PC 471 Another Tale  

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Most of us are too busy to read much at this time of the year, so here’s something I wrote last year, which is just another tale. And if you don’t read it that doesn’t matter either!

“I had only the vaguest of directions, in the form of a land survey map and some handwritten notes from the solicitors, but as I neared what I thought was about my destination, I could sense my heart beginning to beat faster, the excitement palpable; I pulled into the verge. Somewhere down this deserted country road, 100 miles in from the coast north of Sydney, was a five-barred gate. Sure enough 50 metres away there was an old wooden gate, hanging at an odd angle from a large timber post, rather unkempt and unloved; across the top bar was the name, “Standby”, burned into the wood by an untrained hand. A track led through the gums and over a small hillock; clearly no one had travelled this way for a while, so thick was the red dust and the absence of tyre tracks.

So much had happened since I had received that letter from Wilcock & Brown, a firm of solicitors in Sydney, in London two months before, informing me that a long-lost relative had left me a station in New South Wales. Being rather vague about the family tree, I had rung my grandfather, to see if he could enlighten me.

“Come down and see me, dear boy”, more an order than an invitation! A few days later we had had sat around the coffee table in his drawing room, doing a cursory search of some dusty albums and box files. He’d told me how James Ruse, his great great grand-father’s half-brother, had been one of the first European settlers and the first to be deeded land in Australia, thirty acres at Parramatta, west of Sydney. James had prospered and had bought tracts of land as future investments. One was far north of Sydney, which he had let to a fellow settler, who had gradually built up a sizeable holding. Over the years my grandfather had rather lost touch with his extended family relatives in Australia and had no clue as to how the station had come to be left to me.

Grandpa’s parting comment still rang in my ears: “Why don’t you go and have a look? You have nothing to lose, it could be a wonderful adventure and you can come back and tell me all about it.”

Certainly, I had to take a look, if only out of curiosity, but I had no experience of running anything bigger than my back garden, the size of postage stamp, in South London, so I would probably sell the station. After the long flight to Sydney and a few days to get over the jetlag, here I was, north of Newcastle. I remember smiling as I passed a sign on the road to Booti Booti, without knowing how it came to be so named and how I would become intimately involved with those words. Then I spied ‘Standby’ on that gate.

At the top of a rise in the track I caught a glimpse of buildings in the distance, half hidden by gums, with a water tower and fences that formed cattle pens. The nearer I got, details of the main house became clearer, classic colonial ranch style, with a large overhanging roof and wide verandas at both ground and first floor level. I had arranged to meet the man who had been looking after Standby since my relative had died, at noon. It was almost that time now, judging by the position of the sun, burning down from the cloudless sky, and yet there appeared to be no one around. 

I parked my car in the shade of a large barn, walked across to the main house and up the steps to the front door, which opened to my push. Inside, dust lay on everything, on the furniture, across the floors and the windows; my finger ran across the table in the dining room, underneath the dust the surface of a lovingly polished mahogany table, obviously brought out from England many years before. The interior was cool and pleasantly laid out, with the main rooms off the central corridor, and the kitchen at the far end.

I was just about to explore the first floor when steps sounded on the veranda. Framed in the doorway was the slender frame of a woman, a broad-brimmed hat on her head, bare arms and legs, and a flowing skirt; in her right hand was a basket. The strong sunlight made it difficult to see any detail of her face and I walked back to the front door to introduce myself.

“Good afternoon”, I said, “my name’s Robert Harrison; you are?”

As I came closer, I could see she was probably in her late twenties, her skin the colour of milky coffee with large soulful eyes and a broad smile.

“G’day, I’m Clarissa; I am Winston’s daughter.”

Ah! Yes. Winston was the chap who was looking after the station. She told me he’d been delayed with some cattle about an hour’s ride away.

“Would you like some lunch? I’ve got some cheese and mangoes, and a bottle of beer. Why don’t you sit on the veranda and I will get it.” Without waiting for a reply, she brushed past me and headed for the kitchen. 

I sat in the shade, tasted the most delicious goat’s cheese, slurped my way through a couple of mangoes and quenched my thirst with the beer. Winston arrived about an hour later, riding into the yard on a rather rough looking black mare, accompanied by a cloud of reddish dust. We introduced ourselves and sat on the veranda whilst Winston told me something of the ranch. A hundred thousand acres of cattle station was mine if I wanted it. He suggested that the best way to see what Standby consisted of was to ride the land. He startled me as he yelled at Clarissa to saddle up a horse, but soon we were riding out of the station yard and up the hill to the east. It was late afternoon, the heat of the sun was easier now, and the kangaroos were coming down to the water holes to take their first drink and nibble the short grass. I looked back at the house, already deciding that here was a place I could live. The comparisons with England were few, it was an exciting idea and, although I knew nothing about cattle and running a station, seemed too good to turn down.

What was the alternative?  Whilst I had no illusions about how different and physically demanding it would be, I felt a surge of excitement as I following Winston over the hill and through the gums. We crossed dried-up river beds, through gullies and around ant hills as big as my horse; the air was dry but clear and there was a wonderful smell of eucalyptus. Some three hours later we rode back into the yard in the soft light of dusk; Clarissa came running out and took the reins and led the horses back to the stables.

I gratefully accepted the offer to stay the night and later, lying in bed wide awake, I wondered what I was letting myself in for.”

(To be Continued – maybe)

Richard 26th December 2025

Hove

www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

PS Ideas always welcome!

PC 470 A Nod to Christmas

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In the eleven years since I started scribbling about this and that, naturally I have mentioned the Christian festival of Christmas. This year I have reread some of those postcards and have extracted some bits I have liked; hope you do too? You can obviously read the full postcards through WordPress.

From PC 27 Christmas 2014:

“I’ve spent Christmas in Sydney in Australia, rather warm but wet that year, in New Zealand where it was warm and dry, and in Rio de Janerio, where it was amazingly hot … and humid. Wherever, “There must be turkey …. and sprouts ???” Really?? “It wouldn’t be the same without Brussel Sprouts.!” The most maligned vegetable in western cuisine, normally with any taste and colour boiled out ……. until Jamie Oliver came along and suggested roasting them with bacon. Brussel Sprouts are just another of those things in life associated with the most boring country, Belgium.”

“This was followed of course by Christmas pudding, a wonderful, sweet concoction of dried fruits, eggs, suet and spices, laced with Brandy during its manufacture to ensure it matured properly, accompanied by Brandy Butter. Before the pudding was brought into the dining room, hot brandy was poured over it and set alight. Uncle Tommy simply nodded his head – he’d seen it many, many times.”

