🎤🎶 Nocturne and Finlay My Christmas Card to you all…

This is my official blog Christmas Card. For those that don’t know , this is Finlay my very first Welsh Terrier. 

Unlike Roger he was bright. 

Unlike William he was selfish

And unlike Mary and Meg he was lazy, and cowardly but in a good way.

He was the first dog to both capture and tear my heart into pieces, and he started my love affair with a breed which is now rare, and remains the oldest in the British Isles.

I remember taking this photo 21 years ago.

Finlay was only four years old and he was asleep just before Xmas Eve in 2005

He slept through the silence of positioning the Prof’s Christmas Santa 

And. Didn’t notice it as he was fast asleep, warmed by the coal fire

I remember thinking of how lucky I was that evening . My husband was asleep in his arm chair with a bad tempered Scottie called Maddie at his feet. Finlay was snoring lightly on his sofa and old Joan the cat was curled up by the fire. 

The Christmas Tree was lit and it really felt like Christmas .

Like it does today 

So Happy Christmas my dear friends 

Happy Christmas …..I will leave you with this lovely piece above  from my lovely lisping Spanish choir…it’s called Nocturn …….I was in the audience for this ! 

My highlight of 2025

Happy Christmas My Friends…..

Three feet to go

 Almost there………

A Tree Grows in Brooklyn

 

My friend Della from the village, came with me to the carol service in Llanasa tonight. Llanasa is a picture post village located a mile and a half Northeast of Trelawnyd and its Norman church remains open, unlike our own . Della and I both miss the Trelawnyd service, with Church Warden Christine Davis proudly carrying on the peanut sized baby Jesus.as Gaynor the mad Organist looked on with pouting lips and a wry look, and so we went tonight which was sweet.

One of the most moving  readings came from Betty Smith’s A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. It tells of the time poor siblings Francie and Neeley Nolan take part in a local tradition where Christmas Trees were given away to the poor, but only after they were caught after being thrown by a fierce tree seller. 

The Christmas Tree is a metaphor for hope and I was rather pleasantly surprised to see it quoted tonight.

 Earlier today my friend Colin dropped in unexpectedly bearing gifts of scotch eggs and a Christmas card, which was lovely and the treats continued as the Cameron’s ( one of my favourite of village families) dropped off a family made wreath at the kitchen wall……

It’s feeling rather festive today all told , and the garland of Christmas cards just under the living room ceiling is almost complete.

Dena

When I was a child my uncle Jim divorced his wife and went to live with a woman from South Yorkshire ! The woman was twenty five years (?) his junior and hailed from a family that was colourfully working class and I remember so vividly just how shamed my grandparents felt at the news as they talked in hushed tones and cried together in the privacy of their bedroom.

Yesterday that woman, my aunt Dena from South Yorkshire died . Peacefully in a local hospice 

I still love my grandparents so very much and it's nearly four decades after they died, but I know that they could not have coped with me being gay, not in the early 1980s. They thought and were shamed by things that shamed and upset people from another era........we don't live in that world anymore .

Having said this, my grandparents eventually came around to my Uncle's new life, much younger wife and bonny baby grandson. They did this because my new aunt was and is a decent woman with a warm personality. My cousin was a delightful little boy and my Uncle was loved so very much.
Loving him, for them, finally out weighed any prejudice they felt.

I would have liked to have come out to my grandparents. I would have liked to have come out to my
mother and father too, but it was never to be and it was never the right time........ c'est la vie as they say in Frenchland.......

I did come out to my Aunt Dena who wrote to me often, enquiring about my life, loves and news. 

She sent me a gift when I got married, a vase which sits on my bathroom window ledge 

When I told Auntie Gladys that The Prof was my partner ( before we all met up for one of my first Flower Show Meetings) I was acutely aware that in some small way I was "re-living" a moment I
wanted so much to have had with the matriarchs of my old family all now deceased .
It wasn't rocket science....in homespun psychology terms!
I said the words that I really didn't have to say and waited with winced eyes for the reaction.
Gladys was 86 back then.
"Will he be coming to the meeting too? " She asked me, her eyes were bright and interested
" I don't think it's his cup of tea" I told her
" Right O " she said busying herself with a tea towel " " I'll wrap up some scones for him to have later"


And she left him scones, tied in a bag to our front door for the next ten years!

Christmas Week 2004

A memory flashed into consciousness after a patient watched a film full of bonnets and tailcoats.

Christmas Week 2004. I was at work at the Spinal Injury Unit in Sheffield’s Northern General Hospital . My husband was off work and had gone for a riding lesson, so had strode onto the ward in riding boots and tight fitting jodhpurs. He also was tall and often held himself with a slight imperious air, so when he asked for me, a wisecracking Yorkshire nurse called Alexa scurried from the nurses station into the ward round multi disciplinary meeting where I was busy with the consultants and psychologist and physios and hissed at me

“ There’s a Mr Darcy to see you John” she shared rather breathlessly “His breeches are magnificent !”

 

Towering Quake '75 - (Stanley Baxter)

Christmas Specials on the tv were kind of special in the 1970s

God love Mr Baxter

On the Nature of Daylight

I’ve delivered most of the village Christmas cards today

Lots of walks up to postboxes and to doorways decorated with wreaths and ribbons.

With the sky turning opaque,

And the temperature dropping considerably 

It was cold 

by mid afternoon.

Mrs Trellis was sat quietly on her sofa,

I saw her through her living room window 

Hands neatly on her lap. 

Eyes off on some distant thought

And my heart broke for her, just a little.

I prepared  a beef stew with dumplings made from scratch with suet and herbs and flour and salt. 

And found a tablecloth and napkins in the back of a drawer,

And lit candles in holders as Weaver watched, with narrow eyes

And the German man I know cancelled supper far too late with a brief text of explanation but with no apology. 

I could weep a little.

Tough

 Auntie Glad’s daughter emailed me today wanting Village Elder Islwyn’s address. She wanted to thank him for the work he had organised for some of her family graves which had been recently damaged during the recent storms “  What a hero he is to me.  He's 75 and still physically working.  His knowledge of who's who there was quite entertaining!” She wrote with clear affection. It’s nice that Islwyn is being celebrated…………

Jackson’s Shop and Nursery lies a stone’s throw east of the village. Every year they deliver a small plant to every house in the Trelawnyd which is a lovely gesture and mine turned up today

How sweet…….

Animal Helper Pat had a stroke last week. She told me this troublesome news herself, only this afternoon , after delivering a still warm home baked bara brith loaf wrapped in silver paper with an accompanying Christmas card. Apparantly she had been hospitalised for four days and was somewhat upset in missing the village show, 

“Where are you off to now ?” I asked her

“ I’m off the deliver Christmas Cards “ she said brightly

They breed them tough in Trelawnyd .