My Thoughts Turn To Christmas

My Thoughts Turn To Christmas

"What!" I hear people exclaim, "we're only just in the first week or so of October, and you're talking about Christmas?!"

Well, yes. The days fly so fast, and although it's been only about three weeks since the autumn equinox, before we know it, we will be celebrating Christmas again; and I do love the Festive Season! 

So I have got myself organised even earlier this year, with my 2021 Christmas card list all written out, and presents ordered from Fortnum and Mason, to be sent off to dear friends and loved ones.

This year, with so many people having been vaccinated against the dreaded virus, there is hope in the air that things are improving; we are still being careful, and wearing masks in public, but with most folk now at least double-vaccinated, and more having had their booster inoculation as well, perhaps it is time to relax a little and allow ourselves to be joyful.

Most of the major London stores have already unveiled their Christmas windows - I love the imaginative displays and decorations so many of them produce, some themed to a specific "story," whilst others just rejoice in all the excitement and anticipation of happy times to come - and I am having a great time, wrapping up all the gifts.

This year, we also hope to be able to drive to visit friends and relations; it will be so wonderful to see them again, after nearly two years of having just phone calls and letters to keep in touch. I write enough letters anyway to keep the Post Office going single-handedly, but having that personal contact again will be wonderful. 

A Bit Of A Disappointment

A Bit Of A Disappointment 

The next day, Friday, had been earmarked for a special jaunt to the Ffestiniog and Welsh Highland Railway, with the trip booked on the Mountain Prince option; we were especially looking forward to this, and being able to travel round The Spiral, and to the place where we could disembark for an hour and have a cream tea, before the return journey to Porthmadog.

The following is a brief quote from the Ffestiniog and Welsh Highland Railways' own description of the line:

"The restoration of the Ffestiniog Railway took almost thirty years before returning to Blaenau Ffestiniog. One of the major hurdles was a reservoir which had flooded the line during closure. A major project to raise the railway up to enable it to go round the side of the reservoir was ‘The Deviation’ involving a new tunnel and a great spiral of track being built around Dduallt station, a remote halt in the mountains. 

This heritage style service will take you above the treeline beyond Tan-y-Bwlch to Dduallt, including a trip around the spiral, the amazing volunteer project built in the 1970s with huge cuttings, high embankments and a bridge over the top of the line along which you have just travelled. There are some great views beyond Tan-y-Bwlch over the delightful Vale of Ffestiniog and towards distant mountains."

Our trip was booked on the 13.40 service, and we had been asked to arrive at 13.00, so that we could meet our host, and choose which carriage we would like to travel in. We knew that once you leave England and enter Wales, it is a two-hour drive to the Station; the roads are interesting, and we didn't want to be in any hurry, so we left early and arrived at Porthmadog at about 12.30 p.m. 

Well, we must be fated to have this trip delayed! We had already cancelled an earlier reservation in June, because of concerns about the virus, and I'd rebooked it for September - reckoning, rightly, that restrictions and worries would be lessening by now. However! this had not taken into account the fact that steam locos are mechanical beasts and liable to failing; and this is what had happened earlier that morning, leaving one loco stranded up the mountain. 

Everyone was terribly apologetic about it. Of course, we understood completely: engines fail, and there would be no steam on the Mountain Prince today.

We sat on the platform for a while, and had an ice cream; I went for a wander to see the other loco in steam, that was running with a different service that had started out from Caernarfon. This was an ex-South African Railways/Suid Afrikaanse Spoorwee Garrett loco, and looking very smart indeed. Alas for us, that particular service was fully booked! and in any case there was no chance of us boarding an alternative trip to Caernarfon, as there would have been no train to return us from there to Porthmadog; but I did get up on the footplate with Wendy, and the Guard took a couple of photos of us. 

There is very little space on these footplates - Wendy and I really had to squash up together and lean forward to be in the frame:

Wendy and me on the footplate - and that isn't a plaster on Wendy's arm, just the sunlight!