‘Uncle Tommy’ a papier-mâché Father Christmas from 1963

I spent a couple of Christmases in Northern Ireland when the IRA were fighting for some form of independence, firstly in Londonderry in 1973 and then in north Armagh in 1975. (See PCs 196, 197 & 198 Tales from Northern Ireland) These were dangerous times but we still recognised Christmas; dinner was roast turkey, Brussel sprouts (!) and Christmas pudding served by the officers to the soldiers. The Miss World organisation, through Julia Morley, delivered 400 stockings to our regiment in 1973, with packets of cigarettes, sweets, playing cards and I think the latest copy of Penthouse, a Men-Only raunchy magazine. I’ll leave it to your imagination how the soldiers enjoyed the contents of the stockings!

In Londonderry on Christmas Eve, I went up to the border Vehicle Check Point at Muff, to visit some of my soldiers. A Baptist minister, let’s call him Desmond as my memory is too dim (!), attached to the regiment for the tour, accompanied me. One of the sentries and I stood in a static observation post, looking out over the dark, frosty countryside, whilst Desmond talked softly about the meaning of Christmas; one of those memories that will stay with me all my life!

In the United Kingdom and in some countries of The Commonwealth the 26th of December is called ‘Boxing Day’. I wrote about this special day in PC 86, posted on 31st December 2016.

The following year an extra postcard concerned Mr & Mrs Santa (PC 113). Here’s an extract:

“Mrs Santa hears a crash and looks out across the sleigh park. Rudolph, a retired reindeer with an alcoholic red nose and used only once, in 1939, because it was foggy, stirs in his adapted St Bernard’s dog bed. “Wattts ttthhh ffuni” – sort of Reindeer speak for ‘What the fuck?’ Sure enough, Mrs Santa’s husband has returned, the reindeer hooves and sleigh’s skids screeching on the ice and eventually the empty sleigh has skidded to a stop. The reindeers’ flanks are steaming from the exertion of galloping across the world and both they and Santa seem somewhat worse for wear.

“Christ! What the hell’s happened?” she calls across the frozen ‘sleigh park in the sky’.”

Read the rest in PC 113.

Amber House Christmas Tree Thingy (See PC 210 Christmas Lights)

My ‘Creative Writing’ evening class at Brighton Met was encouraging and I even liked a few things that came from the challenging homework. 2018’s PC 140 was another ‘Extra! Extra!’; it covered a couple of homework scripts, one Christmas-themed about carol writing. Facebook asked whether I wanted to repost this last one earlier this week, so you may have already seen it.

At the end of 2020, a year when many countries had suffered total lockdowns to restrict the spread of Covid, I reminded my readers that the Christian bible is littered with stories of pestilence and plague, be it an invasion of locust, which coincidentally in 2020 had been particularly troublesome in Africa, ……. or famine ……. or pandemics. In the C14th in Europe the Black Death ravaged communities over 7 years. Those interested in our Nation’s story will recall the 1665 Great Plague of London; by the time a fire in a bakery in Pudding Lane started an inferno which destroyed most of the city in the following year and killed off the Yersina Pestic bacteria in the process, some 70,000 had died.

And, by the way, there is little evidence Jesus was born on 25th December. The earliest mention of this day was AD 354. Early Christians preferred January 6th, nine months after the Passover. In the original Julian calendar 25th December was the Winter Solstice, the date of which moved to 21st December with the introduction of the Gregorian calendar. “Here endeth the lesson!”

PC 262, posted on Christmas Eve in 2021, was short ….. and finished:

“So …… enjoy your Christmas Eve ……. I hope you have a fun time …… thank you for reading my scribbles. Face the coming year with energy and enthusiasm and embrace all it offers.”

In December 2022 I posted a modern version of the traditional Christmas Story (PC 314 23rd December 2022). It concerned a group of friends sitting around a table in a warm pub, in this case the Lamb & Flag in Folding Under Sheet in the Derbyshire Peak District. There’s Amanda, a very successful shepherdess, Jim whose girlfriend is very pregnant, Pete and others.

Last year I wrote PC 418 ‘Hope Christmas News’ about a party Duncan at The Hope Café had laid on for his regular customers. It reads well, I think; but see for yourself on WordPress.

Big hugs for everyone at this time.

Richard 19th December 2025

Hove

http://www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

PC 469 More from The Hope

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Sami and Lisa come in through the doors and, spying Mo and me, come over; it’s been too long since I had seen them both. I decide to treat them to some coffee and ordered an Americano for Sami and a Mocha for Lisa from Libby. Regular readers will know that Lisa was writing an article for Brighton & Hove’s Argus newspaper about low level health care and had asked my opinion. (See PC 457 Low Level Health Care September 2025)

“Hey you two! Lisa, I saw that your article was published in The Argus in mid-October. Will there be a follow-up?”

“Hope so; nothing certain but they liked my style.”

“And, Sami, I read that not only has Sir Alan Bates finally agreed a settlement in his claim against the Post Office but that a 92-year-old ex-postmistress has also finalised hers. Not before time you might think!” 

“Time passes, doesn’t it. I hadn’t realised Alan had started his campaign for justice for victims of the Horizon scandal more than twenty years ago. So pleased to understand part of his settlement includes compensation for those efforts”.

“Betty Brown fought for 22 years for justice after The Post Office accused her of false accounting after discrepancies in their County Durham branch books. She and her husband made up the £50k shortfall, which had been caused by erroneous Horizon software. Her husband died a year later. Then the Sunday Times, towards the end of November, had a poignant article about Michael Mann, accused of stealing £15,000 from his Post Office in 2013. In October that year Mike committed suicide, so depressed at being sacked from the job he loved. The public enquiry is now analysing the evidence it’s collected and is handing over files to the Metropolitan Police for possible criminal charges. Operation Olympos has so far identified seven suspects, with a formal prosecution expected to begin in 2028; nothing seems guaranteed and meanwhile those wrongly convicted wither.”

“You probably missed the obituary of Lam Leung-tim ……”

“Who he?”

“A Chinese businessman who created ‘a kingdom from nothing’ after the Japanese occupation of China during the Second World War. His name sadly will not be familiar but one of his plastic toys, the little yellow duck, will be.

Who hasn’t had one in their bath, if you have a bath in which to float it nowadays(?), or indeed watched one of the many ‘Yellow Duck Races’.”

“Ah!” Says Mo, “There’s one held every year on the River Arun during the Arundel Festival of The Arts, here in Sussex. Two thousand yellow ducks, each with a number corresponding to a £1 ticket, are poured from a bag from a bridge.

