Legs and Letters ... Children and Christmas Cards!

I never cease to be amazed at the way the things in my life seem to fall into appropriate chains.  As longer-term readers of this blog will recall, this was often the case with my work.  For example, I might go for six months without visiting a particular customer or town and then, in the space of a couple of weeks I would go there two or three times in quick succession.  It's not a repetition exactly that I'm writing about ... although thinking about it, I suppose in a way it is ... but read on and you can decide for yourself.

Most of my friends seem to receive Christmas cards in a steady stream from the last days of November onward.  I usually get my first one about that time and after then just one now and again.  Occasionally two or three will arrive on the same day, but that's the exception rather than the rule.  The other day there were three, and I realised that they were representative of three distinct segments of my life.  One was from a cousin whose parents used always to send me a card ... one of those situations where the annual exchange of cards is the only-ever correspondence between us.  When the second parent died a couple of years ago, their daughter inherited the mantle, so to speak, and the first card of the three was from her and her husband.

The second card came from a couple whom I have known for ages, one from childhood, the other since my teenage.  Jean was my first wife's best friend at school, and visited us regularly in our first home.  This was a two-roomed flat, and I recall that we had the fridge in the living room because the kitchenette was so small.  Suddenly during one of Jean's visits, the fridge made a noise - as fridges do - and she turned round in surprise.  We, of course had grown used to it and scarcely noticed this at all.  Jean's husband was an art teacher at the local school, and I attended an evening class that he ran.

Many years later, I went for a holiday to Durham University, for a study week that was part of a scheme called 'Summer Academy'.  It was an organisation that enabled universities to benefit from their facilities during the academic holidays; it ceased about fifteen years ago as a result of the changing pattern of people's lives.  I attended a course on Medieval Monks and Monasteries, which ran in parallel with another on Thomas Hardy and his novels.  The two groups shared the college accommodation and also joined together for social activities and as a result I made friends with Sheila, a divorced lady some twelve years my senior, with whom I have remained in contact ever since.

It was she and her husband (now married almost 13 years, although it seems much more recent!) who had sent me that morning's third card.  When I first knew her I used to pay visits two or three times a year, including one Christmas when her son and daughter-in-law were visiting.  The daughter-in-law was at the time expecting their first child and the girl I first encountered as 'a bump' has now landed a job working for London's Globe Theatre!

Earlier this week, I braved the remains of the weekend's snow to fulfil a promise made some months ago to provide my friend with a lift to our bell-ringers' annual dinner, in preference to hiring a taxi for the occasion.  As we walked gingerly across the car park amidst the frozen wheel-tracks, I extended my arm, saying light-heartedly, "Here, put your leg into bed!"

It was a saying she hadn't heard before, and I readily admit it's one I've heard only once, but it had stuck in my mind with some amusement for over twenty years!  It was on one of those early visits to Sheila.  I was staying with her for the weekend, and on the Saturday afternoon we walked from her home into the town.  All of a sudden, I felt her arm slide into mine along with the words, "You don't mind if I put my leg into bed, do you?"  Although somewhat taken aback, I was content with the warm welcome that the gesture implied.

I also recall, with some embarrassment, an occasion - on that visit or some other - when we went to church together on the Sunday morning.  An acquaintance approached and said, "Hello, Sheila, I haven't seen you for some time," she looked at me and continued, "is this your eldest?"  I cringed, not sure whether it was a compliment to me or a slight against my friend, and I can't recall how the exchange concluded.  Perhaps that's as well!