Xmas

My French brother recently sent me one of those humorous "round robin" emails. Perhaps you have also received it as these things often seem to "do the rounds". This particular one concerns Christmas photos that were apparently culled from the many thousands of pictures that American Wal-Mart stores still process at this time of year. As we say in Yorkshire, "there's nowt as queer as folk"

In this professional studio picture "mom" has chosen to dress in a tasteful skimpy pvc Santa outfit. The white garter on her left thigh adds a certain touch of elegance to the composition, don't you think?

Given what has just happened in Newtown, Connecticut, this Christmas composition in front of the tree is more than a little concerning. "Gee! Great mom, just what I wanted ! A Kalashnikov! Now I can be famous without even even auditioning for  America's Got Talent!" 

Below - what a wholesome family portrait to send to friends and relations! It's the pastor of the local Lutheran church with his wife and sons. By the grace of God, they look so happy together:-

And finally the kid on Santa's knee seems especially happy. Look closer folks:-

And just in case you were wondering, there is no truth in the rumour that that particular Santa was in fact Mr R.Brague of Canton, Georgia. He would never have applied for the Santa job at "Dick's Sporting Goods" - 1810 Cumming Highway, Canton.

Poem

Winchelsea Beach - Sussex

Of Memory

Swirling mist 

Coiling 

Or steam rising. 

Images blinking incoherently. 

Snatches of lines once said - 

Chronological tombola - 

The fruits of growing older. 

I saw a face, 

I heard a voice... 

Once. 

Unchosen 

They well up 

From benighted depths 

Far below -

Swirling, spinning - 

People you used to know, 

Sights once seen, 

Places once been – 

Recollection, 

Reminiscence... 

Once. 

Editing 

Is all. 

What’s saved 

And what is lost - 

You never get to choose 

Or count the cost 

Of the life you’ve lived 

Defined by 

Memory’s markers - 

Like ancient groynes 

In the tide-washed sands 

Of time.

East

Go east young man! Yes dear readers, as one or two sleuths had already figured out, I shall soon return to Thailand. In the picture above you can see Gordon and Penelope (not their real names). They have been working in Bangkok for three and a half years following their lavish society wedding in Birmingham. And the good news is folks that after some delay and uncertainty, they are to have a baby girl during the Christmas period. Shirley and I are delighted for them.

Unlike many babies in the animal world, human babies demand a lot of attention. Their plaintive cries mean. "Gimme food!", "I'm too hot you suckers!", "I have dumped in this nappy so change it! Now!",  "I demand a drink this instant!" or "I'm feeling lonely so cuddle me!" Unfortunately Miss Penelope could not contemplate responding to her new baby's needs while teaching classes of adolescents from northern Bangkok's wealthier homes. In short, she needed maternity leave. But who could cover her weeks away? Gordon contemplated this question for about five seconds before a brainwave hit him - "I know what I'll do, I'll call for SuperPudding!"

And even though SuperPudding's life was packed with important activity - such as shopping at "Lidl", going for country walks, presenting Lady Pudding with delicious and nutritious meals, emulsioning the kitchen, reading "Black Diamonds" by Catherine Bailey and regularly leaving erudite and witty comments on several blogs, he decided to answer Gordon's call in the affirmative. That is why I was in Hull on Wednesday, getting my £60 Thai work visa. I shall be leaving on a jet plane on January 3rd - assuming Manchester Airport isn't obscured by a snowstorm that day.

When last I was in Thailand and neighbouring countries, I saw such wonderful things and created many vivid memories. Teaching in the school was so delightful compared with the pressurised hurly burly of teaching in a tough north Sheffield secondary school. It felt like a therapy - reminding me of how fulfilling teaching can be and why I ever took up this challenging occupation in the first place. To be trusted. To be king of your own classroom. No jitters about the impending arrival of the bogeymen from OFSTED. No laboured hours preparing "evidence" in the form of spreadsheets, appraisals, professional development folders, observational logs, percentages to prove your worth.

I was more hesitant about going this time - a "Been there, done that" feeling but in the end I am glad to be  able to help Gordon and Penelope out and at my age - sixty next year - it is possible that I'll never have another temporary teaching opportunity like this one. Sometimes you just have to go with the flow. And who knows if Gordon's next job is in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia I may be required to cover a second maternity leave!

