But What is Normal?

With the paraphernalia of Christmas packed away for next year, or else filling the bins awaiting the attention of the refuse collection operatives (let's be PC!), the New Year has dawned, we've recovered from what ever celebrations that invoked, and life is beginning to get back to normal.

But just what is normal?  We can say simply that, because we're no longer 'on holiday', normal life has resumed.  Some people, though, won't start back to work until next Monday; many production lines will have closed down for the whole fortnight.  Others, however - in the financial world for example - will have suffered three days' normal working between the bank holidays and this will be their third working day of the new year.  And those unfortunate enough to work in large stores will have been called in to man the checkouts on Boxing Day, and possibly New Year's Day as well.

What of us, the so-called 'lucky' ones, who no longer work for a living?  If we have entertained family for the festival, they have all gone home again; if we were the ones who visited, then it's we who are back home now.  We're all picking up the threads of whatever pattern 'normal life' has for us.  For some every day is basically the same routine: getting up, having meals, providing for everyday needs such as washing, shopping and walking the dog, and going to bed. 

I consider myself one of the more fortunate ones for whom each day is different. I won't bore you with the details (if you're a regular reader, you will already know them anyway).  Suffice to say that the regular activities of some days have resumed this week, and others won't until next week.  I've returned from my first shift on the van for the local hospice, helping with the collection of donations from a very generous public, so, now that I'm home on a Friday afternoon, it's time to write this blog.

One thing I fitted in before turning to the keyboard is the removal of something that has been annoying me for some weeks.  I had noticed a little blob of scale on my kitchen tap and this typical male has been saying, 'when I get round to it, I'll get that off'.  Well, now I can say instead, 'that tap looks better now!' and feel appreciated ... by myself if by no one else.

Now to see what other post-holiday mischief I can get up to!

Flat Out!

I read on social media this morning that someone had referred to these days between Christmas and the New Year as 'a flat time'.  The writer claimed - and I'm inclined to agree with him - that these days of relaxation are as much part of Christmas as the hectic run-up to Christmas Eve.  They do indeed provide some sort of balance to life.

I found myself nodding off over the keyboard and realised that there was no need to fight fatigue any longer.  Laying aside my mouse, I settled down in the chair and fell asleep.  Emerging from a 'power nap' almost a new man (I wish!), I now find myself inspired to write this blog.

It's amazing how many people succumb to a cold over the holiday period.  Whether medically correct or not, I share a commonly held belief that the body's immune system normally runs at 'high' in order to protect us to meet the demands of daily life but, once those requirements are relaxed, it too takes a holiday and we are thus exposed to bugs and infections that would otherwise be repelled.

Certainly this seems to have been the case for me this week.  In my retired state, normal pressure at this time of  year has comprised a number of social and church engagements, including taking part in choral pieces at the annual carol service, ringing bells for an extra service, and completing the transcription of the latest batch of census entries.  I returned from a communal Christmas day lunch for people living alone and within hours I was aware of the first symptoms of a cold; by the evening of Boxing Day I was streaming.

After securing my cousin's acquiescence, I gathered together all my medication, along with other necessaries, and travelled yesterday to fulfil the plans we had made for me to spend the New Year weekend with her and her husband as I usually do.  In return for a few hours of conversation and a little light household assistance, I'm being well looked after and entertained with television programmes that my screen-limited home doesn't offer.

It's interesting to see how other people are spending their 'flat time'.  Some have travelled to foreign parts, some are exploring other parts of this realm, and others are simply content to relax and have a weekend doing very little.  One wife (and I suspect one out of a goodly number!) has prepared a list of 'jobs around the house that we need to attend to'. 

Whatever you're going to be doing in the coming days, I wish all my readers a very good New Year!

What Christmas is All About

At lunch today, after finishing my half-day shift, I looked from my seat at the table down the length of the sorting room and said, "In just three months, this place has become like home."  As my colleague agreed with the sentiment expressed, I thought, 'Isn't this what Christmas is all about?'.