The winning duck earns its owner £100, second and third £50 and £25 respectively and the remaining money goes to local charities. All the ducks are cleared from the river by the Arun Divers Club.”

“Did you know,” Sami interrupts, “that Lam says he made a ‘pleasant mistake’; there’s an old Chinese saying ‘yellow goose and green duck’ ….. but Lam made his duck yellow! He lived to 101.”

“Wow! That’s a lovely anecdote to our love of the yellow ducks.”

“How was your birthday, Richard?” asked Lisa “Not sure Sami told me”, she said, looking at her partner quizzically.

“Great. Dinner in a new restaurant in Church Road, Maré, and all the normal birthday stuff, including birthday wishes from Joe at the Amundsen-Scott South Pole Base. (see PC 403 Idle Thoughts about This and That September 2024)

You’ll have to take my word for it, as you could argue that the email could have come from anywhere! Joe owns one of the apartments in Gilmour House, the other half of Amber House. His contract finished at the end of October and he’s on his way back to Hove, via Thailand and SE Asia.”

Mo butts in: “You’ll have a view, Richard, about the budget last month; what did you think of the removal of the Child Benefit Cap?”

“I had to check the facts. Previously you could claim the benefit for every child; you’d qualify if you’re responsible for a child under 16 and live here, providing neither parent earns more than £80,000. New rules were introduced in 2017, limiting it to two children. The aim was to end the iniquity of workless households getting paid by the state for having larger families than those with jobs could afford. Today families on Universal Credit, which is typically means-tested, get £3500 per child. In removing the cap by April 2026, the government aims to lift hundreds of thousands of children out of poverty. Critics of the lifting of the ban argue there’s no real measure of ‘poverty’, it should be down to parental responsibility to decide how many children to have and whether they are affordable, and that it’s not for The State to say: ‘we’ll pay more and more’.

“You know my view Richard.” says Mo. “If you want to have children, you have to understand that there is a cost involved and there’s a responsibility for both parents, the mother and the father. There’s been an increase of about 10% in the number of families headed up by a single parent since 2019. Mothers make up 85% of the 3 million single parent families here in the UK. Not sure how you can change this, educating society about basic responsibilities, be more draconian about financial support from the absent parent? The more the state helps financially the less incentive there is to change. Don’t think Joe and Joanna Public are in favour of lifting the ban.”

“I do feel a bit concerned that the ‘Ship of State’ is captained by someone who’s just qualified, that most of his crew try hard to please him but have little professional experience, and there’s an ongoing dispute as to the destination, let alone how to navigate there.”

Richard 12th December 2025

Hove

www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

PS The knife was successful!

PC 468 Only The Lonely

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For those of a certain age, the title should immediately take you back to the early sixties and Roy Orbison’s hit song and its lyrics: ‘Only the lonely, know the way I feel tonight; Only the Lonely, know this feeling ain’t right.’ Or, taking the last word of the title, Justin Bieber’s 2021 hit ‘Lonely’. Mud had a 1975 hit single ‘Lonely This Christmas’, about a relationship breakdown at a time of family get-togethers.

My dictionary defines ‘lonely’ as ‘solitary, companionless, isolated.’ Not to be confused with ‘alone’ – standing by oneself.

“What are you writing about?” asks Francisquinha, looking over my shoulder.

Francisquinha – read PCs 172 and 217 for more understanding

“Well. I was thinking about scribbling ….”

“I like that word, scribbling, gives a sense of free-flowing thoughts!”

“Thank you; probably about right! Anyway, I was drafting some thoughts about friends, family and that sort of stuff …..”

“I know I’m very much ‘family’, but I’m not sure about George.”

“Ah! Yes! George, the bear given to you by the staff of the George Hotel in Christchurch. To add to the bear given to you by the crew on our Singapore Airlines flight, and the stuffed little lamb from the manager of the Sofitel Viaduct hotel in Auckland. Weren’t you spoilt? But you’ve kept George?”

“I have. I had a choice and something gelled with him and me; choosing who your friends are is so important. In the back of my mind, I know I have a family who live in The Warren but that doesn’t make them friends, just because they are kith and kin. I sense he’s going to be a good friend but not sure what really makes a ‘good friend’. What do you think?”

“It must start with mutual attraction, and this could be physical or mental, shared or even contrasting interests, possibly shared experiences and background. You need to be able to trust someone, for without trust there’s nothing. It may be anecdotal now, but there was that initial exercise individuals attending a Family Institute course did on the first evening: ‘Without speaking, pair up with someone else.’ Once everyone had paired up, well 99% of them because there’s always someone who can’t, for some deep-seated reason, they were asked to discover why you were attracted, one to the other. Shared backgrounds trigger a feeling of attraction without any conscious awareness, just as an unconscious bias and filtering colour our preference for people we might be familiar with.”

“Are we friends?”

“What, you and Celina and me?

“Yes! I have been with you for many years; you take me on all your adventure, I have my own passport, but you often talk about me behind my back.”

“Bit unfair! Think we both wonder what you would have said, how you would have behaved, given certain criteria and given that you’re a fluffy rabbit. And we value your contribution to our love and friendship, often offering a nicely nuanced opinion.”

“I guess to be a real friend you need to be able to accept someone for who they are, not what you would like them to be!”

“Now that is often the nub of the issue, acceptance, allowing others to be who they want to be. Here in Brighton & Hove there are countless examples of individuals feeling comfortable in their own skin, feeling unconsciously accepted by everyone. One major issue, Francisquinha, is that we often, almost certainly, change over our lifetime and sometimes our friends don’t respect our decisions and choices and one wonders whether they remain a real friend.”

“You have an example?”

“Actually, I do! You know I got addicted to Hot Yoga, so much so that it’s part of who I am, what I do, what Celina and I do. I love the mental and physical challenge, although I appreciate it’s not for everyone. Someone who was a good friend has often asked, in a snide and derisory manner: ‘Still doing your yoga?’. So, I question that ‘real’ friendship.”

“Can we, you and me, be friends for life?”

“Oh! Yes. One of the things we love about you is that you listen and that’s such an important part of being a friend. When people want you to listen, they want you to listen to what they’re saying, patiently, not for you to second guess what they might say. Sometimes people are more interested in speaking than listening, looking into their own memory bank to match your experience, your situation. To fully process what’s being said, you need to listen, and listen good. That’s another attribute of a good friend.”

“George told me he was lonely before he came to stay with me, I mean us.”

“And now?”

“Well, he’s always liked being alone, happy with his own company, but he now appreciates he was also lonely.”