By the way, the photo shows the massive poster that was put up outside the school in June 2011 to advertise the musical show that Penelope directed and produced with a little bit of help from Gordon. It was based around the hits of Bon Jovi and was a storming success. She did a great job and I am sure she will do an equally great job as a first time mum...again with a little bit of help from Gordon.

Caistor

Winter riders above Nettleton Grange

Sorry if you are getting fed up of my rambles with associated pictures. One day soon I'll post about something else I swear... Yesterday, I had to drive over to Hull for an appointment at the Thai Consulate but rather than drive there and come straight back, I thought I'd set off early and factor in a country walk from a Lincolnshire town I had never visited before - Caistor.

On the edge of the Lincolnshire Wolds, Caistor attracted a Roman settlement almost two thousand years ago. Militarily and commercially, it was strategically placed between Lincoln and York and enjoyed a sweet water supply from the chalky hills above. Its name comes from the Anglo-Saxon ceaster ("Roman camp" or "town") and was given in the Domesday Book as Castre.

Today it's a sleepy little market town with a population of just under three thousand. The ancient grammar school was founded in 1631 and there are several other listed buildings in the town - including the marvellous honey-coloured Church of St Peter and St Paul.

But I wasn't there to hang about. I parked (for free!) in the little market square and set off for the sewage works along Navigation Lane. Then onwards across fields coated by freezing fog towards Nettleton and another lovely old church - but it was locked. From there I headed for Nettleton Grange where a shivering Shetland pony in a rainbow coloured coat was munching frozen grass and then up onto Nettleton Wold where I held a gate open for two women on horseback. I took a picture of them overlooking the valley and of the hundred photos I snapped yesterday that is the one that really stood out for me but it was an interesting day for photography anyway. "Earth stood hard as iron" and the morning's freezing fog had been slow to lift as sunshine fought to pierce the milky cloud cover.

I headed for the undulating chalky curves of Cabourne Vale where a galloping hare flashed in front of me and then up to Whitegate Hill, frightening young pheasants from their cover. Then past an old mill and down the hill to Caistor again. It was two forty five and time to head north for Hull over the graceful nineteen seventies artwork known as The Humber Bridge. I reached the Thai Consulate bang on time and sat there in the waiting room for half an hour while they checked out my documentation beyond the closed Venetian blinds..."Is he a Muslim terrorist?"..."Did he ever meet Jimmy Savile?" Well, no and yes your honour.

South Street, Caistor

Frozen hawthorn berries at Nettleton Grange

Parish church, Nettleton

Gathered hay high on the wold

Shetland pony at Nettleton Grange - you can see this scene from afar in the top picture.

Ogston

Ogston Reservoir in December. It's a place I had never visited before. It sits in the Amber Valley a couple of miles south west of the former Derbyshire mining village of Clay Cross. Near the southern end of the reservoir is ancient Ogston Hall, hidden by trees and out-of-bounds to the general public. To the east a major railway line sweeps northwards from Derby towards Chesterfield and Sheffield.

I planned a six mile walking route that would encircle the reservoir even though there isn't a designated footpath hugging the shoreline. On Temperance Hill just south of Handley I took my trusty walking boots from the car's boot. After passing through Woolley, I came to the delightful hamlet of Brackenfield - just off the map. Its imposing church was extended by the "noble" families who have occupied Ogston Hall long before the little bowl of a valley was flooded back in 1957.

The peaceful and affluent atmosphere of the area was in stark contrast to the post-industrial deprivation of Clay Cross. Two ladies pranced by on chestnut mares as a pair of dimwitted peacocks squawked from a cottage garden.

In northern England in mid-December, evening arrives far too soon and by three o' clock the low sun was already threatening to disappear behind a bank of trees as, returning to my car, I snapped this picture. I'm rather proud of it - so eat your heart out Baxatron!

Ogston Reservoir in mid-December

Everton

Everton isn't just an area of Liverpool famous for mints and a blue and white football team, it's also a  lovely village in North Nottinghamshire. To me it's got everything: two pubs, a shop, a village school, a sports field, a variety of houses of different ages and an old church with history stretching back to Saxon  times. It's called Holy Trinity.

