Half term happenings

June 1, 1933

 

The younger children have been on their half term holiday this week, free of the classroom just in time to soak up the end of the late spring weather. It just so happened that Ben came home on the very first day, his summer break already underway, so that for the first time since Christmas we are all under the same roof. We were all excited to see him, but Ilse particularly so, as they had a special outing planned. Ben’s first and most important job was to take her to choose a new hamster.

In the end there were eight of us who went along: Ilse, Ben, Seb, Fliss, my brother Pete and his two children, and myself. Crowding out the little pet shop we found only one hamster available, a fluffy white one with a pink nose and faintly buff patches on either side of his face. We can’t imagine why he was left til last; he is very sweet if still a little nervous. Ilse has named him Albus, and Ben is helping her to handle him every evening.

Apart from wandering through the village to the pet shop, and a day in York enjoying, amongst other things, ices in the Minster Gardens, all the cousins really wanted to do was spend time with one another. Seb had been given a brand new game, Monopoly*, which they played no fewer than six times in four days. When the sun shone they spread a rug under the apple tree and played there for a long afternoon, punctuated only by a water fight. They know each other very well, despite the distance between Yorkshire and Devon, and each visit seems to develop a theme. This time it was Monopoly; in the past it has been devising plays, or dressing up, or, in Greece, swimming in the warm Aegean Sea.

We saw Mother and Father as much as we were able, and I must say that four late nights of sitting up and chatting rather took it out of me. I’m sure I used to be able to stay up much later, but I will confess that having taken them to the station to catch the southbound train, I came straight in and fell asleep on the settee, wireless on, knitting in my hands. An early night was had, and another one tonight should do the trick. Having guests is rather like going away on holiday: it forces you to break with routines and makes it so much more of a holiday. Time is spent sharing news and stories, rather than doing the weeding, and that is just as it should be. The jobs can wait. What matters is spending time with family, building connections between those in the new generation and strengthening existing sibling bonds.

It seemed that the jobs would wait today, too, as Father and I headed to a little farm on the far side of York to make a few pleasurable purchases. First were the flowers for the pots in Father’s yard: bee-loving annuals, and a spill of cheerful red geraniums. After that, we walked past the donkey and the little field of goats, through a gate where there were new puppies to pet, and on to the chicken shed. There must have been a hundred pullets in there, and we spent fifteen minutes chasing them around, failing to catch a single one, while Ilse looked on and laughed. Eventually the farmer reappeared with a box to put them in and caught two, just like that. One is a grey, speckled hen with a white bib, rather like a barn owl, so we’ve named her Hedwig. The other, black with a collar of copper feathers, puts us in mind of a phoenix, and of course she is named Fawkes. So although the cousins have gone home and the house is suddenly quieter, we have three new residents who need to be sat by and gazed at. Which means that we are still very much on holiday, and the jobs will just have to wait until next week. There’s plenty happening this half term holiday as it is.

* Actually, Monopoly came out in 1935, so the children wouldn’t have been able to play it in 1933. However, they could have played Coppit, which came out in 1927 and was a firm favourite when we were children. Or Touring England, which lived in a cupboard in my grandad’s dining room and came out every time we went to stay.

Please would you be kind enough to resubscribe?

During my break from this blog, I’ve had so much fun dreaming up all the things I want to do with it. Cecily’s voice, for a start, is something that I’d like to keep alive. One day, I’d like to draw my favourite posts together into an ebook, if only for me to read when I’m old. And yet I also want to express myself as a modern woman: someone with an education, a career, a family, and choices. I want to talk about all the places we go and things that we do – that we simply wouldn’t have been able to do in 1932. I’d also like to link up to or talk about other people’s blogs that bring me so much pleasure, and the inspirational attitudes and achievements they portray.

In short, I’d like the blog to be a place where I can express the many different aspects of who I am. A place where I can publish a short story that I’ve written, or just muse about daily life. I want to talk about the modern flute music that I’ve been learning, or about spinning alpaca fibres, or choosing patterns from Ravelry. I also want to start sharing some of my own patterns – some for free, some for sale – which will mean writing about them sometimes.

As I suspect you know, GDPR comes into force tomorrow. I’m by no means an expert, but it’s a set of regulations intended to protect individuals’ data. Because I would one day like to try selling some of my sewing and knitting patterns through this blog, it makes sense for me to make sure that my mailing list complies with these regulations from the off. That means that I need everyone on my list to have actively clicked through a couple of steps to confirm that they really do want to be on my mailing list. You’ll notice that there’s a new paragraph in the ‘Join our community’ box – this is there so that you know what you are signing up for. There will be a second email coming out today, asking you to resubscribe. I’ll have to delete my previous mailing list this evening. I hope you don’t find this all too off-putting; as I say, it is just to ensure that I comply with regulations from the start. I promise I’ll stop bombarding you with emails and get back to normal from tomorrow!

With all the official stuff said, can I say that I am practically hopping with excitement to start sharing my designs with you? I love to teach, and this first set of patterns is designed with people who are new to garment-making in mind. Given the number of people who have commented on my hand-made wardrobe and said that they’d never know where to begin, I thought that I could help. And now that means complying with GDPR, even if you are reading this from outside the EU.

