More about Grasmere later. But first, Franky!

Yes, Boss?

You’ve been in trouble.

‘Ave I?

Well, I have, thanks to you.

What, me clutch and that?

‘That’ being your flywheel, aye.

Aye, well. It were them slow drives to Leeds to get you better – jiggered me clutch an all. At least you realised it were wrong, like, before we ‘ad a total breakdown.

Yes, and I had a nice new ‘Cactus’ as a courtesy car from the Citroën dealer, but you cost me a lot of money I didn’t really have.

Sos, like. Weren’t my fault.

Hmmm. …..  He’s right, some of the drives to Leeds were very slow and crawly. But one of the amazing features of the Bexley Wing at St. James’ Hospital (the cancer centre) is the hotel on the 7th floor. This is free to patients, and is a splendid facility – no breakfast available up there, but there is on the ground floor, though I didn’t want it the twice I stayed there, because the reason for staying was the very early appointment the next morning. The views from the rooms are remarkable:

though on the first occasion I couldn’t find how to raise the venetian blinds, which were between the layers of the double glazing, so taking photos was tricky.

On the second occasion my room was on the other side of the building – and no blinds!

But the important thing is that the treatment is over, and apparently successful –

No more daily trips to and from Leeds, then? Well, I’m glad of that!

You and me both, Franky, lad. I think all readers of this will already know about the bell ringing ceremony on completion of treatment:

 

After lunch together at the Golcar Lily, Chris had another commitment that afternoon, but after dropping him off at 730, Manchester Road, Rachel and I went the short distance to ‘Rudi’s’ and indulged in a celebratory helping of ‘Kaffee und Kuchen’. We should really have had one portion between us! …

Er, no – that wasn’t the whole portion, but just one slice of that 6-tiered monster was too much!

Leaving Manchester aside for a moment, the next family event was school sports day for Chris’s two, a joint event where their school, Wellhouse, join with another, Clough Head, and compete, not school against school, but jointly in their houses, Earth, Fire, Air and Water. Grandad’s taxi –

Is that me?

Aye, it is an’ all. – was very useful in getting the children up the hill in the morning, after which Chris and I had breakfast, then we went back for the sports in the afternoon and took them back home afterwards. Having been reluctant to take part in previous years, S & N were both keen participants, S. being part of a winning relay team, and coming second in his year’s ‘cross country’ race (i.e. twice round the field). Their House, Fire, was second overall, and it was a really enjoyable occasion, helped, of course, by fine weather, good, but relaxed organisation, and a good-humoured competitive spirit. Can you imagine a better setting for such an event – surrounded by fields and hills? –

 

Well, that was Wednesday, 24th May, less than 48 hours after the awful event in Manchester. I felt I had to go, perhaps because, as a teenager in the early sixties, I spent many an evening in Manchester – back then, if you wanted to see the big films soon after they were released, you had to go to the cities; it could take months for them to reach a town like Accrington. And although I wasn’t into clubs or concerts (weird!) I was into G & S, so whenever the D’Oyly Carte were at the Opera House several visits were a must, some with parents, others alone or with friends. The greatest danger, as far as I can remember, was the risk of misjudging crossing the road (one-way streets in big cities could be confusing to a former Essex boy brought up with the ‘kerb drill’.) So taking a few red and white roses from Yorkshire to Lancashire, I took the tram from Oldham and tried to find St. Anne’s Square. I don’t think I was given best advice as to how to get round the closure of part of the line, but at Piccadilly, some nice officials told me I didn’t need a ticket for the next ride saying, with a nod to the roses, ‘you’re here for the right reason’. But I still had a long walk, and the unrepaired hip didn’t like it!

Eventually arriving at the ‘Church’ end of the square, I had to find a way through the mass of world-wide media to get to the tributes. But no-one minded, in fact someone asked if I wanted to get through and made space for me.