“Loneliness is a huge issue for human society, particularly when individuals haven’t made or kept long-term friendships, not making the continual effort that these require. Real loneliness can lead to a gradual reduction in how one takes care of oneself, the ‘why bother?’, and fortunately in the UK this is being recognised by the NHS. The new term is a ‘Social Prescription’, which helps to connect people to community groups and services, to meet social, emotional and practical needs that affect their health and well-being. Instead of medication, the links help a person to find groups like art classes, walking groups or gardening clubs for instance. These are particularly beneficial for those with loneliness, long term health conditions or complex social needs, aiming to improve overall health and therefore reduce pressure on the NHS.”

“You were reading an article the other day about how schools and residential homes for the elderly were coming together to encourage higher standards of reading.”

“Indeed. That seems a Win -Win, relieving aspects of potential loneliness in the elderly and improving children’s reading ability.”

“Would you drop everything for a friend in need?”

“Genuine need? Of course. That’s what friends are for!”

“I have one final question: “What’s Love Got To Do With It?”

“Ah! Yes. The one and only Tina Turner. What indeed?”

Richard 4th December 2025

Hove

www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

PS Posted on Thursday 4th as am under the knife tomorrow, Friday!

PC 467 Hope News Continues

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“Sorry Richard! That took a long time. Coming back from the loo I got side-tracked by Josh who wanted to ask about my mother. I have read your postcards about your Australia – New Zealand trip (PCs 458, 459, 460, 462, 463 & 464) ….. you obviously had a good time, jetlag notwithstanding. Anything you haven’t mentioned?”

“Now you’ve reminded me, in Perth, walking back from Kings Park, we came across a couple of young chaps standing beside their car which had a flat front tyre. They looked rather pathetic, so I asked if they had a problem.”

“No! Thanks! My brother/cousin/flat mate’s coming to give us a hand.”

“But you’ve only got a flat tyre. Can’t you change it?”

“Never had to before; no idea how to! Here’s the jack, but where does that go?”

“So …..” and I get a look from Celina as I have a mild hernia and shouldn’t force anything, “…… the first thing to do is loosen the wheel nuts whilst the wheel is on the ground. Good garages will tighten them with a torque wrench; others use an impact wrench which can easily exceed the recommended torque (Note 1) and they are almost impossible to undo.”

At that point their brother/cousin/flat mate turned up, looking reasonably confident, so I left them to it but mentioning a torque wrench reminded me of my Army Service.

In 1968, 27 Medium Regiment moved from Devizes, Wiltshire to Lippstadt, Germany, swapping our towed 5.5̋ howitzers for the self-propelled M109. The latter had seven idler wheels between the track sprockets. Each wheel was attached by a number of large nuts, which we assumed had to be tightened to the maximum. After three months in Germany, the Aluminium idler wheels were showing signs of extreme wear and many had to be replaced. Eventually the problem was identified; the tightness of the nuts needed to be to a certain torque, and that could only be achieved by using a torque wrench, not by Gunner Elrick who believed they should be as tight as physically possible.”

“Live and learn huh! Although these days some newer cars don’t seem to have a spare tyre! By the way, have you ever watched ‘Celebrity Who Dares Wins’, one of those celebrity television programmes where you don’t know any of the contestants? I’m sure you have; anyway, I was fascinated to listen to some of the individual ‘back stories ’in the last series. There was a man whose family were very committed to their church. As a six-year-old he was horrified to be told by the pastor that he had demons that needed to be exorcised. As an adult he questioned how someone could be so cruel. Another contestant’s career was going well, until her sister died suddenly and she had to step in and look after her eight children.”

“Ready-made family!”

“Exactly, but can you imagine that, your own plans and ideas for your life suddenly and completely put on hold? Anyway, then there was a black ex-footballer who recalled not being able to find a UK club so signed for Lithuania, only to be the subject of racist chants from the stands: ‘Zigger zigger, kill the nigger!’ And finally there was a singer auditioning for the show X Factor, who got wasted one evening, was raped by the hotel porter, …… and became the victim when thrown off the show. Years later these experiences are life-defining. Talking of life defining, how are your daughter’s house renovation coming on?”

“Certainly life defining, but in a pleasant way. I drove up to see her and the state of the house during Half Term week. So often these days I need to break my journey for a pee-break.

“Isn’t there some theory that one of the factors in the cause of vehicle accidents is the full bladder of the driver?”

“I have heard, yes, that but not sure whether it’s based on any statistics. Not the sort of question you ask someone who’s just been involved in an accident: “Excuse me, do you need to go to the loo?”

“No! I guess not! Anyway, you were saying …..”

“I pulled into the layby on the Hogs Back, a prominent ridge running east west between Guildford and Farnham and know as the Hogs Back since the time of Jane Austen, knowing the little café had some loos.

The lay-by and little café can be seen on the right of the dual carriageway

It was raining quite heavily and I scurried down the concrete path, following the signs to the loos, which were round the back. I get to the Men’s; it’s locked and you need a code, presumably from the café. My expectation was that the loo would be open and I am getting desperate – and wet! There is no alternative but to water the weeds growing between the cracks in the concrete.”

“I am sure that happens to a lot of men; we women don’t really have that option! Have you been watching the historian David Olusoga’s ‘Empire’ three-part series on the BBC?”

“I have, Mo, and I’m glad I have, as so often you get the ‘British Empire was bad’ bias whereas David’s tried to create balance and a modern reflection. I was fascinated by the explanation of the Indentured Labour Scheme, brought in to provide the sugar plantations with workers after the abolition of slavery in 1834.”

“It was a huge success for the plantation owners, but most workers came from the poorest parts of British India, and many were unaware of the long distance they would travel and indeed the terms of their contract. They were paid a paltry sum and had to stay for five years. The scheme was active for 80 years and its results can be seen today in the significant communities of Indian descent in South Africa, East Africa, the Caribbean and Mauritius.  Why were you fascinated by this?”

“David mentioned how Prime Minister Gladstone’s father had owned sugar plantations in Guyana and was one of the major instigators of the Indentured Labour Scheme. One of our yoga chums, Serena Wells, is from Guyana and she and her father are going to try and find out more about their family history, as ‘Wells’ was a common surname for slaves.”

“Now that will be interesting. Oh! Look, there’s Sami and Lisa …..”

Richard 28th November 2025

Hove

www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

PS Why have Christmas decorations suddenly appeared in mid-November? Now the radio stations are broadcasting carols! Humbug?!

