Remembering

For Remembrance this year, I'm looking at a simple pleasure I derive in life, and how much I would miss such small things if they were so drastically and suddenly replaced.  A gardener - a tomato grower - has enlisted to fight the Great War in France.  Leaving his young tomato plants in the care of his mother, he looks forward to his return, when he will pick the ripe fruits, and marvel at the wondrousness of life.

The Gardener

“All over by Christmas”

That’s what the newspapers wrote

My adventure awoken

So I journeyed to France on a boat

Gazed out over the Channel

And scribbled my mother a note:

“How are my tomatoes?”

My tomatoes grow tall and grow strong,

In the warm Springtime sun.

We travelled to Cambrai

We dug into this dank, dirty trench

With mud on our faces

And no end to the damp deathly stench

Our hearts full of Blighty

But we learned the land like we were French;

My mind full of tomatoes,

My tomatoes bear little green fruits,

In the new summer sun.

Now the fighting was vicious

Like nothing we’d witnessed before

We lost so many faces

Guns, shells, mines; all the armour of war

People riddled with bullets

And a man’s mind can take nothing more;

But my lovely tomatoes,

My tomatoes are plump, and they blush!

In the late summer sun.

I’m remembered at Pozieres

Though no soldier my body could find

So they marched back to Calais

Leaving all of us Fallen behind

Now the poppies grow on me

Like they grow on the heart and the mind;

As for my tomatoes,

My tomatoes, they wither and die in the shy

Autumn sun.

Back to TQ12

Ten months have passed since this happy blog post about moving into our new flat.  Ten months of fun, ten months of frustration, and ten months of hard work that confirmed what we knew all along – that our wonderfully-located city-centre flat, with its faded Georgian opulence, was our temporary stop-gap to getting on the property ladder. 

Fast forward from that late November weekend, and Lizzie and I have just become homeowners.  For me, it’s a move back to the old home town of Newton Abbot, whilst for Lizzie it’s a foray one step deeper into the Westcountry, where the accents are slightly more pronounced, and the pace of life is just that little bit slower.  We’ve made a balanced decision, the cost (financially and mentally) of the daily commute weighted up against an otherwise higher quality of life that we think we’ll enjoy in our new home. 

Dodgy bedroom

Dodgy kitchen

So, what have we got?  An ageing bathroom (complete with defunct shower), a tired boiler and some questionable electrics, none of which is ideal, but all of which will soon be sorted as we take our first steps towards making this house our home.  And if you can look beyond the imperfections, there are certainly worse places to live – the lounge-diner is spacious, the bedrooms are a good size (and there’s three of them!), there’s a garage (although the door has just fallen off its hinges) and, of course, an exceptionally interesting garden.  A lick of paint here, a touch of work there (or was that a complete refurb here, some major rewiring there?) and we’re going to see this house completely turned around into a place we’re thoroughly going to enjoy.  For both of us, this is a really exciting prospect.

Dodgy lounge

Dodgy garden

So, from here on in all blogs will be coming directly from our new home.  I hope you’ll all stay tuned for room-by-room updates!

Our new home!

Blest Isle! With matchless beauty crown’d

Rule Britannia!

When Britain first, at Heaven’s command:

Arose from out the azure main; (arose from out the azure main,)

This was the charter, the charter of the land,

And guardian angels sang this strain:

Rule, Britannia!  Britannia rules the waves,

Britons never will be slaves.

The nations, not so blest as thee:

Must in their turns, to the tyrants fall; (must in their turns, to the tyrants fall,)

While thou shalt flourish, flourish great and free,

The dread and envy of them all.

Rule, Britannia!  Britannia rules the waves,

Britons never will be slaves.

Still more majestic shalt thou rise:

More dreadful, from each foreign stroke; (more dreadful from each foreign stroke,)

As the loud blast that, loud blast that tears the skies,

Serves but to root thy native oak.

Rule, Britannia!  Britannia rules the waves,

Britons never will be slaves.

Thee haughty tyrants ne’er shall tame:

All their attempts to bend thee down; (all their attempts to bend thee down,)

Will but arouse thy, arouse thy generous flame,

But work their woe, and thy renown.

Rule, Britannia!  Britannia rules the waves,

Britons never will be slaves.

To thee belongs the rural reign:

Thy cities shall with commerce shine; (thy cities shall with commerce shine,)

All thine shall be the, shall be the subject main,

And every shore it circles thine.

Rule, Britannia!  Britannia rules the waves,

Britons never will be slaves.

