Mad!

The world has gone mad. As we have not had a good frost to make the lily die back, we cut them back - now we have leaves springing up. At this rate we will have Arun lilies for Christmas! Last summer we had some 60 blooms!

As I grew older . . .

As I grow older every day, I make a conscious effort not to become a grumpy old man, but there are some things that irritate me. I will get them off my chest here, if I may, when I will feel a lot better and radiate happiness to all who meet me - and to some who pass by on the other side.

There are three things that make me more sad than annoyed.

Firstly, I object to ladies using their baby buggies as potential battering rams. I walked through Ilford Town Centre this morning as part of my weekly shop and was forced to leap (well, not leap, just move swiftly) out of their way as ladies came sailing through with buggies out front. Some were on their mobiles, whilst others were chatting to friends and the rest were just determined to get where they wanted without a care in the world.

Secondly, I object to folk who have their mobiles in hand and faces down as they walk towards me - again, forcing me to swiftly get out of their way. Collisions would occur, but for the fact that I am alert to the possible danger.

Finally, you will be relieved to hear, I object to folk who cross the road at controlled traffic lights when the indication is that pedestrians should wait for the green man to light up. Often these are ladies with buggies out in front. I feel for the drivers who have to avoid these idiots and would be blamed were there to be an accident. I am sometimes forced to shout: "Wait for the green man", but when I do so, folk look at me as if I am the one who is mad! I am especially prone to do this at Ilford Broadway. One day, I fear, someone will hit me with their walking frame or give me a nasty nudge with their walking stick. But I will not be intimidated in this way.

I feel better now so I will cook my supper and look forward to watching 'Have I got news for you' as it is Friday night. In my youth Friday was bath night, but I have not had a bath for some thirty years (no, do not worry - I shower instead and not just on Friday night).

Have a good weekend, my friend, and thank you for reading so far.

Christmas Market!

St. Peter's Christmas Market - 10am to 4pm tomorrow, Saturday 17th November - Aldborough Road North. Just a few of the stalls - with mouthwatering homemade cakes, pickled opinions, marmalades and preserves, Christmas cards with snow scenes from last winter, a terrific prize draw, refreshments and a unique display of nativity sets in the church. You must not miss this!

Red sky!

'Red sky in the morning, shepherds' warning" say the old adage. But the glory of the sky at seven on the morning on Wednesday 14th November took your breath away in its beauty.

Christmas shoe boxes

This afternoon some sixty shoeboxes containing gifts for children and families in Romania left St. Peter's Aldborough Hatch with Children in Distress, the charity now based in Scotland, which was started by Revd John Walmsley, when he was Vicar of nearby St Lawrence Barkingside. In addition to the decorated boxes, we handed £50 to assist with travel costs from the York Depot and some £225 to help with the cost of transporting across Europe. St. Peter's and friends in the local community have been sending these boxes at Christmas for many years - brining something of the magic of the festive season to those who have little or nothing, in tier homes, hospices and orphanages.

Leaves

St Peter's churchyard - The last leaves of autumn fall in their multi-coloured brilliance - which no man could emulate - against a glorious azure blue sky.

Early this afternoon Irene and Roger rang. Would I be interested in joining them at the Queen Elizabeth Olympic Park to witness the 'Shrouds of the Somme'? I guess they knew I was disappointed at the Tower of London yesterday. I had heard about the Shrouds and had hoped to be able to go one day next week, but I jumped at the chance of going with Irene and Roger.

We journeyed by car, parking in the nether regions of a vaste indoor car park at Stratford Westfield. Making our way through Waitrose, we climbed an enormous flight of steps - at the top of which I had to sit down to rest, for my legs are not getting any younger. Onward we strode, Irene insisting that we walk at my pace, which varied from slow to slower, slowest and dead stop! The saving grace was a courtesy eight seater open vehicle into which old people were invited to sit for the journey. Irene had gone ahead to ask the driver to wait for me. I was ushered on board - and the realisation struck me that I am now one of the elderly who are grateful for courtesy vehicles!

Entrance to the 'Shrouds' was via a large tent and exit the same way. The photographs speak for themselves. Each of the 72,396 shrouds represents a man who died at the Somme. Their names were read over a loudspeaker system and displayed on the walls in the tent.

The overall effect was such that words completely fail me a couple of hours later. To say that I was overwhelmed would be the under statement of the decade. The number 72,396 had little meaning until I saw 72,396 shrouds laid on the moist green grass as the sun moved slowly to set, leaving long lines of light across the seemingly endless row upon row.

Broadcaster Dan Snow writes in the booklet available on the site: "Rob Heard's Shrouds of the Somme is the most remarkable First World War commemoration you will ever see. Step back and see the sheer scale of human sacrifice during the bloodiest battle in British military history. Step forward and see each of the 72,396 shrouded figures lay testimony to the individual sacrifices of the men whose bodies were never recovered. Each one, a human life cut short."

Four years ago the poppies at the Tower of London was a moving tribute to those who gave their lives. 'Shrouds of the Somme' brought the tragedy vividly to mind. I remain speechless . . .

Irene and I sat at a nearby bus stop for the 20 minutes it took Roger to find the car and bring it to pick us up, thus saving the long walk back. My thanks to Roger and Irene for an afternoon that moved me more than I can say or speak.