Most people had approached from the other side, where there were fewer cameras and vans:

The candle – in the little ramekin dish – was burning when I left it –

and I hope one or two folk read my three quotations before my card got buried:

Remembrance of a different kind at the weekend. I’m a bit reluctant to admit that I got the date wrong! I’d made plans to be in Grasmere on the 28th, but, of course, it should have been the 27th! However, in the event, it turned out to be a happy error, since the 27th was very wet, and I probably wouldn’t have got to the lakeside at all. The 28th was sunny, but not too hot, and very busy, so I made several ‘passes’, hoping to find parking near the lake, and it was late afternoon before I did. But we’d driven past Thirlmere and down St. John’s, as well as back to Ambleside for an Ice Cream at Hayes.

So that’s why we kept gannin up and down same bit o’ road – tha wor lookin for a space to park.

I wor. Yes, I was. Then it was down to the ‘special’ bit of beach:

But ‘funny’ things began to happen; arriving at the beach, there was a fork lying beside the water’s edge. Why ‘funny’? Well, one day, years back, when walking up Mosedale with Hilde and family, Carol spotted a fork in the grass at the side of the road. Being Carol, of course, she picked it up and took it home. So what did  I do with this one? Brought it home, of course …

I’d heard a piece on radio about the properties of the herb rosemary. Apparently, scientists are finding that there is some evidence for the folklore (mentioned in Shakespeare) that rosemary is ‘for remembrance’. I have some rosemary  on my doorstep, so I thought I’d bring a sprig. Then I thought I’d lost it, so I bought some more at Morrison’s in Kendal (I was staying at an excellent Guest House in Oxenholme – The Glen – highly recommended.) Then I found the original bit:

So I floated them on the water – ‘for remembrance’:

I settled down to do a puzzle, choosing a variation of sudoku – the idoku which Carol used to do as her special one – and at the left hand side of the puzzle page in the ‘i’ there’s the ‘Daily Recipe’; that day’s recipe just happened to be ‘Krema Kataluna’, a type of Crème Brulée which is on the desert menu of most restaurants in Languedoc – especially those areas nearest the Spanish border …. funny that.

Falling off my chair wasn’t funny! Just trying to get comfortable, using my fleecy jacket as a cushion, I leaned a little too far to the left, and over we went! I landed on the repaired hip, and for a moment, I thought I was in trouble … but it seems there’s no harm done.

The beach under Loughrigg Fell has memories, too: when Rachel was little, maybe 9 or 10, we were picnicking there and a seagull came and stole her sandwich out of her hand! She let out a very irritated ‘Hey!’

This is the path back to Franky: you’ve seen it before, nicknamed the ‘Tulgey Wood” (It is very tulgey.) It’s taken me years to remember its real name: Penny Rock Wood. But you wouldn’t get a Jabberwock whiffling through Penny Rock Wood, would you? Naa …

Monday was wet n ‘orrible, weather-wise, but remembering the family adage that ‘the Lake District has a character of it’s own in the rain’, and after the excellent breakfast provided at The Glen, we set off up Kirkstone Pass, down past Brotherswater and through Patterdale and Glenridding – where the work is still ongoing following the floods of December 2015 / January 2016 – past Ullswater, and over the ‘temporary’ bridge at Pooley. Still ‘remembering’, and taking the scenic route, we went over Celleron and down to Askham, then to Helton, and paused to take a through-the-window photo of the spot at Helton where, after a picnic with Philip and Family, Rachel, Chris and I set off on the ‘Keswick Chips’ of all Lakeland walks – the one compared with which all other walks would have some redeeming features. But there was – as we kept telling each other during five miles of trudging through the heather – a great view of Ullswater when we got to the top of Loadpot Hill.

The scenic drive was completed by driving up through Rosgill to Shap, where we joined the motorway. The weather didn’t improve, and there was the added challenge of fog, or low cloud as we crossed the Pennines, and more as we came over from Marsden to Meltham.

Well done, Franky – but don’t let’s be having any more big repair bills.

He’s gonna go on about that for ever …. weren’t my fault …