The Muses, still with freedom found:

Shall to thy happy coast repair; (shall to thy happy coast repair,)

Blest Isle! With matchless beauty crown’d,

And many hearts to guard the fair.

Rule, Britannia!  Britannia rules the waves,

Britons never will be slaves.

The goodness of people

Many months ago, I logged on to the Find a Grave website as part of family history research, to see if I could find the war grave of my Grandad’s cousin, Wilfred Roy Major, who was shot down in a bomber over Germany in the Second World War.  I knew from the excellent Commonwealth War Graves Commission that he was buried at Durnback War Cemetery, Bavaria, and so put the details in, and lodged a request – more in hope than expectation –that should any photographers be passing, they might see his grave and send on a picture.

I forgot all about this service until last week, when an email popped up in my inbox, to tell me that my request has been fulfilled – somebody called “BobP” had actually taken the time, whilst at the cemetery, to find Wilfred Roy’s grave, and to upload a photograph for me.  I don’t know BobP - I don’t know who he is or where he comes from - but his act of kindness in helping to locate this important family monument will not be forgotten.  It reminds me that, in the age of the selfish, there is still goodness in people and a desire to help for nothing more than the sake of helping.

Dakota Days - Memorable days (going home)

Day Thirty.  Tuesday 17 August 2004

"A day in which I think I worked fairly hard.  We finished digging our grid today.  The highlight was taking my dog skull to the lab to be cleaned and photograph.  It is cool, easily my best find.  After this, we more-or-less finished.

This evening we went out to Walmart - what an enormous store!  The most interesting aspect was the self-checkouts they had, so you can buy without a cashier.  Tristan did it, but did it wrong and had to get a cashier over to help him anyway.  I went to a cashier first and paid about ten times quicker than him!

Weird to think that tomorrow is our last day in Mitchell - time has gone so quickly."


Day Thirty One.  Wednesday 18 August 2004

"I suppose it would be considered a sad day today, our last day at the Archeodome.  It has been a pretty good month, the dome hasn't been bad really and people have been very welcoming there.  Today they gave each of us a grab bag to take home.  it included:

• a jam jar
• a bag of popcorn
• a fridge magnet
• postcards
• sweets
• a notebook with addresses.

Unfortunately, they spelt my name wrong, and I am now Nicolas but never mind, it was a lovely gesture.  We bought Debs some flowers and Alan gave Adrien an Exeter paperweight, plus we all signed a book for Alan.

So our last day.  Our last Holiday Inn meal.  Our last swim in the disgusting motel pool.  I'm nearly packed now and ready for travelling home, but tomorrow is going to be a long day - six hours to Minneapolis, nine hours to London, then four hours to home.  

Will I ever come back here?  I don't know.  I suppose I can see myself wandering through here in 30 years or something, probably by accident, or visiting the Corn Palace on a day excursion (does anybody visit South Dakota by accident?)  But who knows what the future will bring.  Three months ago, I didn't think I'd be in the States!"

An Afterword.  25 September 2004

"I suppose a note like this would be considered an 'afterword' if my diary was some sort of published work.  I sit on my bed, it's 2.22am, and I have just flicked through the diary for the millionth time in the last month.  Date wise, it's two months ago that we took the journey west into the Badlands and beyond.  In fact, minus the six hour time difference, it's pretty much to the minute that we were in the pool at the motel, celebrating Vicky's birthday.

This kind of thing is supposed to be a reflective thought on the America trip, but I'm not really sure what to say or where to start.  Since returning to England I have frequently wished I was back in the motel room, the Holiday Inn, the Black Hills.  Especially, and most frequently, I remember Hot Springs, a town you can really fall in love with.  Looking back, that area, so far west of Mitchell, felt like the end of the world where everything was so relaxed and peaceful.  All troubles were a lifetime away, it was something I've never really felt in a place before.

That excursion was the undoubted highlight of the trip.  The Badlands were so fantastic and the scale was extraordinary - I would certainly like to visit again.  It was the landscape under the blue sky and those beautiful clouds.  It was the heat.  It was the air - the smell and taste of it.  I know I'm privileged to have been there.  And this is not to discount the Black Hills, especially the scenery around Mount Rushmore, which will stay in my memory forever.

Of other highlights, I will never forget the sunset over Lake Mitchell, which words cannot do justice to.  I also often think of the Blue Grass music in Sioux Falls.  I remember thinking, at the time, that I would always remember that experience, and so it seems to be the case.

I can imagine going back, perhaps on my own, for a longer period of time to explore properly. But in the meantime, it's now less than a week until I move back to University, to my student life in Exeter, which I love.  But I shall never forget South Dakota and those memorable days out west."