Letter to Family and Friends

Letter to Family and Friends April 24 2017

Last Saturday I went to a funeral. I have been to many funerals here in France and of course in England. All of them of a similar pattern. As I sat there in a full room of silent mourners I wondered what my own funeral would be like.

Years ago I realised that funerals are for the living. But I don’t want people sitting in silence listening to people drone on about how sad it all is and how they are going to miss me  when they haven’t seen me for years.  Everybody dies. Fact. Death is a part of life.

So if anyone is interested this is what I propose when I die.

1. No funeral service.
2. My coffin should go straight to the crematorium.
3. I would like everyone who knew me, family and friends to plant a tree. Something that has blossom or an evergreen would be nice. If you don’t have room in your garden plant one in a local park or wood.
4. I would like someone in England to organise a Barn Dance in Kidsgrove Town Hall in aid of Douglas Macmillan.
5. I would like someone in Brittany to organise a Fez Noz / or Fez Diez in the Salle de Fete in Merillac in aid of the League de Cancer.

Some of this may cost and for this I have opened an account called  Freda’s Final Fling Fund.

I know that the rules in France about scattering ashes are quite complicated but if possible I would like mine to be scattered in the wood in my garden.

At the time of writing I do not suffer from (as far as I know) anything terminal (except life itself which is).

Of course this is what I would like and as I said before funerals are for the living.

Now I have to get this translated into French. Any offers?

New Ideas

My other blog is called Living and gardening in Brittany but seems to be mostly about gardening. since I don't write in the old way or even read very much I have decided to write about life here on this blog.
   The next village Ereac always has a very artistic display in front of the church. It changes with the seasons.

Update

I suppose I should keep this blog going even though I am not writing. I am not even reading very much.
A new group has been set up; A book club. I would have been delighted when I was in reading mode but as all members are English and they are reading English novels it's not for me.
It did inspire me to read my old diaries which reminded me that I used to not only record all the books I read but also to record my thoughts about the books.
  The group also reminded me that groups can be very complicated. They can even be a mine field of difficulties; perhpas i will find time to write an article about groups; I may search the internet to find a book about groups.

New Thinking

Jan. 2nd I have just read some old posts and realised that I complain too often about lack of energy and tiredness.
SO no more complaints.  Why do I expect to never feel tired or to never lack Energy?

I did two necessary but distasteful  jobs today. Paperwork  is now up to date and ironing is all done.
While I was at my desk  I had a eureka  moment. I found some old letters and short story criteria.  There were also some notes and quotes which stimulated me into thinking about writing again.

New Years Day 2017

This winter I have returned to listening to the radio and writing. I feel as though my soul has re-entered my body. Or perhaps I am learning  how to  be aware of external stimulus  and balance it with my internal monologue  of ideas and bodily emotions.
Should this be so insightful  at my age?
Anyway I have decided to spend more time thinking and writing. I have looked at my short stories and think I shall publish them. Not because I think they will sell but because I believe that  one should  always have a project. It will be very satisfying  to see my stories in print.
Winter gives me more time in bed when I waken in the morning. Instead of leaping up eager to get in the garden the dark mornings allow thinking time. It is such a luxury being retired.
This morning I thought I would begin a text about my life from the angle of thoughts in the form of a stand up performance.

December

So many jobs and so little energy.  I cut back 2 chrisies and covered the plants with leaves. This was advice from a website.  I still have about 60 tulips to plant in fancy pots. I planted 3 plants that I brought from the plant swap. They have been sitting in water for weeks but the roots look thick and strong so I'm hopeful.

This should be on my other blog, Living and Gardening in Brittany.

A Relaxing Weekend on the Canal

The canal runs parallel with the main line of the Trent and Mersey Canal for nearly half a mile until they meet at Hardings Wood Junction. "Heartbreak Hill" locks and Middlewich are to the left; Harecastle Tunnel and Stoke are to the right.


     ‘Switch on here, press this button and turn the key,’ said the man at the Marina when I picked up the barge. I had expected to receive at least a five minute lesson on how to drive the boat. Collecting it fell to me because my son and partner would be working on the Friday. Luckily I remembered that someone had told me that you kept to the right on the canal not the left like the road. So with not a little trepidation I set off.

Although sixty years ago my grandmother lived a few yards from the lock at Hardingswood on the Trent and Mersey canal it was my first trip on a barge. In my childhood my cousins and I took no heed about the dangers of playing near the lock and frequently played tick running and jumping fearlessly to avoid being ‘on’. Frequent walks along the canal side collecting wildflowers with a favourite uncle was my first lesson in learning the names of wild flowers.