Note 1 Wheel nuts should be torqued to between 80 and 160 Nm (Newton-meter)

PC 466 Hope News

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Hadn’t been into The Hope Café since our return from New Zealand, although I had caught up with Sami in Gail’s one afternoon (See PC 461 ‘Bumped into Sami’ 17 October 2025). On Wednesday it was cold and raining so perfect for a coffee in convivial surroundings. I find Mo sitting at one of the tables, with a couple of books she’d obviously bought from Duncan’s bookshop next door.

“Oh! Hi! Richard. Come and join me and tell me what you’ve been up to.”

I ignored the question! “New books? What have you bought Mo?”

“’The CEO; The Rise and Fall of Britain’s Captains of Industry’ and Saul David’s latest book, Tunisgrad, about the battle for Tunis and subsequent victory in May 1943 in Africa during the Second World War. As you know I love history and this looks fascinating.

“Not sure about the CEO book but, if you find it good, let me know. I read Saul David’s book ‘Victoria’s Wars’ and then met him.”

“Not name dropping?”

“No! No! No! In 2007 I went on a tour of the ‘Sites of the Indian Mutiny’ (Note 1) and he was our historical guide, giving colour and meaning to what we saw and heard. Afterwards I bought his book ‘Victoria’s Wars’ which explained just how the Empire expanded in the queen’s reign, thanks to adventurers and successful military opportunists. At its height the empire covered about 24% of the earth’s land mass and some 450 million people. Anyway, I thought you would have bought the latest local author Peter James’ book – it’s about the Royal Family, isn’t it?

“No idea – used to love his books but like anyone continuing a series, they become a little samey and he’s got it into his head that he has to include little ‘bon mots’ or modern sayings to give his writing more gravitas!! Of course, at this time of the year all my regular writers like John Grisham and Lee Child bring out their annual offering. Now, how are you?”

“Well, a regular blood and stool test worried my GP and she thought I should have a colonoscopy.”

“Why?”

“William my late nephew died aged 18 in 2002 of Bowel Cancer, so this was not the first time I have had to suffer the indignity of someone I had never met inserting firstly their finger then a tube up my arse. But if one’s GP suggests it, you should have one; just in case. You’ve probably never had one of these procedures; in preparation for it you have to clear your intestines, and this is achieved by drinking two litres of something called Moviprep. It’s a chemical concoction designed to flush out one’s colon; the ingredients, Sodium Sulphate, Sodium Chloride, Potassium, Ascorbic acid and something called Macrogol, which probably doesn’t appear on the periodic table, are enough to frighten anyone.

One of the often-quoted reasons for Britain leaving the European Union was the desire take control of our borders. Not only have the number of ‘small boats’ crossing the English Channel with illegal immigrants increased but our Health Service now seems to rely on individuals born overseas. My snapshot of the Endoscopy Department in The Royal Sussex County Hospital bears this out. There were two Endoscopists, Mrs Jane Machinjike, from Zimbabwe, and Dr Nabeel Akhtar and two nurses, Mr Ashik from Kerala in Southern India and Ms Shrishti Maharjan from The Philippines. Worse still there’s not only an audience, in this case two nurses and two endoscopists, but the only programme on the two screens was of someone’s insides – odd when you realise it’s one’s own. What else’s happening Mo?”

“My mother’s residential home in Shoreham recently had a Fire Equipment Inspection and the company carrying it out wrote to tell her when they would be ‘on site’. I read the important piece, when and at what time …..

 ….. and thought we’ve got our knickers in a twist! It’s either 1700 or 5:00 pm. I was nerdy enough to drop them an email and ‘William’ said he would look into it and thanked me! The same happened when I booked a haircut – the App said ‘03:00pm’ – and clearly it should be either 1500 or 3:00pm, or even 3 o’clock! This is a little like a rash. I had a hire car the other day; when I collected it the time on the dashboard said 0920. Later the same day, in the afternoon, the clock said 0335. What’s going on?    

“What indeed Mo! You know we went to London to have a pre-birthday lunch with chums last month?”

“Where did you go?”

“Colbert in Sloane Square; used to be Oriels and has a simple menu. And it’s easy to get to – into Victoria railway station and then one stop on the District or Circle Underground lines.”

“Ah! Yes! I’ve also been there. How was your journey?”

“Actually, our direct Southern train from Hove was delayed by engineering works which meant a diversion. As we arrived in Victoria the driver announced we were 23 minutes late and we could claim some refund?”

“Really? That’s remarkable. And did you?

“I did. Southern will give you 25% of a single journey fare if the delay is between 15 minutes and 29 minutes and 50% refund if it’s between 30 and 59 minutes. Not sure what happens if it’s over that!! I went online, filled out the details including our ticket number, and got a refund of £4.10 per ticket.”

“You’re well brought up Richard so I suspect you would have been as horrified as I was. Watched the reality TV programme Celebrity Traitors; at some point the contestants were filmed eating. Like pigs at the trough; knives as weapons, stuck in the air, to balance the fork sticking in the air, holding them like some dagger, or even like drum sticks, talking with their mouth open …. I was surprised someone wasn’t using their fingers. Horrified and disgusted in equal measure, like watching cavemen.”

“As a Gunner Captain, I was being run to be ADC to the C-in-C BAOR, General Harry Tuzo and had to have the ‘Knife & Fork’ test, that is have lunch with him and his wife, Lady Tuzo. I passed!”

          “Hey, I need to have a pee; back in five.”

Richard 21st November 2025

Hove

http://www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

Note 1 The Indian Mutiny took place in 1857; it resulted in much bloodshed on both sides and changed the way India was governed.

PC 465 Wait …….

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‘Wait ….. pause ….. expect ….’

In October our yoga studio was host to a Teacher Training Course for Yoga Shape Shifting (Note 1), run by Mary Jarvis from The United States. During the fortnight our normal 10 o’clock class was occasionally taught by one of the team doing the training. It’s good to have someone other than your regular teachers, as you pick up their personal preferences, individual take on certain postures; some you think: ‘that’s good’. One such woman, Sheila (pronounced Sheyla) (Note 2) from Florida, was an extremely empathetic teacher, imparting her knowledge and passion in equal measure. At some point, when we were in savasana, she asked us to wait ….. wait in the moment ….. and not start thinking about what’s coming next.

For instance: “Now for the first sit-up. Feet together, arms over your head …….”

We should start with the dictionary definition:

Wait: verb; Abstain from action or departure till some expected event occurs; pause, tarry (Ed: linger); expectant or on watch. Await, bide; act as attendant on person; wait upon, pay respects; defer (a meal for instance) until someone arrives. As a noun; lie in wait ie ambush or waits, street singers particularly of Christmas Carols.