I remember the Garretts in East Africa, and the times when we travelled overnight, and the steward would come in to make up our beds for the night. He (I remember them as always being stewards) would come in, laden with a couple of "bedrolls", and transform our compartment from the day-time seating arrangement into a two-berth cabin. When everything was secure, and the upper bunk locked into place, he would undo the straps around the bedding, unroll it all out, in two minutes turning the bunks into beds with crisply starched sheets (and equally crisply starched pillow slips over the pillows!) and fresh blankets. I can only remember drifting off to the gentle lullaby of the clicketty-clack, clicketty-clack of the carriages rattling down the track; and not stirring until morning. 

Well, the lack of steam this day was a disappointment; but it had to be accepted, and we have got an "eternal" credit note to use for our next booking. Let's hope that it will be third time lucky!

So, an interesting day after all, and then the drive back to England, followed by a welcome dinner at the Beefeater Restaurant attached the hotel where we were staying. 

Again, all the staff made us so welcome, it was a real "home from home" feeling, and after we got home from our break away, I was inspired to write a sonnet for them, which also formed part of my very favourable review on TripAdvisor:

A Poem For Preston Brook (A great place to stay and eat!)

 by Alexandra Wilde

 

We took the chance of a few days away

To a place where we’ve stayed before:

At the Premier Inn at Preston Brook,

With the Beefeater right next door. 

All the staff are terrific, 

Charming, courteous and kind

They all pull together, as of one mind -

We couldn’t have enjoyed it more.

 

The welcome's so warm – they remember us, 

And fulfil every wish without any fuss. 

With Caren and Molly, Toni and Fran

Kathryn and Abi, India, Jo and Rhian.

They’re all five-star ladies, scoring 10 out of 10, 

And we can’t wait to return to Preston again!

(...And that last rhyming couplet says it all!)

 

We Have a Few Days Away

We Have A Few Days Away

It has been such a long while since we had a proper "break away," and we decided the time was right to take the opportunity and actually have a mini holiday.

We drove up north, to Preston Brook, booking accommodation at the Premier Inn; we have stayed there before, it's a lovely hotel, the staff are always welcoming, and everyone very careful to maintain excellent standards of hygiene to keep the guests safe in these still uncertain times.

It's a long drive, but we bowled along happily, taking Al's good advice to use the section of the M6 that is a toll road, but that is an absolute pleasure to drive along, with the added bonus of a very modern and rather superior set of services en route! 

The last time we were up north was in September 2020, for Mum's funeral in Kirkdale. I couldn't think what sort of flowers to take to lay on her grave, but then, as we neared Chester, Wendy saw a Garden Centre, so we pulled in there and had a good look around. I explained to a very helpful lady that I was looking for something that would be tolerant of being left alone - I can't get up to water any plants - and she directed us to a section where there were rockery and alpine plants, which she reckoned would fit the bill.  

I chose three: they were all quite small, one with pink flowers, another with yellow flowers, and a third that looked circular and cactus like, and hoped that at least one would "take"!

On arrival at the Hotel, and later in the Restaurant, we were greeted like old friends; it was so good to be back!

The next day, we drove into Liverpool and to Kirkdale; Wendy knew exactly where to go in the cemetery, and parked right by the line of graves where Mum is buried, and we found it easily, next to Aunt Marion's gravestone. The two little "frames" that had held the information about Mum at the time of her funeral, were still in place at her head; our family grave had slipped and settled a little bit, but I can see it won't be too long now, before I shall be able to start making enquiries about a headstone and kerb for Mum. I know she wanted to have one in the shape of a book, so that the names of the four members of our family can be inscribed: Mum's elder brother, Austen, who died in 1938; her father, who died in 1943; her mother, my Grandma, who died in 1985 and then of course Mum herself, who died in March last year. I will make sure I follow her wishes, and I think I will be able to do something about it, next year. 

Bob had bought a little gardening fork and some gloves; he set about tidying up the grave, removing any adventurous weeds, and it wasn't long before it looked really neat. Then he hollowed out three little holes and put in the alpines we'd bought from the Garden Centre - we weren't sure if we were allowed to put in any plants, but as they are so small, and very unobtrusive, we hoped any groundsmen tending the graves might let them stay there. 

