All together, now

Now that the holidays are here, we can all have a bit of a rest. It’s most obvious for the children, off school as they are, and so far they have lain in bed both mornings with books for company until I call them. Ben has been off for a while now, since the end of his exams, and is combining a surprising amount of relaxation with a few odd jobs until his summer job begins next week. John has enjoyed two days of peaceful breakfasts, sipping his coffee over the paper or a good book before cycling across town to his office at the chocolate factory. And I am freed from the shackles of the school day, and the endless ironing of school blouses.

Out of everyone, though, it’s Mrs P who needs a rest most of all. She’s not been quite right since that bout of flu in the new year, and I’ve been wanting her to be careful ever since. As you might imagine, she is one of those old battle-axes who ploughs on regardless: stubborn and difficult and with a heart of gold. It’s very difficult to stop her scrubbing the hall tiles, but over the past few months I have devised the strategy of having a long list of other tasks for her. She ticks one thing off and I add another, so that there is always some light work which simply must be done. Thankfully the children are adept at wearing holes in socks and making bedrooms dusty, and there’s always another pot of potatoes to be peeled. And so, while she’s thus engaged, I can quietly scrub those tiles or wring out another load of sheets.

Mr P, who since the war has been a different, sadder sort of man, has come to the fore since his wife’s illness, and for the first time ever has begun to tidy and clean around the house, making something simple for their tea. He came to see me a couple of months ago with the idea of taking Mrs P away for the summer, for a breath of sea air. I thought it a tremendous plan, and we plotted and cajoled until the good lady finally gave in. They left for Whitby on Monday, and won’t be back until the autumn term begins.

Now, other mothers might be quite content to sweep around their children’s feet and tidy their mess after them, but I am not. In the absence of Mrs P, and with so many extra bodies around the house all day, some sort of solution seemed in order. Thus it is that I’ve claimed half an hour of every morning, directly after breakfast. Tasks are doled out (or volunteered for) and I am pleasantly surprised by how efficient we can be. Yesterday we cleaned the whole house, top to bottom. It helps that I’m less particular in the summer, and if I found the odd undusted patch I didn’t mention it. This morning we weeded the front garden, cut back the brambles which insist on growing back each time and gave the henhouse a much needed change of straw. By ten o’clock all was done, and they got on with their plans for the day.

Of course there’s always more to do – dishes and ironing, laundry and the polishing of shoes. I could keep them busy for much longer than half an hour each day. But they go at with with such vigour and – so far – good humour that it seems churlish to ask for more. What they do gives me a flying start and frees a good couple of hours for us to play together, or go for a walk to the park. They’ll always help with the odd little jobs – the setting of the table, or popping down to the shops. And it seems to have inspired Ilse to make her own bedroom a little bit prettier, echoing the sweet peas by my bed with a little cup of hibiscus blooms on her dressing table.

Truth be told, it’s as much about teaching them responsibility and household skills as lightening my load. Don’t tell the little ones, but I really don’t mind if they miss a bit here or there. It’s the willingness that counts, and the fact that we all pitch in, all together now.

For the bees

Every so often you see your family through somebody else’s eyes, and a part of who you are comes sharply into focus. John and I were invited out to dinner with my lovely friend and music teacher, Mrs England, and I found myself chatting away about log piles and toad ponds to a zoologist and nature enthusiast.

Now, I spend a lot of time in our garden. I spent a good four hours out there yesterday, tending to the veg patch. I love keeping hens and would like to have a hive and some sheep and pigs one day. Gradually, year by passing year, I find my approach becoming less utilitarian and more inclusive of scent and colour and the other joys that flowers bring. Our garden is a bit part of what makes me me. So much so that I hadn’t realised quite how engaged Seb is with nature at the moment. It took a room swap and a rearrangement of pictures for me to notice that his wall hanging of native garden birds, together with his collection of found feathers, took pride of place on his new walls. That the binoculars are spending a lot of time paired with his bird book whenever we go away. And that, when chatting to the very funny and charming zoologist, Seb was the child I named as being transfixed by nature.

It was as he was making some suggestions about how we could make our garden more nature-friendly that I realised quite how much we had done, and how much lives out there. Not just the family of bluetits in the hollow of the apple tree, or the thrushes who prise snails from their shells by the patio doors. There are the toads who take up residence in the greenhouse every summer, kept watered with the thirsty tomato plants. The hedgehog – one in a long and much-loved line – who follows the same route every evening at dusk. The wobbly-legged spiders, and the little brown ones who spin their webs between the strung up cucumbers and catch yellow and brown striped hoverflies. There are more insects than I can name, as well as several species of bee who come to visit the lavender and anemones, centipedes and other underground wrigglers, crawlers and slitherers. Who knows what lives in the decaying woodpile, or what our soon-to-be-sunk pond will attract? It seems we’re rather fond of bugs and birds and various creepy crawlies after all. Apart from slugs, that is.