There is an implied expectation that something will happen, is just about to happen, when you wait! The author Charles Dickens even suggested that when writing a novel which would be published as a series, you should “Make ‘em laugh, make ‘em cry, make ‘em wait.”; the suspense inherent in the next episode.  

Not sure about you but so often a phrase or quotation, or even misquotation (!), pops up into my consciousness. When I thought I could write something about ‘wait’ …… up came “‘Tarry a while’ said Slow”. From where? Well, it’s one of those nursery rhymes whose full verse goes:

“To bed! To bed!” says Sleepy-head.

“Tarry a while,” said Slow.

“Put on the pan”, says greedy Nan;

“We’ll sup before we go.”

When you hear it narrated for the first time, it’s as if ‘Slow’ is a person and sometimes it’s written ‘says Slow’ which makes it all the more confusing! Actually the word ‘slow’ refers to how the words ‘tarry a while’ should be spoken, ie in a gentle, soothing, slow tone!

‘Wait’ features in some proverbs, the most well-known perhaps, ‘Time and tide wait for no man’, something as a sailor I recognise. Then there’s the French proverb ‘All things come to those who wait’ – suggesting that patience and persistence can lead to achieving your goals or finding success. But ‘We’ll wait and see’ sounds a little like prevarication, sitting on the fence?

My Labrador Tom (2001 – 2012) came through Labrador Rescue, run by Mindy Randall. He was a magnificent animal, although his ‘hip scores’ meant the owner couldn’t bred from him and put him up to be rehoused. He was a big chap, some 38kgs when he arrived and full of energy. He needed to be taught who the ‘Pack Leader’ was and one thing I tried was imitating eating out of his food bowl. I would put his died food in the bowl, pop a few Carr’s Water Biscuits on top, lift the bowl and eat a cracker in front of him. He learned to wait, for his leader to eat first, but the waterfall of saliva that fell from his jowls was awful!!  

Often, we wait for the perfect timing to take some action and there’s a great example when sailing. To tack a yacht, to move the bow through the direction of the wind, requires changing the headsail sheets (ropes!) from one side to the other; generally the large mainsail will move over by itself. Once your crew are ready the person on the helm shouts: ‘Ready About!’ and hopefully gets the response ‘ready’.

Somewhere in the middle of the North Atlantic

An experienced helms person will wait for the right moment, maybe catching the right wave or getting enough clearance to round a buoy, and then shouts ‘Helm’s a lee’ or more commonly ‘lee ho’, pushing the helm to the leeward, as opposed to windward, side of the yacht. The bow comes through the wind, the sails are pulled across and the sheets made good.

There’s a certain amount of waiting when it comes to parachuting and particularly in the sequence of events just before you leave the aircraft. In 1966, during an Easter break from Officer Training at the Royal Military Academy Sandhurst, I learned the basics of parachuting. After ground training in a hangar, we took to the air in a lumbering Dakota, or similar as I am no aeroplane buff, and eventually lined up by the open door as we approached the drop zone.

(This stock photo features a much more modern aeroplane!)

A red light cast an eerie glow on the faces of us horrified students as we waited for a green light. The light turned green, the instructor shouted: “Green On! Go!”, we knew what to expect and, without much hesitation, the whole stick followed one another out ……

At school I played a trumpet in the Brass Section of the orchestra; over a year we would perform concerts, support opera productions and play in local festivals.

You learned to wait, waiting for the indication from the conductor to play a particular section. For example, we performed Sibelius’s second symphony in which, towards the finale, there’s a moment when, after a rising crescendo, the silence hangs, everyone is poised …… and then the wait’s over, and the trumpets sound.

The cry: ‘Wait! Wait!’ in any phase of love making could be interpreted as expectation or anticipation or frustration or even criticism, depends on the tone of the voice …. and a number of other things!

I love coincidences; here’s another. I have just finished the fifth novel of Mick Herron’s Slough House series, London Rules. The very last line is: “But mostly, Slough House waits.” A very apt end to these scribbles!

That …. and this!

savasana

Richard 14th November 2025

Hove

http://www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

Note 1 The definition of Shape Shifting is the ability of an imaginary person or creature to change itself into a different shape or form. In the yoga field, this has come to mean ‘the original life changing transformational Yoga practice created by Mary Jarvis’.

Note 2 Not to be confused with Lola by The Kinks 1979 – “I asked her her name and in a dark brown voice said, Lola – L-O-L-A – Lola.” Could imagine someone singing Sheyla, S-H-E-yla, Sheyla or even Layla, L-A-Y-la (Eric Clapton)

PC 464 On to South Island

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Fourteen years on from Christchurch’s 2011 earthquake, there are many buildings still not rebuilt. The city’s cathedral is one and, rather than leave it a ruin like Coventry’s in the UK after the Second World War, it’s half rebuilt and the money’s run out.

This was taken from a book about the earthquake

And as it is now ….

Of course, today other parts of New Zealand need State Funding, and they argue Christchurch’s had enough!

Third-cousin Debs Nation used to work for Radio New Zealand and lives in Lyttelton, over the hill from the city. Her brother Gerald also lives in Christchurch; this photograph from some years ago!

Her son Henry and daughter-in-law Lou work for the civil service in the New Zealand capital Wellington, at the bottom of North Island. Her daughter Tessa runs an emporium of New Zealand-made products situated in The Arts Centre in Christchurch.

She’s called the store Frances Nation after her maternal grandmother.

It’s a huge success and one of those places where it’s impossible, once you’ve entered, not to purchase something!

More recently she and her wife Emma have opened ‘Peaches’, a café in Linewood Village. Given that her grandmother’s maiden name was Hope I had suggested she call it The Hope Café, then the one here could claim to be international, but it was not to be. Her father’s surname is Peach so …..

I sense that white New Zealand is attached to the United Kingdom by an invisible umbilical cord. The receptionist in The George Hotel in Christchurch was from Manchester and Mark, on the concierge’s staff, has a sister who holds a senior position in the NHS on north London. A woman who ran a gift shop where I bought some soap eggs ……

has a sister in England.

We were lucky enough to have some beautiful spring weather in Christchurch

and the city has a great atmosphere. The George Hotel where we stayed was a good choice, not something I could say about the carpet in the corridor outside our room. You would not want to be confronted by this on your return from a boozy night out!

South Island is rich with stunning scenery; for instance the beautiful Milford Sound in its Fiordland in the southwest,

…. but I wanted to revisit one particular view, the one as you come up out of Burke’s Pass on the way to Lake Tekapo. We took the direct route from Christchurch to Geraldine, a classic NZ farming town, and stopped for lunch.