Mum's grave at Kirkdale

We then went for a very happy visit, meeting a lovely family who live a few miles away. These are folks I have written to and kept in touch with for years, but have never actually met! So we all felt it was about time we did get together, and put names to faces. What a treat it was! and for me it did not feel as though this was our first meeting, but more like a wonderful catching up after some time when we couldn't see each other!

Nanny Joan: The Day Went Beautifully

Nanny Joan: The Day Went Beautifully 

Nanny Joan's funeral took place last Monday, in Torquay; it felt so strange to be driving down to the West Country especially for her, yet knowing we would not be able to see her and share her company again. 

Because it was a long way, we stayed overnight in Exeter, so that we would have no problem in getting there in good time on Monday morning; we didn't want to be faced with the possibility of heavy traffic and hold-ups en route. In fact, we arrived at about 10.30 and parked outside the funeral directors' offices, and went in to see the gentleman on the desk. 

I asked if it would be possible for me to see Joan to say my personal goodbye? It was, and I went in to the Chapel of Rest to say a little prayer and a few words of farewell. Joan looked beautiful and I was so glad I had gone in to see her. 

There was then still quite some time to wait until the funeral at 12.00, so we drove into the town centre for a little while; Wendy and Al had driven down separately, and we met up with them when it was nearly midday. By then, many other members of Joan's family had also arrived, some of whom I was meeting for the first time. 

The service was simple and sincere, and it was also a celebration of Joan's life. Afterwards, the family had arranged a buffet lunch at a very nice pub; again, I was very pleased to have the opportunity of meeting more of Joan's wider family, and catching up with those people that I already knew. 

Facing a lengthy journey back home, we could not stay long in Torquay; soon we had to leave to drive back to London, but it had been well worth while, making the effort to attend. I only wish it could have been an occasion when Joan was still with us, but we have such happy memories of all those past years of knowing her, and the day was a real celebration of her life, and all the love she inspired. 

We shall never forget her. 

Al's paternal Grandmother bows out

Al's Paternal Grandmother Bows Out

I haven't felt like writing very much over the past week or two because we have had some very sad news: Nanny Joan, Al's paternal Grandmother, died on 17th August, of heart failure. 

We have such good memories of Nanny Joan. When Al was born, he and Wendy went back to live at her house, until such time as they and Al's Dad found a flat of their own; and when she moved to the west country, whenever we visited her, Joan always made us so welcome. 

I especially remember one trip, when she took us to Kents Cavern in Torquay; it was a fascinating place, and Al enjoyed himself so much. 

In spite of the greater distance in miles between us, we always kept in touch by letter and by phone, and she never forgot Al at Christmas; there were always loving messages then, and on his birthdays. 

Joan was still so young - younger than me, anyway! - and it has certainly brought home to me, how blessed I have been to come through surgery and landed safely back on shore. 

We shall always remember her with so much love and affection, and keep her in our hearts and prayers. 

 

Taking A Trip Down Memory Lane

Taking A Trip Down Memory Lane

Driving home after our visit to Cheltenham, Wendy knew exactly where we were, so we turned off the main road, first heading to the village of Ducklington, to see if the duck pond was still there. We had heard it had been filled in, so we were really thrilled to see it, surrounded by trees, and a dozen or more ducks sitting on the grass verge, snoozing in the sun. 

Ducks galore!

There is now a notice by the pond, asking visitors "Please do not feed the ducks," so of course we didn't, but it was good to remember the time when we could take some bread for them, and enjoy having them quacking around our legs! Anyone who knows me, knows I love ducks! (Am I also quackers?!)

"Pondering" by the duck pond!

Cool Dude Wendy!

From the notice board, we read St Bartholomew's Church is also holding regular services, so there is obviously still a congregation to be ministered to. 

Wendy outside St Bartholomew's Church

When we left Ducklington, and before we got back onto the motorway to head for home, Wendy first turned into the driveway of the Four Pillars Hotel. It looked as though it was doing well, with a full car park, and lots of people sitting at tables outside, enjoying a drink in the sun. The flower baskets were blooming, and everything looked spick and span; we just hope the hotel continues to flourish. Maybe one day we'll go back to sample the delights of a Christmas holiday with them again. 

