Wordless Wednesday

Staithes - North Yorkshire

Hold on tight to your dream...............

Electric Light Orchestra [ ELO ]
a big hit in 1981
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Wordless Wednesday

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We're having a search party

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I often start with, the friary is quiet and all are either in bed or away for the day. That's because I tend to get 5-minutes to myself and think, I know, I'll write a little. Most of my day seems to be spent with looking for something, I thought I knew where it was (but it's not). I regard myself as reasonably organised, and know the best plan is to put things back where I will be able to find it. I am convinced there are those in the house who take joy in moving things, knowing my mutterings when in search for that damn thingamajig. I began to think it was just me and I had been smitten with a lack some DNA stuff, but others tell me they have the same problem.

I met with a young friend down by the sea front the other night and we enjoyed a beer together. I was struck by a number of searchers on the beach, what had they lost? They were so intent on their search, head down and kicking up stones and seaweed. Perhaps they weren't looking for anything specific, was this part of the missing DNA syndrome? can't help searching for something (don't know what)? We would say; it's in our jeans.

I remember walking on the beach some years ago, I was going to meet a young person who had spent the night in a cell [police, not monastic]. Head down and not in a rush. I picked up a stone, it was not very spectacular, pretty ugly actually; I would usually choose something with an interesting shape to play with in my hand before throwing it into the sea. As I turned it over I could see there was a hole washed right through, that in itself is not unusual round these parts. Inside there was something rattling, a shell - white, clean and shiny inside this dirty old piece of stone. I tried to shake it out, but it wouldn't come no matter which way I turned it. I came to the conclusion that it hadn't been washed in, rather it was washed out. The shell had been enclosed inside this prehistoric mud and the sea had washed a hole through to reveal this little shell and out of all the stones, I picked it up. This stone and it's shell live at the drop-in and I often use it when I'm talking to folk about beauty within. Perhaps that is what we are all constantly searching for - beauty and peace.

Note to evening office: Read that bit about the birds of the air and the flowers, not having to worry. For what God provides is sufficient.

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Wordless Wednesday

Fond memories

Turning over more photographs I find this one of an old mill, just up the road from where my mum grew up. It is still standing though the sails are long gone and now converted into a holiday home. Ugthorpe was always a little bit like a time capsule and to some extent still is. A visit to any house would immediately bring out a bit of tea or supper and it wasn't oft that anything ill was spoken of another. Each family would help when time for hay making or harvest. Tea and buns were brought to the field and we would sit by a hay stook and sup n eat. I remember when I was quite young in the hay field; it came on a down pour - thunder and lightning, we ran for cover to the buildings. One of the bigger lads said "where's my jacket"; and made me run back for it. I loved to work on the farm, even the back breaking job of picking potatoes. The old bed that was brought out when I stayed at Newgrove (Granny's house) was a feather mattress and with no care for health and safety; we took a lemonade bottle of hot water to bed when it was cold.

Time wasn't an issue then, everything seemed to fit into place. The routine of Sunday morning, Aunty would bring up cups of tea and a biscuit so we could have something without breaking our fast for communion. There would be five of us lads in one room and all to get washed and ready. Uncle had been and done the milking and tended to the animals, his last job before church was cleaning the shoes. There were no names on seats but each family sat in the same rows year on year; Joe would pull on the bell rope calling the village to worship. Ugthorpe and Egton Bridge has been Catholic right through the recusancy times of Elizabeth I but that's another long story involving many of my ancestors. It was after the Mass that things hotted up, with the men folk taking up position just over the road from the church, talking and laughing; us younger ones would either play on the green or chat with our peers close by the men. It would be quite some time before folk headed off home or to the Black Bull. Uncle would oft stop by the pub and pick up a bottle or two, us lads were allowed a drink at dinner time (with some lemonade). It was a time of making your own amusement with whatever you had. Radio (no TV) and an old wind up record player.

This picture of my cousins and yours truly (between the two boys) is taken close to the mill, it would be behind us and to the left.

Now it is time for us to clean the shoes and help the young ones and for them to feel that everything fits into place; I see so many youngsters in desperate situations and feel I just want to tell them where they may be going wrong. Being the support and taking the strain is often the best policy, giving them the space to see where they are. A call this week from cousin Anne to remind me to arrange a cousins get together; we have talked about it for long enough -

"lets do it"

Note to diary: Set a date for September and call a few cousins.
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Wordless Wednesday