"Seventy Years on"

I've written here before about the three 'shifts' into which my work falls, identified by the state of work allocation at the beginning of a day.  This week has brought to my attention another kind of distinction: one that has existed as long as I've been doing this work, but which has not before been noted and classified.  I refer to the difference between 'solid' days and 'split' days.  The former, easily defined by the name, simply stretch from my departure in the morning, and involve a number of jobs - either distinct or overlapping - which fill the day until I return home for an evening - however short - and bed.  Split days, however, include a substantial period between returning from a job or jobs, during the late morning and leaving for another later in the day.

This week has given me three 'split' days, which have offered the opportunity for a variety of tasks at home, in addition to the work on the road.  Workwise, the only real highlight was on Monday, when after a mid-afternoon break, I was challenged with driving up to Knowsley (on the far side of Liverpool) with a box that would be brought to me at home at about 5.45pm.  I was thus home well after midnight, and only did one short job on Tuesday, which allowed me to catch up on a couple of items of personal correspondence, and send off a brief narrative to RTE's History Show about my two Irish first cousins, once removed, who lost their lives in WWI.

After meditative music at Sunday evening's church service, I was reminded of a tape I acquired about 25 years ago at Taizé, and I wondered whether I had ever included this in the few tapes that I'd managed (in a burst of enthusiasm that followed my acquisition of the appropriate software) to put onto my computer.  I found that it was not, but a 'split' day on Thursday enabled me to rectify this deficit, and then on Friday a similar opportunity was used to tidy up the filing of the 276 tracks that I have now computerised in this way. Given the large box of tapes that are still sitting in my bedroom, this is only the tip - and perhaps not even that - of that particular iceberg!

Friday ended the week with a double burst of emotion.  I had been sent with two kegs of ale to a pub near King's Lynn, arriving there just after 6.0pm.  On my way home, I patronised a kebab stall spotted while passing a market place, and then parked in a lay-by on the A10 to enjoy this in the sunshine.  As I did so, a wave of 'end of week' nostalgia came over me, thinking of the relaxing day ahead of me, and the general feelings of 'Friday completeness' of many weeks in my past life.  And then, as I journeyed on once more, came the BBC-Radio2 programme to commemorate the seventieth anniversary of D-Day.

Albemarle P-1442 (Picture courtesy
of the Imperial War Museum)

My own commemoration had taken place on Thursday evening, for it was during the night of 5/6th June that my eldest first cousin had died.  He was part of the crew of Armstrong Whitworth Albemarle P1442, one of a flight of four such planes that had been seconded from their Derbyshire base to take part in Operation Overlord.  They took off from RAF Hampstead Norris in Berkshire at twelve minutes to midnight.  Theirs was the only one of the four not to return.  So on Thursday evening, just before bedtime, I raised a glass to his memory.

This afternoon I have been reviewing the collection of correspondence, internet downloads and other paraphernalia that I have collected over the years, to piece together the full story of P1442 and, when time permits, I intend to provide a decent account on this blog.  It's a story that deserves a post all to itself, however, rather than swamping one of these normal weekly offerings!