I hope that this doesn’t scare you off. I have no intention of the blog becoming a hollow marketing ploy. I just want to share what I’m making, and see if there’s any sort of future in it.

In the meantime, there’s a spot reserved for me just in front of my spring flowerpots. The met office has promised sunshine for later today, and so I’ll take my knitting out there, with Wuthering Heights on the radio for company. Before that, though, there’s the hoovering to do, and a post to dream up while I do so, about Ben’s first flight into the big world this year. Fledgling, I think I’ll call it, and add a photo of the quilt I made for him to take. He’s heading home for the summer next week, and the medium-sized cousins are coming to stay. It’s going to be a houseful. I can’t wait.

On our way*

Laundry done, lists made and amended and amended again. The children have been taken into town to choose a new book each, not to be opened until we are on our way. Frocks have been deliberated over, bathers tried on for size, dark glasses packed against the bright Greek sun. I’ve taken most of the toys out of Ilse’s bag – the entertainments she packed just in case – and replaced them with smaller, more versatile playthings. A tin of coloured pencils. Her favourite teddy bear. And in the other children’s bags, something for all of them to share: a deck of cards, a rainbow of embroidery silks. A ball to inflate on the beach.

The garden is weeded, the hens cleaned out, a note rolled in a bottle for the milkman. Mother and Father have visited for full watering and hen-care instructions – without which we wouldn’t be able to go away at all. Sandals have been bought, or passed on, so that everyone has a pair that fits. I’ve made myself a double-sided hat to shade me from the sun: the others each have one from holidays past. Greek drachmas have been ordered and collected from the bank. Tickets and passports, checked and double-checked, await a final checking in the hall.

One more sleep, if you can persuade yourself to do such a thing with a head full of heroes and ruins. One more day of waiting. And then, almost unbelievably for the littler ones among us, we will be on our way.

 

* Actually, we have now been to Greece and back and had a really wonderful holiday, which I look forward to writing about next week. Oh, and I lost my hat. C’est la vie.

 

 

Sweet

Sweet peas by my bed, so that I fall asleep and wake to their scent. The fact that they keep coming, a few more every day.

Wide open days with nothing whatsoever planned, so that we can ask that most delightful of questions: now, what shall we do today?

Produce from the garden and beyond: warm tomatoes, fleshy cucumbers, baskets of strawberries from a nearby farm.

The thud of the first windfalls, and the cinnamon-spiced preserves that sound heralds in this house.

Children and chickens on the lawn, doing nothing extraordinary. Just footling about, lost in their own little worlds.

These summers, with all of them here, more precious every year.

Bittersweet, yes. But let’s focus on the sweet.

When rain stops play

Typical English summer weather: sunshine up until the last few days of term and then rain, rain and more rain. Or that’s what it feels like, anyway.

Between downpours the children and I have been outside: playing, building obstacle courses, constructing dens and tending to the garden. Under a sky of clouds, outside looks less than appealing but once I begin I don’t want to stop. There’s always one more thing to weed, tie in or feed. And then the heavens open once again and we all rush in.

It was at the start of the holidays that Seb announced his summer projects: building his new den and completing a number of airfix models. For when it’s sunny and when it rains, he explained. Oh dear. More of us rubs off on them than we imagine. Because that’s precisely how I organise my summer projects too: gardening and quilting, for when it’s sunny and when it rains.

More than that, though, is the fact that we both save one outdoor task til last, just in case the rain does come. Under an umbrella of leaves – me under the apple and he sheltered by the pine at the far end of the garden – we can carry on outdoors if it’s only a gentle shower. And then if rain really does stop play, we each have another project waiting for us indoors.

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.

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.

 

Balancing

There are certain points when everything feels a bit like a balancing act. Between time spent outside, growing things in the newly emerging garden, and ensuring that the house still feels welcoming when we come back in. Between work and rest – I think that fact that John and I have both been felled by heavy summer colds suggests that we got that one wrong. Or even just getting everyone to where they need to be, especially on two wheels, which poor old Seb came a cropper to last week. He fell on his right elbow, resulting in five weeks of wearing a sling. Like the old pergola, we all seem to be walking a little wounded at the moment. Most challenging of all, though, is catering to people of different ages and stages, all needing something, but something different.

Ben is in the last month of preparation for his Higher School Certificate. I can’t help but think how different it’ll be for Seb and Ilse, with no younger siblings charging around the place singing and squabbling and forgetting that they’re supposed to be quiet, please. We don’t do too badly most of the time, especially when school is in term. But this week they are all on holiday, and only Fliss seems to understand that Ben really could do with some peace in which to get his head down. It’s fine as long as the weather holds – Ben installs himself in the front room and we head out into the garden. On wet days, though, it takes a while for something to grab everyone’s attention. Yesterday was one of those, but crochet animals came to the rescue, and a jigsaw, and Children’s Hour on the wireless.

