Coming home.....well for a short time....

Leaving Uni is such hard work......

Three years of University, three years, at the beginning stretched out at length seeming such a long time, indeed the first three months felt much like three years. And now here we are at the end of that time and looking back, those years have truly gone by in the blink of an eye. The girl that left home on that early autumn day is now a young woman, about to take the first steps on the path of her adult life. I worried I would lose her, but I need not have feared, for she still calls me first when she is happy, and when she is sad, or when something is funny to her and she knows only I will 'get it'.  I love that she has time to talk to her little sister about things that I can't speak of. I love that she gets excited when her brother arrives by train to spend the weekend with her. Yesterday was our last road trip from Cornwall home, an adventure not to be forgotten. Arriving to find not much done, I set to cleaning with her and the last remaining flat mate until one am. Then off across Cornwall, a stop for food, laughter, a stop for sleep and finally home...for a short while anyway.  My first born and my first to go out in the big wide world, not long ago she told me how scared she was because now she has to grow up. I would say don't rush my love, take time to savour moments, experience much, look around a great deal, for there is time enough for settling down and 21 is certainly not that time.  So, graduation soon, there will be many tears and goodbyes, some friends will be lost, some will be there forever. But life is about to start my beautiful, vivacious, tenacious girl. Home will always be where I am, and there will always be a sofa and blanket so you might sleep, as you did today, for seven hours, in safety surrounded by love. But I set you free to follow your path and hope that you know how proud I am of you, and that you will still find time to call, when you are happy, or sad, or just have something funny to tell me....

Simple Pleasures

Many words have been written over the past weeks commenting on how much our country has changed during the sixty years  the Queen has reigned.  Much has changed, at a speed greater than any preceding decades. But one thing that has remained a constant over all these years is the Fete. Be it run by schools, villages or churches the Fete is  much the same today as it was 100 years ago. Yesterday was our Church Fete, I happily took a friends two children, as she was busy with the cricket teas. Well, there was music in the church, the WI, Splat the Rat, Hook a Duck, Tombola, Pimms, teas and ices. The triumph of the afternoon, however, was the Teddy Parachute Jump from the Church tower. This was to commemorate the D-Day escapade of paratrooper, John Steele, who got caught on the tower of the church of St Mere Eglise (our twin village in France). All through the afternoon families arrived with teddies and home made parachutes. At three thirty the bears were hoisted up in a basket to the top of the tower where the vicar and helper threw them over the edge one by one. The tensions and excitement was palpable,  cheers, oohs and aahs rang out amongst the gravestones as the various stuffed creatures plummeted at great speed or gracefully descended gliding on the breeze. The total absorption on the faces of all that stood by that ancient tower was wonderful, it gladdened my heart to see that children can still be thrilled by the simplest of things, and, despite being bombarded with stimulants from the cradle,  be captivated by a teddy, a tower, a handkerchief and a game vicar. The British may continue traditions quietly but long may they remain, and I pray, that in another sixty years, the little boy holding his grandad's hand yesterday afternoon and wriggling with excitement  will, in turn, be holding the hand of his grandson and both will look up and wait for a vicar and a  teddy with a parachute made from a cotton handkerchief......