Hilda Boswell,
amongst her Little Bo Peeps and her catkins, the Contrary Marys, the
fairies and little folk (if you don't know what I'm talking about
then GOOGLE)
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Come summer, it's all Cider and Rosy,
and, if I squint as I walk over the fields, I can see Oswald of the
WouldbeGoods setting out on some disastrous mission, gingerbeer and
fruit cake on board. Walking in the grounds of Stowe, I am in
constant expectation of bumping into Mr Darcy or Mr Bingley, or of
maybe overhearing Elizabeth Bennet and Anne Elliot comparing notes as
they stroll through the grounds.
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And you know, it's all so FAMILIAR. To
this person who spent most of her childhood amongst the hot blue
skies and red earth, the emerald bush and golden, singing grasses of
Africa, or the dry silent grandeur of the desert, I feel more at home
here than I had ever expected. Yes, I know I spent some time in
England before, but mostly in deepest suburbia. This familiarity
comes mainly from the pages of books, from stories written mostly
in the 19<sup>th</sup> and 20<sup>th</sup> century – and, whatever people
might say and in spite of all we humans are doing to destroy it all -
it's still all there! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Unbelievably and beautifully, still there.</span></div>
Lucy Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09214272515888933388noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5639685322046290517.post-11083542469318468652016-01-16T02:10:00.000-08:002016-01-16T02:11:30.371-08:00If I was Prime Minister<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The main trouble with this country - with the world, actually, is the fact that nobody asks me when they make the big decisions.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">For instance, we have now hit January and all my friends in Australia, are currently frolicking in their swimming pools, lying on the beach, having barbeques and generally enjoying their extended summer holidays. (As I said in my last post, I am not at all jealous).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Everybody knows that January and February are the worst possible months in England. However mild it may have been in December, one can bet one's last pound that the temperture will drop several degrees came January. Everybody gets sick, so that the whole of life is lived to a backdrop of sneezing and coughing and snorting and wheezing, like some sort of Lutoslawski symphony and people walk around with drooping, glaze-eyed stares. It is still pitch dark in the mornings and the roads are filmed with a thin coating of treacherous ice. It's not much fun, but of course, being British, we have to torture ourselves further. We rush back to work as soon as the New Year is over, rush back to the gyms, there are calls put out for "dry January" and everybody becomes obsessed with their diets.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Now here is my solution to the problem. Henceforth, I suggest that we all stockpile sticky toffee pudding and red wine - and yes, maybe the occasional lettuce leaf - and turn January into Hibernation Month. This is how it would work. We would all stay at home, sleep, read, eat. On nice crisp days like this morning, we would take our dogs for walks to keep fittish, (because of course we would all have dogs in a world governed by me) and then we would marvel at the glint and sparkle of the frost on the grass, wonder at the bare branches of the trees, washed clean and golden in the low winter sunlight. Then we would go home and drink red wine and eat hot sticky pudding.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">In Spring we would all emerge, with the blossom, fresh and rested, raring to bloom anew. Productivity would surely go up as a nation, we would all be filled with generosity and kindness of spirit towards our fellow man. "Bomb Syria? No, let's invite them to tea instead." </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I'm sure the world would be a better place. </span>Lucy Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09214272515888933388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5639685322046290517.post-75098538656460308742016-01-07T02:51:00.001-08:002016-01-07T02:51:26.876-08:00Happy New Year!<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The start of this year has been a pretty horrible one for reasons that I don't want to go into. Suffice to say that we are all healthy in the grand scheme of things, for which I am very grateful, but I suspect that, for my extended family, 2016 it is not all going to be fun and games.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I am now sitting here with a head stuffed full of snot and other gunk, it is cold and grey and rainy outside and I am thinking, with no trace of jealousy, honest guv, of all my friends in Oz - frolicking in their pools or at the beach, or camping in the bush, 'neath brilliant blue skies, serenaded by the screeching of cockatoos, the cackling of crows, the chirruping of lorikeets, the whistling of butcher birds. I can't remember the last time I put any sun screen on, let's put it that way...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">However. Because, there is always a however, as you know. There is a programme on British television, which I sometimes catch in the gym, (I would hate you to think that I watch daytime TV otherwise!) about people who emigrate to Australia, which I watch with a mixture of frustration and interest. I will never regret going to Oz and will always consider myself an Ozian - I lived there for longer than I have ever lived anywhere else, after all. I have eaten vegemite and know how to pronounce yoghurt properly. I get teary when listening to the Quantas ad and Waltzing Matilda. But when I see people who go there for a week, are seduced by the beach, the big houses and swimming pools, I want to scream at them! There are a lot of wonderful things about Australia, not least Moreton Bay Bugs, but if you are thinking of going <i>just </i>for the above mentioned seductions, as so many of these people seem to be, then for heaven's sake think again! Because after a few years, when you find that you are either working all the hours to pay for a cleaner to clean that lovely big house, or you are working all hours to keep that lovely big house clean yourself; when you find that actually you have only had the time to go to the beach once in a whole year (because of time spent working and cleaning big house); when you realise that you either cut yourself off from your family back home, or spend all your holidays and all your money (that isn't spent on keeping big house and pool in working order!) on traumatic family trips back to the UK; when you realise that, actually, you miss walking down cobble stone streets, the sight of tiny crooked houses, sagging under the history of several centuries, the scent of old stone and moss covered corners; when you realise that the knowledge of all these things are hanging heavy on your shoulders - then surfing and a "Lifestyle"existence are not going to seem so important, any more. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">But here's another but and however - and one of the main reasons that we came back here to England. I realise that I have an over active guilt gland and that coming back did not change anything, but still...why is it, that, if you fancy a bit of the surf lifestyle, if you think that you will be able to get a better paid job, or give your kids a slightly better chance in life, all you have to do is fill in a few forms and buy a plane ticket and you will be welcomed into Australia with open arms - whilst, if you are fleeing from persecution, you are desperate to protect your children from rape and pillage, you will be incarcerated and treated worse than a common criminal?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Happy New Year! </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">PS I know that we in England are hardly better at treating refugees, but it was more than we could cope with to carry the weight of guilt for two countries. </span>Lucy Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09214272515888933388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5639685322046290517.post-50508577915024977972016-01-03T12:06:00.001-08:002016-01-03T12:06:07.226-08:00Silence<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Hi All,</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Just had a piece published by Litro Magazine, head over that way if you'd like to read it!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">http://www.litro.co.uk/2016/01/silence/</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">And feel free to let me know what you thought, just so long as it's nice things! </span>Lucy Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09214272515888933388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5639685322046290517.post-10064606652996929152015-12-24T03:11:00.001-08:002015-12-24T03:11:49.884-08:00Happy Christmas!<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Last week was the first anniversary of our leaving Australia; a very emotional time for us all!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I think the biggest emotion, however, is disbelief, surprise, call it what you will - not even sure if it is an emotion!! But come on, seriously, has it really been a whole year???</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">When I look back on the first couple of months, with us all huddled, freezing in our unfurnished house, the future an uncertain, wavering, grey haze, it all seems, however cliched this may sound, like a distant dream.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">There were times that were not much fun, it has to be said, though right from the beginning there have been joys as well - watching winter melt into spring, seeing spring burst into summer, summer fire into autumn and then....well, we're still waiting for winter, I think. Choosing to live here, with no decent shops nearby, the kids having to rely on public transport which stops at 8pm, has been one of the best things we've done! (though Sam doesn't agree, unfortunately, but then he doesn't agree with anything ever anyway.)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">A couple of weeks ago, the Adstock Singers, the village choir I formed back in the Spring, gave their first concert in a candlelit, medieval stone church, bedecked with twinkling lights, candles, holly and ivy. We sang a mix of songs, from Bob Chillcott to Mariah Carey, medieval canon, to Leonard Cohen, carols from Austria, Brazil and England (!) and, though I say it myself, it was wonderful. The choir sang beautifully, the audience (almost capacity!) thoroughly enjoyed it, I discovered that conducting is definitely what I was made to do (because nobody in the audience notices when you get a fit of the giggles, whereas, if you're playing the violin or recorder, it's much harder to hide) and we all finished up with mince pies and mulled wine. To my astonishment, both my girls and the neighbours daughter, sing in the choir and really enjoy it, which makes it all the more special. Sam was out at a party and forgot all about the concert, but, hey ho.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The following weekend, we had the church carol service, for which the Adstock Singers also sang, and the church was full of children dressed up as donkeys, shepherds, angels, in a very Joyce Grenfell moment. Then on Tuesday, the choir went to sing at a care home in Buckingham, where we marched through the corridors singing to those too sick to come out of their rooms and we finished up the day with carols round the tree in the village hall, accompanied by brass band from the next village and then, of course, mulled wine at the pub. Just in case you haven't quite caught on yet, we are thoroughly enjoying being a part of vilage life.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Though we still miss our friends and relatives in Brisbane - and always will, the fish of sadness forever worrying at a part of our souls - it is fair to say that, at this point in life, we are settling pretty well and are busier than ever, though Rupert looks like Rudoph the red-nosed reindeer at the moment. There are all sorts of deep and thought provoking things I probably ought to be writing about right now, but I just really wanted to come on here and wish everybody a wonderful Christmas and say that I hope you all have a great time, despite all the worries of the world, and may you all get dogs in the new year, if you haven't already.</span><br />
<br />Lucy Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09214272515888933388noreply@blogger.com0