Remembering Christmases At The Four Pillars Hotel

Remembering Christmases At The Four Pillars Hotel

Guests were asked to arrive after 2.00 p.m. on the 23 December, where everyone was greeted with a welcome drink, followed by Christmas carols in the lounge; we were shown to our rooms, and there was always plenty of time to unpack, and get ready for dinner.  

After breakfast on Christmas Eve, we either drove into Witney to look round the shops - I bought a lovely pair of shoes there, and I remember Mum enjoyed going into all the little boutiques and chatting away to the owners and staff. There was also a specialist teddy bear shop, with Steiff bears - at this distance, I can't remember if we bought one or not, but it was such an interesting emporium for bear lovers!  - or else we would have a go in the swimming pool at the hotel. 

Oh, yes - Wendy and I are great swimmers - holding on to the foam rubber long float all the while! We never did seem to get the hang of it. I would always stay in the shallow end, where I could still put my feet down on the bottom of the pool, and then try to launch myself full length on the water and start using my arms and legs to try to swim. Just when I thought I was going forward with a few strokes, I'd lose confidence and put my feet down again. Oh dear. 

Never mind - I was always a better decoration poolside than potential Olympic medallist. Wendy persevered more determinedly, but she, too, never managed to really get going. 

In the evening, there was a lovely dinner and a disco; and, later still, we could attend the Midnight Holy Communion Service at St. Bartholomew's Church in the village. 

Come Christmas morning, we discovered that during the night, the staff had been busy; a filled Christmas stocking for every guest was looped over the handle of each room - this started the day off beautifully. 

After breakfast, our little family gathered in our room and opened all our presents, and relaxed until it was time for Christmas dinner

This was a special occasion, with the traditional English Christmas meal of turkey and roast potatoes and parsnips, carrots, peas - the "whole nine yards!" Father Christmas came to every table, presenting each guest with a gift - it was all done so sweetly, and you really were made to feel special. 

On Christmas night, the management set up a "Casino," providing "chips" for guests to play roulette, blackjack, and a couple of other games - my fun was not to win, but to see how long I could make my chips last! I reckoned if, after half an hour, I still had a few left, I was doing well.

On Boxing Day, breakfast was scheduled a little later than normal, with Bucks Fizz on offer; it was a quieter day, to allow any guests who had perhaps enjoyed the Christmas Spirit a little too much, time to recover! Of course we also had lunch and dinner, and there was another dance in the evening, with a singer, and sometimes the manager would also arrange a Fancy-Dress competition. One year, Bob went as Blofeld from the James Bond film - I had great fun drawing a menacing scar down his cheek (did Blofeld have a scar? If he didn't, I plead theatrical licence!) - and as we didn't have a white cat, we bought a large soft toy dog instead, reckoning that would have to do. 

Either way, I think we totally confused the judges, because they awarded Bob first prize! Luckily, they didn't ask us to elaborate on what his character was meant to be...

As I said, the staff worked incredibly hard to entertain us, and we couldn't forget that many also had families with whom they would have liked to spend their Christmas. At various times during our stay, they organised a bingo afternoon, and horse racing in the lounge - not, of course, that we had full-sized steeds prancing around indoors, but long sticks with painted wooden horses' heads nailed to the top! I remember when we were in East Africa, and used d to come back home to England by sea on the Union Castle ships, the passengers were also entertained with "Housey Housey" evenings and similar horse racing events! 

Thinking back to these happy Christmas holidays, I'm also reminded of the Dining Room Manager, Lillien - he was from Paris, and very charming. Because he saw Mum was not good at walking, at mealtimes he went to collect her from our room, and escorted her to the dining room. Mum held on to his arm, walking straighter than she usually did, and looking as thrilled as a teenager; she loved the attention!

If the weather was not too cold, we'd drive to Ducklington Village and park the car, walk round the duck pond, and Mum would feed the ducks. 

Ducklington Village, with the duck pond on the right

One year, we walked to a pub not far from the hotel, where a group of Mummers were performing a mediaeval play - what great traditions are kept up, and how much we enjoyed seeing them!

On the 27th December, it was time to pack up all our lovely presents and all the happy memories we made, and say farewell to new friends we'd made. We really felt we had been away not just 4 nights, but for much longer, and that was the reason we made our next booking before we set off for home!