JOURNAL ENTRY
7th December, Thursday
“Untidy smoke trail of jackdaws
Stream across an iron sky
Of scalding wind and rain flail.
Maggie and I pick our way
Across the sheep field,
December sings through the oaks.”
[MUSIC]
WELCOME
You join us on an incredibly wild and stormy night, tonight! The heavy rain has passed through, but there is a battering westerly wind that is raking across the Worcestershire vales. At the moment it is measuring in excess of 20mph and gusts of over 30 mph which is fairly rare for such a central location. When Maggie and I came in a little while ago, the ground was scattered with broken alder twigs and the knuckles of ash. However, we are safe and snug here. The stove is on and glowing cherry red, the kettle is about to boil.
This is the narrowboat Erica narrowcasting into the darkness of a wild December night to you wherever you are.
It's lovely to see you. Thank you so much for dropping by. Shake off those muddy boots, hand me your coat and make yourself comfortable. I was hoping you'd be able to come. Welcome aboard.
[MUSIC]
NEWS FROM THE MOORINGS
It’s been a howling kind of week, with blustery winds and a lot of drenching rain. The barometer’s needle has been dancing around the dial recently, and the sheep on the hillside look thoroughly soaked. But they are a rugged, hardy lot. Stocky, big, pugnacious. I did ask what breed they were and I was told that they were part Lleyn, but what they have been crossed with couldn’t be remembered – they certainly have the air of Welsh mountains and wrack of sea-mist about them. There’s an audaciousness about them that I like. Square, boxer’s faces. They have the pugilist’s swagger about them too. They will stare down Maggie at the drop of a hat – or, a stamp of the hoof – even moving up to us as if to dare us to try to pass.
The temperatures have now lifted again with the sweeping arcs of Atlantic storm-fronts. Low pressure causes the air to rise like water going down a plughole in reverse. In the northern hemisphere this rising mass of air cycles in a clockwise direction. The lower the pressure the more severe the cyclonic spin. It’s all been a bit cyclonic recently. Particularly earlier today, when a warm wind banged and buffeted us. When out in windy-rain, Maggie has perfected a Clint Eastwood look. On rigid little legs, she lowers her head into the wind and narrows her eyes into slits she stares intently into the middle distance. It is as if she is waiting for a director to yell ‘Close-up and cut.”
[MUSIC]
CABIN CHAT
[MUSIC]
WHEN MUM MARRIED DAD
Welcome to the second part of our celebration of Dad’s 95th birthday and, with the help of Mum’s book, going back in time with him to the time when they first met.
Last week we heard about how Jo, a 1938, patchwork blue, Hillman Minx was instrumental in bringing Mum and Dad together. Jo had developed a disconcerting rattle and so Mum had dropped into her local garage where Dad happened to be working as a mechanic. It was always the topic of much laughter and jokes that the first thing Dad did was to offer to lend her a book on how to drive! But that high-risk strategy (or is it only a high-risk strategy today?) clearly worked and they soon began to go out together and eventually decide to marry.
They had decided on a honeymoon on the Norfolk Broads. They had even booked a 16ft sailing boat ‘Whippet’ and then went about planning the wedding. They wanted to get married in Mum’s local church. However, when it came time to organise it a problem emerged. The vicar wasn’t available for that day, unless they had the service at 8 o’clock in the morning. Something that Mum and Dad had no problem with – although it did raise a few comments from friends and relatives.
Jo, Mum’s beloved Hillman Minx who had so fortuitously brought them together continued to play an important role in their courtship. One quick point that I think is worth mentioning is that, as Mum noted in last week’s reading, although it was not unknown for a woman to own and drive a car, it was highly unusual and she mentioned that from time to time she did receive some tart comments. However, what was perhaps even more unusual was for a man to be driven by a woman – especially when he could drive and had his own car. Therefore, much kudos and respect to Dad for flying in the face of such social conventions which must have, at times, felt a little awkward.
Penny Compton, who I mentioned earlier, was once famously heard to describe Mum and Dad (who at this time must have been in their fifties) as ‘the two middle-aged hippies’! Okay, there was no tie-dye, long hair, or mystic chanting, and certainly no consumption of questionable substances, but the more I learn about them and their singular way of living their life together according to their own patterns and paths, the more I think she is correct.
But I am straying from the point. Let us return back to the winter of 1954/5 to pick up Mum’s story. Yet again, it is a story in which Jo plays a central part.
[READING]
SIGNING OFF
This is the narrowboat Erica signing off for the night and wishing you a very peaceful and restful night. Good night.
WEATHER LOG