Twenty minutes out of the town we pulled into one of those designated ‘Scenic Viewpoints’, the Geraldine Fairlie Lookout, and gazed over a classic New Zealand rural landscape.

Up through Burke’s Pass …… and you have to stop ….. and take this view in.

A very flat expanse of countryside and then, on the horizon, the Southern Alps. It reminded me of a trip many decades ago, driving down to Rome from Germany. Passed Strasbourg, passed Colmar and suddenly, before you get to Basel, you see the European Alps filling the horizon.

New Zealand’s Southern Alps

Breathtaking in every sense; I could have stayed a long time, just sitting, just looking, in silence, in awe. 100% Pure New Zealand!

We had booked a night in the Grand Suites Lake Tekapo, essentially accommodation only but to a high standard. Dave the South African manager says it’s very popular in the summer as a base for trekking, mountain biking, exploring.

Lake Tekapo is known for the remarkable blue colour of its water, caused by rock flour, finely ground particles of rock brought down by the glaciers at the head of the lake and held in suspension in the melt water.

Then above the lake, because of the purity of the atmosphere, the University of Canterbury has an observatory on Mount John to the west of the town, from where there are glorious views of the lake and to the west, of New Zealand’s highest mountain, Mount Cook (3755m); not to mention the stars in the night sky.

Mount Cook

Lake Tekapo fills what’s known as the Mackenzie Basin

The Church of the Good Shepherd is one of the most photographed buildings in the whole of New Zealand. Built in 1935, the architect Richard Harman based his design on sketches done by a local artist, Esther Hope. And here’s a family connection: Esther neé Barker married Deb Nation’s grandfather’s brother Tom Hope. Today a manager runs the agricultural and Merino sheep side of the Grampian Hope Farm leaving the family to concentrate on the artistic activities.

It’s difficult to get a photograph of the church without capturing some of the 600,000 tourists who now visit annually. (Note 1)

A donation into a wooden box inside the church and chatting up the volunteer who was there to ensure no one takes photographs inside, and there’s no wonder why people want to come and see this, heaven and earth and all between.

I sense we met a large proportion of the tourists, either in the supermarket buying supplies for their self-catering accommodation or where we had supper, as pork seemed to be everyone’s choice! They come because they want to experience what they’ve seen in photographs; I suspect they don’t want to see too many other people. There needs to be a balance between the wish of individuals to go and see places and the need to restrict numbers to preserve the very reason people go!

We drove back to Christchurch via the scenic route

which took us over the Rakaia gorge and river just north of Methven.

Back in The George in Christchurch for one night before our return via Singapore home. We were blessed with clear flying conditions as we flew over the Southern Alps

And later over the central section of Australia, which looks like another planet!

Richard 7th November 2025

Hove

www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

PS We were lucky with the weather at Lake Tekapo. A week ago this was how the road from Geraldine looked!

Note 1 Thanks to the ‘clean’ option on my iPhone I can erase the tourists!

PC 463 More from Down Under

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Other highlights from our time in Auckland were attending a hot yoga session in the Hiyoga studio on Queens Street, experiencing the local rail network when we went out to Des & Gleneth’s in Meadowbank for supper, seeing Cornwall Park where we met Michael & Angela and Des & Gleneth for lunch in The Bistro, and being lucky enough to stay in the Sofitel Viaduct Hotel, which was very central and comfortable. During our time in Auckland, England’s Women’s team The Lionesses played Canada in the Rugby World Cup final on Saturday 27th September. Cousin Michael in Victoria on Vancouver Island found a pub at 0800 local time to watch the match; in Auckland the time for the kick-off was at 0400 local on the Sunday, so I watched the highlights!

After checking out of our hotel, we picked up a hire car and drove down to Rotorua. Known for its lively geothermal activity, it’s an area of New Zealand I wanted Celina to see. Of course, there is so much of New Zealand that’s gorgeous; another two hours’ drive further south we could have seen Mount Ruapehu, one of the country’s largest volcanos and Lake Taupo.

Mount Ruapehu

Rotorua is also the home of distant cousin Peter & Gwenda Russell and their daughter Anna & husband Paul. We checked in to the On the Point hotel with its glorious view across the lake ….

… and drove out to their home. I’d first met Peter & Gwenda in London almost twenty years ago, been to stay in their then house in Tauranga and now find them co-located with their daughter Anna. How we live out our later years is a challenge for all of us; The Russells are a good example of how to do it. Gwenda developed a huge interest in our Nation family story and remains curious and enthusiastic, adding for instance a little colour where none existed.

Anna & Paul recommended we visit Te Puia – ‘a place that changes you’ – and it did just that the following morning. Patrick, our engaging Māori guide,

took us first to the New Zealand Māori Arts & Crafts Institute, where students are trained in carving and weaving, using traditional techniques.

A Master craftsman was concentrating on a little wood carving while elsewhere an apprentice was sharpening a chisel. The craftswomen weave beautiful bags, made from New Zealand flax, but they are expensive; for instance, the second left on the bottom row around £210.

I found the whole enterprise fascinating and, in another life, might have become a student!

The Kiwi, a small flightless bird, is recognised as an icon of New Zealand and the human population are often referred to as Kiwis. It’s the smallest of the ‘ratites’ family, which includes ostriches, emus and rheas. In Te Puia there are a number of these nocturnal birds in a carefully controlled habitat. Obviously, photography is forbidden in their hide but this photograph shows a stuffed bird and its eggs. Think the eggs rather large for a small bird; must be painful?

Mud pools, grey and bubbling, …….

…… form the backdrop to the Pōhutu geyser, which erupts once or twice an hour. It’s easy to become completely mesmerised by the constantly evolving geothermal landscape but eventually we had to move on.

We left, as the brochure suggests, changed, thoughtful,

.. and drove back to Auckland.

As you do when you hire a car, you look for the last possible petrol station, so you deliver the car back with a full tank of fuel. We had a very new Yaris ‘something’ and I knew the fuel cap was on the passenger side of the car. We pulled up to the pump, I walked around to the panel covering the fuel cap and pressed ….. and pressed …. and pulled ….. and pressed again …… I looked in the car for some lever ….. couldn’t find one, went back and pressed again. Just then James, or Nick or Good Samaritan appeared; filling up his own truck, he’d seen me making a fool of myself, Googled the make of my car and came around and said: “Oh! There’s a level under the dash somewhere” …. and so there was, not obvious (obviously!).  