Whenever I find a church unlocked, I go inside to soak up the atmosphere and to admire the building's craftsmanship and masonry. It may also reveal many secrets about the community it has served - from the burials of noteworthy local residents to the names of those who died in wars. An old church is like a book you can read. Very rarely will you ever find an old English church that was never altered, improved or repaired. They seem to have evolved with time, warts and all. And I find it interesting that so many old churches were first erected upon sites that had pagan significance, before Christianity was harnessed by the gentry as a means of  subduing the peasantry.

Today I turned the big iron handle and pushed open the gnarled oak door of Holy Trinity. Inside, sunlight was streaming in and there were fresh flowers by the pulpit. The beautiful, rounded and simply carved chancel arch suggested a significant Norman input. How clever those people were - to create such a structure almost a thousand years ago - with dressed stone from faraway quarries. If you think about it, for just a little while, your mind tends to boggle. No electricity. No motor vehicles or power tools. No tubular steel scaffolding. No hard hats or DIY stores.

In the southern apse, I saw an open bible on a simple altar and beside it a turned wooden candlestick and a brass cross. Sunlight through imperfect medieval glass produced interesting shadows on the uneven lime-wash wall behind and that is why I took the picture at the top of this post. It seems to capture something of the serenity of that old church in Everton. May she still be standing another thousand years hereafter. Amen.

Baxatron

Walter - The Baxatron

Strange, occasionally frightening and sometimes wonderful how the internet connects people. They may be lost friends or complete strangers and it doesn't only happen through blogging.

A hundred and fifty miles north of Sheffield and you are in a hilly, underpopulated region known as the Scottish Borders. Though I was at university in Scotland, it's an area I have hardly explored at all. My trains or many hitchhike rides used to pass along the east coast - from Newcastle to Alnwick, Berwick-upon-Tweed, then up to Dunbar, Musselburgh and along to Edinburgh. Borders towns like Kelso, Hawick and Peebles were always bypassed, languishing in their inland secrecy.

Walter's mum (93)
in  fashionable
fishing hat

As some of you may recall, I like to contribute photos to the "geograph" project. It was there that I first encountered a talented retired gentleman called Walter Baxter (aka The Baxatron). Born, I think, in the same year as me, he lives in Galashiels where he looks after his aged mother but in his spare time he roams the Scottish Borders, building a magnificent portfolio of pictures of his home area. It's quite amazing how many wonderful, keenly observed photographs The Baxatron has produced. To see his full geograph album, and to learn an immense amount about the Scottish Borders, go here.

I have been in email correspondence with Walter for a while and one day I hope to meet him so that he can show me how to take consistently great photos before retreating to "The Jolly Haggis" for a pint of heavy and a wee dram. We will exchange lurid tales of his many exciting years in architectural planning for his local health service and my years of chipping away at the old chalkface in dusty classrooms, serving our nation's grateful youth. For this post, I asked him if he'd pick four of his "best" photos - to show off his talent and his beloved Borders and these were his choices:-

Reflections on Loch of the Lowes

Salmon fishing on the River Tweed

Click on any of the pictures to enlarge them.

Bowden Moor from the B6359

Newark Castle

In addition to Walter's choices I thought I'd chip in with three of my own favourites - not easy I tell you when you see his "work" in its entirety:

Sunrise on Brotherstone Hill

A Hercules in the Selkirk to Moffat valley

Mist and trees at Brotherstone

Walter Raleigh? Walt Disney? Walter Cronkite - no way! For me, in this oddly sycophantic blogpost there's only one Walter worth mentioning. I guess it's because I'm often striving for the impossible - the perfect picture and it seems to me that The Baxatron regularly gets much closer than I do to that tantalising goal.

Finally, here's Walter in his own words: "Tourists from the south usually charge through the Borders on their way to Edinburgh and the Highlands but there is much to enjoy in an area of rounded hills and attractive market towns such as Melrose, Kelso and Jedburgh, all with old ruined abbeys. There are historic houses, keeps and peel towers to explore. Galashiels is not that attractive having been a tweed and woollen mill town – at one time 28 weaving mills were situated along by the Gala Water but there is only one active mill and tall chimney left. A local character called Jimmy ‘Piper’ Rae used to walk around the top of a mill chimney that was due for demolition playing the bagpipes as a farewell gesture to a town landmark, and all without a safety harness in the days before Health and Safety. As a boy I knew when I was late for school by the different sounds the mill whistles made."