Thankfully they are heading out tomorrow with Mother and Father and the house will be quiet all day, which will be wonderful while Ben works. He’ll have all the peace he could want. Except that when he’s finished and the books are put away, he won’t have anyone to be silly with, or chat to, or play games with in the garden. The truth is that I’m just not as good for letting off steam with as his little siblings. I’ll have to make sure he does something nice with a friend, instead. Some fun is certainly needed after all that study. It’s a balancing act, I tell you.

What I did in the holidays

My list, made on the last day of the old term, mainly involved the garden. There was so much weeding to be done that I divided it over eight days, adding some planting or potting on to add interest, and, with a little help from everyone in the house, we did it. Fliss and I sowed dozens of seeds. John lifted a lot of edging that the nettles had got under, threatening to overrun my patch, and relaid them with a thick layer of cardboard underneath. Ben mowed the lawn, twice, and spread compost on all the beds. Seb and Ilse started a herbal remedies company, the main ingredients of which appeared to be nettles and dandelion roots, so I gave them couple of trowels and lots of encouragement. Perhaps best of all was when I came in from the garden last Tuesday, dirty and tired, to find that my very favourite dining establishment, Cafe Magnifico, was open for business. There were bluebells on each plate and Easter chocolates for dessert, and although the two charming proprietresses looked familiar they assured me we’d never met before. It stayed open that whole second week when John was back at work and I was pushing myself to get through my list, serving luncheon every day and even taking care of the washing up.

My only other real goal was to finish my cardigan in time for Easter which I did – in plenty of time and on Shell Island, in fact. I cast on for a pair of socks and got as far as turning the heel, knitting in the evenings. As it was all going so well I added some more to the list: to wash the fleece and a half that had been languishing in the shed since autumn, and to piece all eighty nine-patch squares for Ilse’s quilt. I did both, and what began as a session where Ilse and I laid out the squares on Sunday afternoon became a game for the whole family, moving things around, swapping one square with another to spread the colours out more evenly. I could – perhaps should – have retained more control of it, but it is just a little girl’s quilt after all, and they had so much fun. I glanced at it briefly once they were all in bed and it looked all right to me, so it’s all packed up in that order, ready to be sewn together this week.

When people ask what we did in the holidays I tell them we went camping in Wales, which we did, and we had a lovely time. There were day trips too, and lots of lazy days in the house and garden for the children, reading books and making potions. We had a glorious Easter lunch with Mother and Father, and Mother outdid herself once more, producing a simnel cake when we had just about recovered from the previous three courses. And there was time for resting in the sunshine by day, and by the fire in the evenings.

Yet Easter always feels like a turning point, however early or late it falls, and this is the holiday in which I end up doing most. Now that term is back in swing, it feels good to have new projects and new rhythms on the go. More time in the garden. The end of a quilt top within sight. Daily spinning while the supper cooks. If I hadn’t worked so hard during the holidays none of this would be possible. And it isn’t work, really – not if you choose to do it. It’s just another type of play. So that’s what I did in my holidays. I played, hard.

On Shell Island

In the end, we went away for just three nights this Easter, which was enough of a change to be a rest before coming home to the garden (for me), work (for John), revision (for Ben) and play (for the other three). We piled tents and sleeping bags on top of the motor, ourselves into it, and headed to Wales for our little break.

I can’t remember having visited Snowdonia before, and it’s the sort of place I would remember. Mountains, woodland, small towns and villages and, around every bend in the road, another view of the springtime sea. We drove through lanes with slate walls on either side, past little roadside waterfalls and mossy, twisted tree-formed tunnels to Harleck and beyond, until we found ourselves on Shell Island before the tide came in and flooded the causeway, cutting us off from the shore. The children tumbled out of the car and away to explore while John, Ben and I set up camp. Red-faced and puffing, they came back to report to us every quarter of an hour or so on their latest find: the sand-dunes that needed to be scaled, the rock pools, the hidden dell between our camp and Lookout Hill, and Shell Beach, from which they brought back sandy pockets of their finds.

We wouldn’t normally spend much time on a campsite, preferring instead to treat it as a place to sleep while we spent the days out and about, but the following morning Ilse looked so forlorn at the thought of leaving the island to climb Cader Idris that it only took me a moment to decide to stay behind with her. We waved the others off and set about our day. It isn’t often that I let a seven year old set the agenda, but we had such a lovely time I might need to do so more often. In the morning we went to the little island shop for a tin of soup, some hot cross buns and milk for tea, then packed my knapsack with knitting and a rug and a bag of sweets and set out for a spot of cartography. We climbed a sand dune and stopped every hundred yards or so to add something new to her map, discussing suitable names all the while. It was such hard work that we agreed on a long sit down after lunch, on a blanket in the sun beside our tent, she colouring her map and me adding the button bands to my nearly-done cardigan, before setting off for a lazy afternoon of shell collecting. We meandered for a good two hours along the beach, past the dunes to the rock pools, then the harbour, then the jetty where the crabbing is, before wandering home to wait for the others and supper. The sun shone well enough, and the wind certainly blew, but we had such a lovely day, the two of us.

Of course we went out and did other things on the other days, but I think that was my favourite day of all. Just Ilse and I, on a nearly deserted island, footling around and doing our own thing. Surely that’s what holidays are all about. Well, ours, anyway.