All the religious fundamentals aside, Christmas is at heart a time for family.  I'm not sure whether that limitation is actually possible: after all, what's the Jesus, Mary and Joseph thing, if not a family ... but let that pass.  Some years ago, my daughter said to me, referring to her step-father, "I can't call you 'dad'; he's been much more of a dad to me than you ever were!"  Yes, that hurt.  And I could have argued the point, citing certain things many years ago to plead my cause but I had to admit that, from where she was looking at the time, truth was on her side.

Family isn't just flesh and blood; it's a matter of love and behaviour.  And when it comes to Christmas, those things are even more important.  Unusually for this blog, I offer you two pictures.  This envelope landed on my doormat yesterday morning.  It had come all the way from Canada, sent by a woman I've never met, and with whom my only contact, apart from a burst of e-mails in the last couple of months, has been a single similar exchange about five years ago.  It's her theory that we are something like ninth or tenth cousins, going back to a potential common ancestor in Tudor times.  Whether we will be able to prove this link is somewhat doubtful, to say the least, but on the strength of this, she was willing to prepare and send to me a whole package of papers relating to the family and descendants of this putative n-times-great grandparent.  If nothing at all develops from it, it will provide some interesting holiday reading!

My second picture is also recent, but the story behind it started just before last Christmas.  After some thought and discussion, the CO of our local Salvation Army corps decided to go ahead with a plan to open a weekly drop-in for people in our town who are either homeless or vulnerable in some other way.  There they can get a cooked breakfast and bread, pastries or other foodstuffs, clothing and toiletries, when available and according to their needs.  Along with a dozen or so others from different churches in the town and beyond, it is my privilege to be one of the helpers at this operation, called the Ark (standing for Always Room for Kindness).

One day during the spring, I was talking to one of the other volunteers about the amount of spare time on my hands now my retired life had settled into a regular pattern.  She explained how, in addition to the Ark, she had also volunteered to help at our local hospice, where she had joined a scheme called Compassionate Neighbours.  These people are paired up with 'clients' (an awfully professional-sounding word, but it serves the purpose) who have a relative suffering from a terminal condition, or who have recently been bereaved.  They operate on a one-to-one basis to offer a small amount of time on a regular basis to someone who may be feeling isolated or lonely, perhaps for something as simple as a cup of tea and a chat. 

The picture is of Becky and some other Neighbours at their Christmas party last week.  The hospice is a charity funded to a large extent by a small of retail shops in local towns.  These shops are supported in their operation by a central warehouse and distribution centre, and my friend suggested that it might be appropriate if I were to offer my time to help there.  After a few other problems had been resolved during the summer months, I followed up her suggestion, and have been working there a day and a half a week since the beginning of October.  The atmosphere is very relaxed and congenial.  They are, indeed, like a second family.

People ask from time to time what I shall 'be doing for Christmas'.  What they mean is, 'will you be alone on this overtly family occasion?'  In the absence of a family, my answer is usually 'Nothing.' meaning, 'Yes, I shall be alone, but I'm used to it now, and I don't mind.'  From time to time one family or another have invited me to their table ... invitations I've gladly accepted in preference to cooking my own dinner but, despite the warmth and sincerity of their welcome, they're not my family.  This year, as a result of helping at the Ark, I have accepted the invitation to join other people who would otherwise be alone for Christmas lunch at the Salvation Army.

Whatever table will be welcoming you next Tuesday, I wish all my readers a very Happy Christmas!

"Dull Days Afore Christmas"

Some while ago in this medium, I wrote about the fact of my father having left me a wealth of wisdom.  Unlike the literati of this world, he didn't do so in the form of a shelf of writings - not even a single slim volume - but in a variety of wise sayings, some of which I heard countless times, uttered in his irreplaceable north Suffolk dialect.  Many a time as I grow older I recall something he'd said and mutter to myself, 'I see now what Dad meant by that'.

And so to my title today, another of his sayings.  It seems obvious.  With Christmas just around the corner, we would be in December, or at least late November, when days of warm wall-to-wall sunshine were most definitely not the norm.  So they were 'dull days' occurring before - or in his word 'afore' - the festival.  But I question whether there might not be a deeper meaning to this.