We caught an Air New Zealand flight to Christchurch, a city a third of the way down South Island and, glancing out of the window as we crossed the coast, I could make out Farewell Spit where great grandmother Eve was shipwrecked in 1877. (See PCs 169 Shifting Sands & Feathers and 170 100% Pure New Zealand January 2020)

New Zealand lies on one of the many fault lines of the earth’s crust, this one between the Indo-Australian and Pacific Plates, part of the Pacific Basin Ring of Fire. To keep it in perspective, about 14,000 earthquakes occur in and around the country each year, of which some 175 are big enough to be felt. Within living memory, the February 1931 Hawke’s Bay earthquake, also known as the Napier earthquake, remains the country’s deadliest natural disaster. Two hundred and fifty-six people died when the quake, with a magnitude of 7.8, devasted the Hawke’s Bay region; aftershocks continued for two weeks.

The disaster prompted a review of the country’s building codes, deemed woefully inadequate. By way of illustration, today there are only four buildings in the Hawke’s Bay region taller than five storeys. In Christchurch on 22nd February 2011, a total of 185 people died, more that 7000 were injured and over 10,000 made homeless when a magnitude 6.3 earthquake struck the city. (Note 1) It caused over NZ$52.2 billion’s worth of damage.

If you live in a part of the world which is prone to earthquakes, there’s not much you can do about it, except be vigilant ….. and maybe have a ‘Go Bag’ always handy! We were planning to stay for a few days in Christchurch, so the topic wasn’t mentioned – a little like not watching an aeroplane disaster film when you’re about to fly somewhere!

Continues in PC 464 ….. next week

Richard 31st October 2025

Hove

www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

Note 1 Seventeen days before the first Nation family get together in Auckland.

PC 462 Western Australia to New Zealand.

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The twenty-metre-tall Cape Naturaliste lighthouse was activated in 1904, became fully automated in 1978 but remained fully staffed until 1996. Before automation, the rotation of the light was achieved by a gearing system whose weight was wound up (just like the pendulum of a grandfather clock) every 45 minutes. Staff watches were 4 hours on, eight off, every day of the year.

Whales in Alaska

Celina and I have seen whales off the coast in Alaska (see PCs 44 and 45 June 2015) and in WA we were lucky enough to be here at the start of the annual whale migration, from their wintering north of Australia where they calved, to their summer feeding grounds in the Southern Ocean. Whilst you could see them surfacing and breathing, they were so far offshore that no iPhone photograph was going to do more than capture a moment of broken water in the distance. Even so, quite magical!

On the way back to Cape Lodge we stopped off at the beach at Yallingup. My brother-in-law Carlos would have loved the surf.

At the lodge Josefinna had messaged us to say she’d seen some kangaroos up near the entrance. We found three, but leaving the following day we found more than a dozen up near Petra’s Olive Oil plantation.

In my last postcard I mentioned that the Aboriginal people have six seasons. Just for interest, and they vary throughout WA and across Australia, the Wadandi’s Noongar are Birak (hot & dry) December and January; Bunuru (warm easterly wind) February and March; Djeran (Cool and pleasant) April and May; Makuru (Cold and wet) June and July; Djilba (Cold lessening rain) August and September; and Kambarang (longer dry periods) October and November. I rather like this, although I wonder how much climate change will alter them.

Acceptance by the settlers of Australia of the Aboriginal people and their beliefs is everywhere. For instance, this is a footnote on the Cape Lodge welcome letter: “We acknowledge the Wadandi people, the Traditional Owners of the land and waterways on which we operate. We pay our respects to Elders past, present and future.”

Back to Perth for our evening flight to Auckland. Ms Francisquinha was very chuffed as one of the border force officers found a stamp for her passport.

Another four-hour time shift saw us arrive in a very wet dawn in Auckland at 0600 (0200 WA Time!). New Zealand has extremely strict environmental laws, basically forbidding one to bring in anything! Celina surrendered her half-opened Lindt chocolate or might have found herself fined hundreds of dollars.

Auckland’s Sky Tower

This is not the first time Celina and I have been together to New Zealand. In January 2017 we stayed in the Coromandel at Whitianga (PC 88) and in 2019 explored Farewell Spit and Marlborough Sounds, on the northern coast of South Island (PC 169 Shifting Sands & Feathers and PC 170 100% Pure New Zealand). This year’s visit was to attend the ‘Celebration of Life’ of Dinah Warren. She had died in April this year and her five children had organised a ‘get together’ at the Royal New Zealand Yacht Squadron in Auckland.

Auckland marina

In this photograph taken towards the end of the celebration, you will notice on the far wall on the right what looks like a framed pair of red socks.

These belonged to Peter Blake.

Peter hanging up the red socks

For an explanation see Note 1 below.

Back in March 2011 I had organised, with others, the first Nation get together, deliberately coinciding with the 130th anniversary of the death of my great great grandfather Henry Matthew Nation (HMN). In the same hotel in Parnell was one Dinah Warren (HMN was her great grandfather) and she persuaded me to help her get some flowers to put around the plaque we had placed on his grave.

On this trip Des & Gleneth Laery took us out to St Stephen’s Cemetery to see HMN’s grave.

I dug out the group photograph from March 2011

Dinah Warren is directly behind me!

Regular readers of these scribbles will know all about Francisquinha, our stuffed rabbit with her own personality and passport, who accompanies us on our travels (see PC 172 Francisquinha February 2020 and PC 217 ‘My Week – Francisquinha February 2021).

In the ‘order of tribute’ booklet for Dinah’s celebration was an extract from her favourite story, The Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams. It read: ‘You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or who have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you’re Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose on your joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.’

Her grandchildren believed ‘Dinah’s greatest gift of her life was being Real, being Real through being loved. She believed that’s how we all become real – not by how we look, but by loving deeply, and being loved, even as life wears us in (sic).’

I only met Dinah a couple of times, once in London and then when we bought those lilies. But I, and Francisquinha who has read the story, think this is a great way to be remembered, so I had to include it in this postcard.

Richard 24th October 2025 (My birthday!)

Hove

http://www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

Note 1 Thanks to Wikipedia (!) Sir Peter James Blake KBE (1 October 1948 – 5 December 2001) was a New Zealand yachtsman who won the 1989–1990 Whitbread Round the World Race, held the Jules Verne Trophy from 1994 to 1997 by setting the around-the-world sailing record as co-skipper of ENZA New Zealand along with Sir Robin Knox-Johnston, and led New Zealand to successive victories in the America’s Cup. In the 1995 America’s Cup challenge, Peter Blake wore some red socks his wife had given him; the team made a clean sweep, beating American Dennis Conner 5-0 …. and the red socks became Peter’s trademark. Peter Blake was shot and killed by pirates while monitoring environment change on the Amazon River on 5 December 2001. He was 53 years old.