Last day of August.
Some might say the last day of summer – and what a summer. It
really has been the worst that I can remember: worse than 1947 which
was pretty terrible. As you would expect I was at school that year
and our sports day would have been cancelled, a wash-out, had the
headmaster not been the type to expect things to carry on no matter
what the heavens threw at us. He had fought during the war, as had
most of the teachers, and considered the slightest suggestion that
the boys might be feeling a bit cold or a bit wet as a personal
affront – especially if it came from a parent.
Then the summer holiday
started. If I remember correctly (and I may not for I was quite young
at the time) my father was still in the army travelling daily to his
office in the old War Office and so we were unable to go away. I was
allowed to do what I wanted and go where I wanted so long as I did
not upset the natives (or, in adult speak, our neighbours and
particularly the farmers). The parents of the twins who lived next
door and who were my particular friends felt the same and so the
three of us would meet after we had finished our chores (which, in
both cases, revolved around chicken and other matters horticultural)
and off we would go armed with some sandwiches to seek adventure
where we could. How different life was in those days – I cannot
imagine many parents giving their offspring that level of freedom at
such a young age.
Anyway, that summer
life in the woods , the fields and the lanes was pretty miserable and
we spent a great deal of time in the twins’ play room generally
bored out of our minds, playing the odd game of table tennis and
generally falling out with each other. How important the weather is
to us poor human beings!
It has been just as bad
for our friends in many other parts of the world. North America seems
to be having more than its fair share of ‟weather″ and our
thoughts at this time are with all who have suffered thanks to
‛Isaac’.
Having said that,
yesterday the sun shone without interruption and it seems we are in
for a few more lovely days even though the temperature has dropped
quite a bit.
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We had a lovely
surprise yesterday when two books arrived from Denmark. These are
reprints of books (The Way We Were and The Summerhouse) but what we found rather amusing is the fact that
the red star carries the legend, ‛A good read’ not in Danish, as
you would expect, but in English.
Another arrival this
week was the new publication of The Prodigal Wife from
Estonia. Marcia has a very soft spot for the Estonians for whom she
formed a huge admiration during the ‛singing revolution’ in 1989.
We find it incredible that such a small country (less than two
million people live there) can support so many book sales.