This week passed, as have many lately, very quickly.  In fact, last night I wrote an e-mail asking if someone would be around 'tomorrow lunchtime', only to get a swift correcting reply informing me that I meant Saturday!  My mind had surpassed itself in trying to cope with the speed of one day following another.  But the fullness of time that always makes the days pass quickly has comprised a sequence of things that are, of themselves, just routine.  For several weeks now, there has been a single pattern to my week, that has repeated over and over again, with no specific highlight.

The first signs of excitement leading up to Christmas began on December the first, the day before the start of the church's season of Advent.  For a number of years now, we have gathered in the church hall to sing carols, watch the children decorating the tree and sing carols around the piano before joining in a fish-and-chip supper.  It is accepted that this will happen and, through the diligent and thorough preparation of a dedicated few, it happens.  Although special of itself, it has now become commonplace.

The next regular event is the bell-ringers' Christmas dinner, another year-after-year occasion that has become routine.  A few years ago we used to go to a different pub each year, but maybe with age has grown laziness, and for several years now we favour the pub across the road from the church; it's convenient and offers good food at an acceptable price.  Sometimes I used not to go, either because of the unpredictability of work or simply for fear of the discomfort of a heavy meal late in the day.  These days, with no work considerations, or perhaps just not caring so much, I prefer fellowship with discomfort against neither.

For me, the first unusual event this year came last Saturday when I accepted an invitation to a party.  I'll admit it, I'm not naturally a party animal but there was something about this one, not least that it was an afternoon do, that attracted me.  It was something to look forward to and, came the day, I really enjoyed it.  There was plenty of good food, the company was of mixed ages so it was easy to find someone to talk to and, with children present, there was a good supply of non-alcoholic drink too.

So the spell of 'dull days' - whether meteorologically dull or not - comes to an end.  This weekend will see the church's carol service, another annual event, but here there will be the highlight of musical challenges not hitherto attempted by our choral group, and the excitement of seeing just how our new vicar will deal with this important festival, when many who don't attend church on a weekly basis will be coming along.

A Puzzle Still Unresolved!

Two weeks ago I wrote about a family 'secret' that I hope to unlock upon receipt of some documents from the National Archives.  Whilst waiting for these, I've busied myself looking into the family of my great-aunt's ex-husband.  I found one of his siblings in the 1911 Census, living in the village of Finningham, where I didn't think I'd found any relatives up to now.  As I scrolled through my spreadsheet to enter the details, however, I found I was wrong.  Already there was the Game family, the entry for which bore a number of anomalies.  Since I couldn't remember them, I retraced my steps to find out more.

Walter Game was born in Rickinghall Superior on New Year's Eve at the end of 1866.  In the spring of 1891, he married Ellen Kerridge, some three years his junior ... and many months pregnant!  Ellen was one of the 'distant twigs' related to my cousin's husband - his first cousin twice removed, in fact - and she was added to my records as part of the 'great clear-up' following my mammoth Golden Wedding exercise at the start of last year ... which is why her married name meant nothing to me!  I later discovered that she is also distantly related to me.  Through my father's family, she is my third cousin, once removed.

Walter and Ellen settled in Rickinghall, and began to raise a family with daughters Lily, born in their first summer there, Maud Ellen, born early in 1893 and Daisy Jane, born late in 1898.  Their fourth child was born in the summer of 1900 but sadly, either as a direct result of the birth or very soon afterwards, Ellen died.  Walter was distraught; it appears that he didn't even think to register the child's birth ... although Ellen's death is registered.  There was no way he could look after a new-born child and work to provide for his other three daughters.  He engaged a housekeeper, one Sarah Haddock, to cater for their needs and in the 1901 Census, he is shown as a horseman on a farm, with the two eldest girls attending the local school.  The baby, who was given the names Ellen Sparkes: the spark of life her mother left, is recorded with Ellen's parents and siblings, some 17 miles away in Old Buckenham.

