Face of the Week #15 Must I?

Gus had to wear  the Buster/Elizabethan collar aka 'The Collar of Shame'  ( as seen in 'Up') because he could not resist licking his wound  . . .awww . . . poor boy! I took it off after a few minutes and he's such a quick learner that I haven't had to use it since . . . I don't want to see that sad face again . . .
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The Endless Saga of the Endless Pool – June 2009

P and J came to our house last Wednesday on P's birthday to continue working on the pool. We had selected floor tiles of a fairly neutral colour but with gradations and variations of shades – rather smart, we thought. Indeed, they do look very attractive.

Next came the task of laying the armoured cable. This was not a simple job; much drilling had to be undertaken but finally it was in place. Some electrical circuitry had to be accomplished.

They went home last Friday and returned again yesterday. The pool is now almost full and soon – maybe as soon as this coming Friday – the pumps will be started. I don't think any of us realised what a marathon task this was going to be. My part in the procedure has been to supply beds, food and beverages. Barry has been the 'gofer' and the provider of funds but at last – whisper it – it is nearly finished!

Then we have to tidy up the outside – provide a proper step rather than the plank of wood we presently have, resting at an angle on a pile of beaten earth, apply another coat of paint to the pool room exterior and doubtless Barry too, build a wood shelter and move the piles of logs from the terrace in front of the gymnasium. Oh yes, there's work there for another twelve-month! (I do hope not!!)

Weekend Wordsmith - Forgotten

Many things had slipped between the dusty floorboards of the classroom. Bored children had often posted things through the cracks. In the space beneath the floor lay work sheets, pencil leads and shavings, detention slips, a few coins - all resting amid the mouse droppings and cobwebs.

The school was closed, the doors and windows locked for the last time. It was demolished and weeds took over, covering all traces of the building. There had been plans to erect smart new homes but grandiose ideas require funding and there was no money to spare so the site remained abandoned, a haven for wild life. At night foxes crossed the ground, trotting purposefully about their business, calling sharply to their mates, voices echoing in the stillness.

Years passed and now trees and shrubs had taken root, providing shelter and food for birds and beasts. The company that had intended to build was now defunct and the planning permission from the local council had long since expired. Local children played in the area in daylight and their teenage siblings larked about after dark. There was talk of tidying up the place and rubber-gloved volunteers regularly traipsed across it with refuse bags removing the debris and detritus left by unthinking users.

One of the new young volunteers was the grandson of a former pupil of the long-gone school. He was a conscientious litter picker, careful not to disturb small habitats or wild flowers. Bending down to remove a carrier bag that had been entangled in brambles he noticed a metal object half-buried beneath earth and leaves. It had a coloured ribbon, faded but still discernible. He pulled it from the soil and rubbed it with his thumb. It looked like a medal. He was sure his grandfather would be able to tell him something about it.

Cleaned up it was revealed as a medal awarded for service in the Persian Gulf from 1909-1914. Around the edge was the name of the sailor to whom it had been awarded and his ship – HMS Highflyer. The grandfather sighed deeply and rubbed a hand across his face. 'This medal belonged to my grandfather, your great-grandfather 'he said. 'I never thought I would see it again. I sneaked it out of the house one day to show my teacher but one of the boys snatched it from me and pushed it down between the floorboards. I worried for years after that my father would find out it was missing but he never did. I had forgotten all about it until now.'

HMS Highflyer – Light Cruiser 5,600 tons

In August 1915 it was announced that His Majesty the King was pleased to sanction a medal to be known as the Naval General Service Medal, to be awarded for service in minor naval warlike operations. The medal was to be awarded with a clasp inscribed 'Persian Gulf 1909-14' to officers and men of HM Ships employed in the operations for the suppression of the arms traffic in the Arabian Sea or Persian Gulf.

Carry on Tuesday – It was thick and black and covered with dust . . .

They had been clearing out the attic. For decades items no longer required had been pushed up there, out of sight and out of mind. They were things for which there was no current use but which might come in handy later on. How anyone could think that a rusty hamster cage would ever again be useful was a question not to be asked. There was a buggy, too and a doll's cot, both old-fashioned though not in a collectable sense. Oil heaters, used in previous cold homes, gathered dust on their burners. Baby clothes and teenagers' fashions, scout uniforms, wedding finery had been gnawed into holes and used for nesting and bringing up generations of mice. There were spare rolls of wallpaper still in their original wrappings left over from decorating children's rooms twenty years ago. Outgrown riding boots, wellingtons, slippers had seemingly tramped across the boards and then been cast off so that the pairs were separated. Shoes without laces, sandals without buckles, trousers and jeans, buttons missing, zips broken – what emotional hold had these that they were not either mended or discarded but stored under the roof?

All attics have at least one trunk and a couple of old suitcases in them and this loft was no exception. The cases contained a few scraps of paper – receipts and invoices for purchases and jobs completed long ago. The trunk looked more interesting. It held a couple of tin boxes with small toys – zoo and farm animals, cars and trucks, building bricks. Those were set aside for visiting children.

Behind the trunk were mountains of books – old exercise books and school text books. One book teetered atop a pile of larger tomes. It was thick and black and covered with dust. Its boards were bowed and creaking. It looked dull and uninspiring and parts of it had provided a passing snack for small rodents. As he handed it to her to put in the refuse pile an envelope dropped out. She gasped. He, unusually attuned, for memories had been evoked for him in the course of this clear-out through photographs and birthday and Christmas cards, old examination papers, asked why she was thus alerted.

Tremulously she showed him the envelope. Of course it meant nothing to him until she explained that the writing was her grandmother's. She had always been close to her grandmother, her confidante in her final years indeed and her grandmother had always implied that she had left something for her granddaughter, something to enrich her life. He asked her what she meant and she replied that she had no clear idea of her grandmother's intent but that she had always been led to believe that her grandmother had hidden treasures – maybe this envelope contained the clue or the key to that bounty. Perhaps she was about to become an heiress?! There had been family rumours of immense but lost wealth, of valuable artefacts hidden in inaccessible locations.

Carefully she withdrew the fragile single sheet from the envelope, breathing in the faded scent of her grandmother and smiling reminiscently. She was eager yet reluctant to discover the knowledge at which the writer had hinted. She closed her eyes, prolonging the moment of realisation, breathed deeply and focussed on the words in front of her.

These are my last words to you, my darling Granddaughter. I have lived my life by them and I hope you will too. Contrary to family rumours I have never had great wealth or wondrous possessions. I enjoyed the love of a good man, your grandfather, who gave up his expectations of power and money to marry for love. Your great-uncle, his younger brother, became then the beneficiary of your Great-Grandfather's fortune, taking over the administration of the business. I was never happier than when married to my beloved husband. I received this from him and lived by it .

She looked at the words, in such beautiful calligraphy, and suppressed a sigh; she had expected nothing and in return she had received a treatise by which to live . . .

'This above all: to thine own self be true,

And it must follow, as the night the day,

Thou canst not then be false to any man.'

She fell into hysterical laughter and her husband, concerned, watched her.

'Let's get on, clearing this mess,' she said and he agreed for tomorrow the estate agents would arrive to evaluate the house – and the selling price would be agreed. Perhaps that would be the prize.

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