This day in less than a mile I reached the Harecastle tunnel. Built in 1825 by Thomas Telford it is nearly two miles long, only wide enough for one boat and unlit. All I had was a lamp on the front of the boat. So a dark, dank narrow tunnel and a boat of 70 feet long and a light a little better than a candle. A metal boat too. No matter how hard I tried the boat ricocheted from side to side. The boom, boom, boom it made was deafening. I was terrified. Remembering my local history I realised I was passing the entrance of a disused coal mine which was reputed to be haunted by the ghost of a murdered woman The Kidsgrove Bogart. My fear was augmented.

When I sailed out into the dazzling sunlight I steered the barge to the side. Still shaking I managed to leap off the boat and tie it up to the huge metal mooring rings. What a relief it was to see my sailing partners coming along the towpath. The terror dispelled I called a cheery welcome.


Relieved that my son Robert and partner Philip had joined me my confidence returned. I felt proud of my single handed maiden voyage. I didn’t tell them how scary my journey through the tunnel had been. They stowed their gear and strapped the three cycles they had brought atop the cabin. Eager to show off my newly acquired seamanship - er - canalmanship, I said I would steer for the first few miles. We began the stretch known as the killer mile on account of the number of locks in such a short distance. I was thankful that there had been no locks for me to negotiate when alone.



It was all going well until I realised too late that there was a lorry, a very long lorry, parked so that its rear end overhung the canal by at least six feet. Yes, I hit it and the number plate on the side of the cabin was sliced off.

I was demoted from steerer to lock opener.

The rest of the first day went well. We moored the boat and cycled towards for the nearest pub. The towpath was narrow and we rode in single file. My son lead, followed by me who was closely followed by Philip. Too closely because he braked hard to prevent himself from touching my rear wheel and whoosh, splosh - into the canal he went. Philip is not an athletic man so I was amazed to see him leap up and out of the water onto the canal side as though he had landed on a springboard. It was just as well as Robert and I were cruelly and uncontrollably laughing. We couldn’t have helped him even if he’d been drowning. The now dripping Philip turned to see his brand new hat floating gently on the water. ‘I must take a photo,’ he said diving into his rucksack for his camera. Aiming it he said, ‘That hat cost me ten quid.’ The hat said, ‘Blub, blub, blub,’ and sank into the murky water before the camera clicked.

As Philip, drenched from head to foot, was shivering with cold we postponed our Pub visit and returned to the barge. Fortunately one of us had brought a bottle of whiskey so we drank to our first day’s excitement and the rest of the trip which was uneventful until the last day.


Nearing the homestretch Philip who was steering called to Robert, ‘Look there’s the lorry your mother hit on the way out. I must take a photo of it.’ He dived down the steps into the cabin for his camera and returned just as we hit the lorry for a second time taking off the other number plate.

On our return through the tunnel Philip took the helm. This time I was unafraid but felt a bit aggrieved that he seemed to be unaffected by the booming of seventy feet of metal on brick in the echoing darkness. I started to tell him the ghost story. I thought it only fair since I had previously negotiated the tunnel of terror alone. As we were passing the entrance to the mine I shouted, ‘Look there she is.’ A white female shape floated towards us then turned into the entrance of the old mine. It was probably a trick of the light but it was enough to make Philip dive into the cabin for the whiskey bottle leaving me to steer us out into the daylight.

We have the photo of the lorry but sadly not the hat. Philip is no David Bailey and it seems that neither of us is Ellen MacArthur.
I have a really poor photo of the lorry but I am unable to copy it to this blog.


You can see information and videos of The Harecastle Tunnel, Kidsgrove on Wikipedia. A very informative website worth visiting is http://www.talke.info .




There is also a history booklet containing information about Kidsgrove and the Harecastle Tunnel called The Best of Kidsgrove News by Philip Leese and Published by Good News 124 High Street Harriseahead ST 7


The Kidsgrove Boggart and the Black by Philip Leese and published by Staffordshire County Council make interesting reading. Unfortunately out of print but I am sure it is available from Hanley or Kidsgrove Library.


It is a pity that Kidsgrove does not use its unique position on the canal to its advantage. It is still exciting to take the trip through the tunnel and to see the old legging tunnel and wonder how families in the past survived the hardships of canal life.