The little girl didn't stand much chance without her mother, however, and lived just to the age of three, staying with her grandparents for the rest of her short life.  By the end of 1905, Walter had established a new relationship and married Elizabeth Seeley.  Soon his elder children left home and found work.  In 1911 Maud was a servant at a hotel in Felixstowe and her father's entry - the one that prompted this reverie - shows the household moved from Rickinghall to Church Farm, Finningham.  On the face of it, a normal household had emerged from the tragedy of the past.  Walter was listed as a waggoner and, in addition to his new wife, were shown his younger daughter Daisy, now 12, and an 8-year-old boarder May Garner; the two girls were at school.

One of the advantages of seeing the 1911 Census on line is the fact that we can see a facsimile of the actual form completed by our ancestors.  I mentioned at the start that there were some anomalies here; this particular form is the invitation to a mystery, only part of which have I solved.  It appears that Walter entered his own name, that of his wife and their ages ... and signed the form at the bottom.  All the other details were added by another hand and using a different ink, so possibly at a different time and/or place.  The information presented for Walter and Daisy appears, if not correct (and who can judge that after 118 years?), then at least plausible, and correct as to their ages and birthplace.  However, unlike the majority of women, Elizabeth declined to provide the detail of how long she had been married to Walter and the statistics regarding any children they had had, leaving all those boxes completely blank.  And whoever filled in the rest of the form claimed not to know where either Elizabeth or the 8-year-old boarder May had been born.

Were these details genuinely unknown to a third party who completed the form?  Or did Elizabeth fill in the form, having some reason for not admitting them?  After many attempts to find out more, I discovered that Elizabeth was born Elizabeth Coe, daughter of Edward & Hannah, in Ixworth during the latter part of 1856.  At the age of 14, she was kitchen maid to the vicar of Earls Colne in Essex and in 1879 she married a bricklayer, Samuel Seeley, who was a few years older.  They lived in Euston, over towards Thetford, but never had any family.  When Samuel died in 1899, Elizabeth stayed in the village and ran a grocery shop from her home.  What brought Walter Game and her together we don't know, and nor do we know why he didn't complete the census form he'd started in 1911.

The other mystery is the boarder.  I've been unable to trace the birth of a May Garner of that age - a challenge made more difficult by the absence of her birthplace.  It's possible, of course, that her name was changed, or that she was known by a different name than that in which she was registered.  There is no way of knowing.

When Elizabeth died in 1934, her age was recorded as 75, consistent with what had been given in that census.  Walter obviously came to terms with his earlier traumas;  in 1939 he was retired and living alone in Finingham and he survived just long enough to see the end of the war.

Parallel Lines

There are times when, as you look back along the river of time, you can see how one strand in your life grew out of, or was spawned by, another.  I don't have to look back far this week for just such an incidence.  A year after I joined the Liberal Democrats in 2015, I was motivated ... or inspired ... or maybe just knobbled by a strong sense of newly empowered enthusiasm and the freedom of retirement.  The outpouring of these emotions - however identified - was that I spent five or six days over a period of three weeks helping at the campaign headquarters of the LibDems in the Witney by-election, that followed the resignation of David Cameron.

A year later, when a General Election was called, I was similarly motivated, emotions this time being strengthened by an 'old school tie' dimension, helping the campaign of the daughter of one of my school-friends as she tried to win the St Albans seat for the party.  The upshot of these two expeditions was that I acquired a good idea of some of the mechanics behind an intensive political campaign.

At the end of 2016, I found myself the victim, if that's not too strong a word, of a somewhat chaotic campaign of a different kind.  For many years our church has endeavoured to put a Christmas card through the door of every dwelling in the parish.  On this particular occasion the campaign to achieve this had not been well managed and some cards that were intended to be delivered by me had found their way to someone else, who sent me a text or an e-mail - I can't remember which - as a result of which I drove across the town to collect and deliver them.  Since the day was broken, and I had little else to do, I called in the church to see if there were any more to be taken round.  I duly found some and was quickly walking around a new estate, merrily popping cards through letterboxes.

