Wordless, Our Garden

The recent weather, the sunshine, and showers have made our garden explode with life, flowers and fruit and berries.

Tales from Norlandia, Part 4

Here is the third vignette for The Rocks of Aserol. It concerns a character that may or may not be in the novel. If you want to know more, you will have to wait and see.

Grace.

Grace Fallowfield walked slowly down the High Road, her curls rippling in the light breeze. It was a warm summer’s day and all around her the shops and stalls were full of the bounty of the fields and seas. To her left was a low wall and beyond it the sands of the bathing beach. There were a few brave souls frolicking in the sea, Grace was not keen on the idea of sea bathing, despite the exhortations of popular magazines as to its health giving qualities. Her mother reckoned that it would do her no good and so far she had kept her health without it.

Grace was happy, for today was the first at her new employment; gone was the drudgery of washing clothes in the steam-filled laundry by the High-Top Local. The place had been a form of purgatory for her, the huge copper tubs full of scalding water and lye. The steam-driven mangles were a constant threat to squash fingers and on her breaks (which were few) emerging into daylight the coal dust from the power generators of the Local stuck to her sweat-soaked clothes and made her look and feel permanently dirty.

Her brother had got her the job in the hotel. He drove an Exo for the mine and came home covered in dust himself, on him it had never seemed like dirt though, just a natural thing, after all, he had followed their father and most of the family into the mine. And Grace had been used to seeing her family arrive home from the mine with blackened faces and clothing since she had been a little girl.

She turned right into Military Crescent, away from the sea and up a small incline. The houses here were grand and had walled gardens with enormous wrought iron gates. Many had small gatehouses manned by servants, mostly those crippled by warfare. The wages were small but the work gave them dignity. Also folk, in general, were grateful for the servicemen’s sacrifice and looked after the veterans. They all spoke to Grace as she passed and she chatted with them, exchanging comments about the weather or other trivialities.

At the top of Military Crescent, there was a Local, with a queue of coal lorries outside. The chimneys of the Local and the lorries combined to set a pall of dust in the air, reminding Grace of her previous situation; smiling to herself at the thought of her escape from the dust clouds she strode on.

Ahead of her was a terrace of grand facade, curving away in both directions. At the apex were a flight of steps and a door bearing the words ‘Provincial Hotel.’ This was her destination and she crossed the road to it.

The door was opened by a porter. Grace stood back, thinking that someone was emerging. “Come on in, lass,” said the man in a kindly voice. “I won’t hold it open for you all day.”

“Why thank you, sir,” Grace replied. “I’m unused to such politeness.”

The porter looked at her attire and saw a pretty girl in a well-used dress and shoes. He noted the absence of gloves or hat. “I think you are suited to this place,” he remarked dryly, “for it has lost whatever grandeur it once had, but you add to its beauty.”

Grace was flustered, she did not understand, was he complimenting her or merely teasing her. “I have to see Miss Faith,” she said, “about a position.”

“Ahh,” said the man, “then we are to be colleagues.” He bowed slightly and offered his hand. “I am Maloney.”

Grace took it in hers; unsure how to respond. In a panic she saw that his left arm was missing below the elbow, the sleeve pinned up. He must be a war invalid. “Honoured,” she stammered, “Grace Fallowfield at yours.”

“Better get in,” Maloney advised in that soft kindly voice, “or your employment will be over before it’s begun. Miss Faith’s office is behind the desk.”

Thanking him, Grace moved into the building. The plaster was peeling on the walls and the carpet clean though threadbare. It had the same pattern as the one in her home.

She found the office and knocked. A voice that would not be out of place on a parade ground bade her enter.

Miss Faith was a large lady of middle years, she peered at Grace over half glasses, her expression stern.

“Yes?”

“Good day,” said Grace nervously. “I’m Grace Fallowfield, for the job.”

“Ahh yes, the recommendation, well then my dear, can you serve at table and make beds?”

“I can,” replied Grace, “and I can work a speaker and write a neat ledger.”

“Very good, these skills will all be useful if we employ you,” her eyes narrowed, “and can you keep away from menfolk? We have no fraternising here; your predecessor learnt that the hard way.”

Grace was unsure what she meant but nodded. Looking at Miss Faith she imagined that she had no problem with ‘menfolk’.

“Very well then, we will get you a uniform, you start after the Sabbath.”

"I held the book so tightly in my hands."

A bit of an obscure title for a post, let me explain.

One of my favourite bands back in the day was Genesis, I saw them once at  Earls Court in London back in 1977. Anyway, they made an album called "Duke." in 1980.

One of the best tracks was called "Between the Lines."

And that's where the lyric comes from.

And now we get to the reason for the post.

IT'S HERE!!

More lyrics from the same song "It's written in the book."

You will be able to pre-order from Amazon soon. I believe that you can already from Barnes and Noble. I'll put all the links up when I have them. Meanwhile, I'm off to hold it for a while longer.

Meet the family

We had a family get together for Yvonne's birthday, travelling to Kent for a few days. It's why I've been quiet on the blogging front.

The problem here is which order to put the pictures in, who goes first? They're all my favourites but I have to start somewhere.

So in order of the furthest away from me first, here is Georgina, our youngest, in Adelaide. She couldn't be with us but we had a long phone call and we'll be seeing her soon (I hope).

Here's me with Maeve, our middle daughter Naomi's child. she's the latest addition to the family,

Here's Elsa, our eldest daughter's daughter.

Finally, here they all are, together with Yvonne. That's (clockwise from top),  Yvonne, Naomi, Maeve. Elsa and Amy-Rose.

It was great to be with them all, I only wish George could have been here with us too. And Yvonne says thanks for all the cake and presents.

Mermaids bed

This is really Yvonne's post, I'm just typing the words and putting the pictures up for her. When our first grandchild was born, Yvonne made her a dolls bed, using a fairy theme. 

When Maeve came along, naturally she decided to do another one, this time using mermaids as the inspiration.

The bed itself was straightforward enough, a hexagon quilt and crochet blanket on a wooden bed from Ikea.

The pillow was made with a cross-stitch panel of a mermaid in the middle.

That just left the doll and look as she might, Yvonne could not find a mermaid of the right proportions to look right.

She did, however, find a doll that could be adjusted to fit.

So she sewed the legs together and padded them out. 

She made a mermaid tail shaped piece of fabric and sewed it into place. 

She made a shell bra and fitted it.

She sewed ribbons into its hair.

And a mermaid was born!

Wordless, the plants that grow out of the walls in Devon

These tenacious plants were all spotted on my walk. None of them should be growing where they are, after all there is little nourishment for a plant in a stone wall. Yet here they are, in a testament to the power and persistence of nature.