Ben came out to help me lift the brassica cages to get at the weeds beneath them, and paused by the silvery-blue sea of borage. Look, Mum, he said, it’s simply crawling with bees. And so it was. That and the marigolds, the lavender, the just-beginning sweet peas and the abundantly self-seeded nasturtiums – all crawling and buzzing with all manner of pollen-loving insects. Those flowers have brought the bees in in a way the garden never has before. I thought that I was growing a cutting garden for the house, and filling some first-summer gaps with easy annuals but no, it appears I was wrong. Most of that bed is no use for filling vases with after all. It seems I planted much of it for the bees.

Loose ends

What with the end of term only a matter of days away, I’ve had a second wind. The last few days has seen my to-do list grow to ridiculous proportions, but I am getting through it, bit by steady bit. Yesterday I had a bit of a surge and tied up a lot of loose ends – those pesky final tasks which get in the way of a job being done. There were things to do in the children’s rooms, at the end of the big shuffle-around. The hem of our bedroom curtains had come down in the wash and I couldn’t bear to lie in bed and look at it for another evening. I had a pile of bills to pay, and our account to balance.

Most importantly of all, though, were those final arrangements for our holiday. We’re not quite there yet, but we are on our way. Ferries are booked. We’ve found places to stay in all three of our destinations, and written to the owners with arrival times and travel arrangements. The children’s cousins have sent an excitable postcard, and we really ought to send one back. See you in Greece! it says. Seb drew them a picture of the Parthenon in return. It’ll be such fun, having a holiday with my brother and his family, and it has already doubled the thrill for our younger ones. They love spending time with their cousins.

Apart from all the letters and bookings, I’ve been looking through everyone’s things. A knapsack each? Yes. Decent bathers? Absolutely. Enough cool clothes to cope with the heat of Athens? Mostly. A sunhat for each of us, to keep the glare off our faces? Um, almost. There’s a little bit of sewing to be done. I’ll add that to the list.

Luckily there’s time. Thank goodness for a second wind. There won’t be many more quiet days now before the children are at home with me each and every day. And while I look forward to that – I really do – I also know that it’s a good idea to get the dull jobs out of the way before that happens.

Because then… why then the real fun begins. A visit to the library, to choose good holiday novels. More Greek myths to read. The selection of a privileged favourite teddy. And for me, a visit to my embroidery box, to choose a little something to keep me busy on our travels. I can hardly wait.

 

Blooming

For the past three weeks now I’ve had a steady supply of alstromeria blooms for the house. The marigolds are in full flood. And all along the garage wall the japanese anemones keep on coming. There is an embarrassment of flowers in my back garden for the first time ever, and it is making me very happy indeed. This vegetable grower has branched out into something new and beautiful. In fact, she’s even remembered to water the baskets of trailing nasturtiums hanging on either side of the front door. Now that really is unprecedented.

Despite all the flowers, I haven’t actually been in the garden all that much of late. I stole a visit late yesterday afternoon and found the sweet peas on the verge of starting. I also found the odd weed, but not nearly as many as I deserved. Beans – the first of hundreds – are dangling, mine for the picking, from their climbing vine, and a neglected courgette is masquerading as a marrow, but really, this is payback time out there. All that hard work in the spring is paying dividends now, and I have every intention of enjoying it.

It’s not all redecoration and housework around here: yesterday also involved a truly delightful luncheon by the Nidd with Mrs Bee, Mrs Eve and her sweetie pie baby boy. Really, we could have been on the riviera, enjoying the warm air and the splash of oars as holiday-makers paddled about in the water. What a treat, to sit in the shade and have a proper catch-up with two such lovely ladies. It did me good to shut the door on my endless to-do list and just make the most of a gorgeous summer’s day. Good company, smoked salmon sandwiches and a drink straight out of the fridgedair – blooming marvellous, I tell you.

Anyone for tennis?

Since Wimbledon drew to a close the weekend before last, Seb has been rather keen to try his hand at a spot of tennis. It’s Fliss who most often gets pressed into playing – she’s the only one of us who’s any good, anyway. I certainly never played when I was growing up. But it’s been all the rage with girls recently, what with Helen Wills retaining her number one status for so long. Fliss was practically jumping up and down by the wireless during the women’s final, but Wills seemed unperturbed, taking the trophy in two straight sets.

So she and Seb can often be found on the lawn after tea, hitting a ball up and down to one another, an imaginary net slung across the grass. He’s getting better, and if his serving continues to grow stronger I might suggest they play farther away from the windows. Perhaps this summer I’ll book them a court at the park the odd time.

But it’s after supper that you’ll find them all out there, making the most of the lingering summer light. A tennis ball and a cricket bat is all that’s needed for a game of French cricket, with doggy chances for Ilse (and anyone else who gets out on the first throw). The hens retreat into their run, the woodpigeons coo in the tall ash tree, and the sun slips lower and lower in the sky until I notice the time and send Ilse to bed. Summer evenings have got the be the loveliest of the year, whatever it is you’re playing.

On my knees

With two weeks to go until the children break up for the summer, dates for the diary are flowing in thick and fast. There’s the performance at Ilse’s school, the play that Seb has been working on all term and Fliss will be singing in the choir at her end of term fete. Add to that the class parties, birthday teas and general invitations from people to get out and do blissfully summery things, and there’s barely an evening to spare. Even the scouts have abandoned the clubhouse in favour of wild evenings chasing around their nearby plantation.