My tranquillity was shattered when, after a cordial greeting to a friend across the road, our conversation revealed that she'd delivered to those same houses that very morning!  Uncertain how this had happened, but determined that it shouldn't happen again, the following year the two of us joined forces to prepare a parish-wide plan by which a few dozen willing volunteers could be recruited to achieve the desired result with no confusion, duplication or omission.  The plan was essentially based on some of those canvassing techniques I had witnessed in operation in Witney and St Albans; our efforts were welcomed, and proved most successful.

This year, after some delay resulting no doubt from oversight, a knock-on effect of the general trying-to-do-everything situation in the vacancy between losing one vicar and getting the next, I find myself in the midst of another Christmas card 'campaign'.  The cards were finally delivered yesterday, unpacked and counted into batches of 25, ready to be bundled street by street into delivery walks for volunteers to deliver next week.  It all sounds simple and straightforward, doesn't it?  And, indeed, it has been ... compared to the chaos of former years. 

The trouble is people ... isn't it always?  They grow old, suffer accidents, illnesses and disabilities, and whereas a year ago they were enthused to walk along with a bundle of 50 or 100 cards, in and out of gateways, sometimes up flights of stairs to flats, now they would rather do 20 with a friend, or perhaps none at all.  With the first 'event' of the Christmas calendar taking place tomorrow, the cards not being bundled until tomorrow morning, and still short of fifteen volunteers, time is against us, to say the least.  But we shall give it our best shot.  More cannot be asked of us at this late stage.

Meanwhile on the parallel track, last night saw the Annual General Meeting of our local Liberal Democrat branch, when my brief spell as acting secretary ended and was replaced by a formal election to the office.  If nothing else, as I get older, suffer accidents, illnesses and disabilities, (where have I seen that phrase before?) it will keep me off the streets and away from doorsteps ...!

Things Old and New ... and Something that's Both!

The week (at least the bits I'm writing about) started and ended with peace and quiet in good company.

Last weekend I spent with my cousin and, in keeping with a habit recently developed on these occasions, on Sunday I took the bus into Nottingham.  As I walked down the aisle I could see that, for a Sunday morning, there seemed to be a lot of people on board and every seat was occupied by at least one passenger already.  I made to sit down next to a woman who quickly realised that the bags beside her would be in my way.  As she cleared the seat, she said, "There you are, sweetie!" which, coming from a lady only a few years younger than me, didn't seem in the least cheeky but more in keeping with the easy-going East Midland culture.

My destination was the Quaker Meeting House where, now on my third visit there, I took a seat briefly in the lounge chatting with one or two familiar faces before going into the meeting room.  After the hour's silence, interrupted by only two pieces of ministry, there was - in common with many places of worship these days - a chance for conversation over coffee and cake, where I enjoyed company with new friends as well as those now becoming established.

I returned from my break soon enough to get up on Monday morning for the usual prayer breakfast and life quickly returned to normal.  In addition to a Lib Dem AGM this week, and preparations for our own branch's AGM next week, there has also been a quick re-run of the results of last year's exercise to organise the distribution of the church's Christmas cards, with their arrival expected next week.  But by far the greatest non-routine time consumption this week has been family history.

Whilst with my cousin last weekend, we discovered that my records don't include the marriage date for our eldest maternal great-uncle and his wife.  As I began to look into this on Monday afternoon, I found that my record of our great-aunt's maiden name differed from one place to another!  The source of this apparent discrepancy indicated that the lady had not only been previously married, but that this marriage had ended in divorce scarcely a year before her second ... which possibly explains why little was known about this great-uncle compared to our grandmother and their four other siblings.

Amazingly, I discovered this unsavoury event listed on the National Archives website although, since these records aren't digitised, I could go no further online.  However, for the outlay of only £8.00, I have requested a 'page count', which will reveal the cost of sending me a copy by e-mail of the documents, which will hopefully unfold the detail of a close family story that has remained hidden from us for all of our lives!

Today I spent the morning on one of the hospice vans, servicing four of their retail shops and also collecting donations from a fifth.  After spending a surprisingly enjoyable hour or so unloading the product of these calls and helping to reload the van for this afternoon's deliveries, I joined my fellows at the dining table relaxing over my packed lunch before walking home for an afternoon ... at the keyboard once more.