I know that although these things pick up pace over the last few days there will come a day when it all just stops. Two weeks tomorrow, to be precise. On which day I’ll dig the children’s knapsacks out and ask them to start thinking about what they’d like to take on each of our planned adventures. We have a very exciting holiday planned, judging by the reading and drawing and letter-writing going on around these parts. There is a huge amount of dreaming going on, in the heads of the younger members of the household.

John and I are frankly too busy to stop and think at the moment, let alone daydream about impending adventures. His work doesn’t stop for the summer. On top of that, the little bit of shuffling we had planned has turned into a full scale reassessment of each and every room in the house. New furniture has arrived for Ben’s/ the guest room, and he and Seb are sharing his old room while John repaints the inside of the sash windows. There’s a chair which won’t fit in either bedroom anymore, so it’s moved down to the sitting room where another, in turn, has been bumped into the kitchen. Looking for a jumble-sale desk, I finally found the coffee table I’ve been wanting for a year, and the sweetest little dressing table for Ilse. So we thought we’d finish off the sitting room properly, for once, and bought a new rug and a new-to-us chair, which makes two that I need to upholster. The old rug has migrated to the dining room. Seb wanted to take his nice dark curtains with him, and Ben is having ours, so I thought I may as well give them their summer wash while they’re off the rails. You know the story. A little change here has a knock on effect there – and before you know it there’s plenty to keep both Ben and I busy for a good few days at home.

It’ll be worth it in the end, and it’s fun to have a fresh-feeling house for the cost of a new double bed. I quite like moving things around, and trying things in different places. Of course, most things need a little bit of adjustment to make them work: new pictures in old frames, things from Ben’s room recovered in some pretty fabric for Ilse. We are determined to have it done before the end of term, and I’m fairly sure we will, even with the ever-growing list of social events. We have spent enough summers working on this house: sanding floors or stripping and repainting the landing, hall and stairs. This is going to be a summer of unadulterated fun, as far as such a thing is possible. The only task I might save is upholstering those two old chairs; I want to get them right. And of course it’s not just indoors that’s keeping us busy – we spent a fair bit of the weekend making a dent in the fruit and berry ‘harvest’, weeding the veg beds and deadheading all those annuals which are now in bloom. Sitting on the patio, enjoying their display, reminds me that all this busyness indoors will be well worth it as the months slip by towards the autumn. I’ll be thankful for past labours then. In the meantime, though, you’ll find me on my knees, both figuratively and literally as I tend the garden and make inroads in the house. Two weeks to go and counting. Wish me luck.

The sea is calling

I love the sea in all seasons, but it calls particularly loudly in the summer months. We haven’t been to the beach for a while, but Seb is heading to the coast on a day out soon with school, and it’s got me thinking that we could do with a family visit too.

The children don’t mind where we go – they like the kiss-me-quick of Scarborough and the Bridlington donkeys as much as the next person, but given the choice John and I always head to Filey. Just a little resort, it has a short promenade above a long, sweeping beach and when the tide comes in you can walk up and down along the seafront, or stroll up the nearby grassy hill for a spin in the pedalos or a turn on the putting green.

True to form, the English summer has been a bit variable of late, but I have high hopes for a bit of timely sun. Call me greedy, but I haven’t had enough fine weather yet. After last week’s deluge, I’m ready to start watering by hand again, but I don’t think I’m going to need to for a while. In the meantime I have school concerts and assemblies, debating meets and end-of-term performances to keep me happy indoors. But a spot more sunshine would be seasonal and very welcome, as would a day out at the sea. Here’s hoping.

Moving out

I wasn’t expecting Ilse to be the one moving out this summer, but that’s what she cheerily announced on Sunday afternoon, blanket under one arm, cushion in the other. We’ve all been working on transforming the little tower for her in spare pockets of time. John made a swing with her, which hangs beneath the house part and is hidden by the raspberry canes. I took her to a jumble sale to buy the basket which hangs on a pulley, ready for lifting up treats. Lovely Mrs East gave her the squishiest hand-knit pillow, all wool and cables. We found a rug to spread over the wooden floor, and an old beanbag, and a biscuit tin. She’s taken out a notebook to keep a log in. And on Saturday she and Fliss made the bunting and strung it up themselves, right over the F which has been there since we tidied it up for Fliss several years ago. We ought to look out for an I, but are keeping the F for posterity. And because she keeps disappearing up there, too, and pulling that stick-door shut behind her.

And what about Seb, I hear you asking? Don’t worry: he’s building a base out of an old tarpaulin, a ball of string and roughly 6,000,000 sticks. He works for a bit, then stops to raid the fruit patch before getting back to it. He’s very happy.

Between them, I am getting almost hourly requests for a date on which they’ll be able to sleep out there this summer. I keep thinking about the fox who comes to visit the chickens, and the fact that neither space can be seen or heard from the house, and a thousand unsavoury possibilities. Then I remember that they camp out in the garden every summer. It’ll be fine. It’s inevitable, really. Time ploughs on, children get bigger, and one by one they all move out, if only for one night.