Going Gently

Basil Davies

Covid and long term illness has meant that several of the old characters of Trelawnyd have been effectively isolated from everyday village life.

Basil Davies , was one of those characters.

Today was Basil’s funeral. He was 85.

Born and bred in Trelawnyd, Basil farmed Ochr y Gop most of his life. A bachelor, he shared his beautiful Georgian farmhouse with his sister Mona, who was famous in my eyes as a champion scotch egg maker but who also was the school mistress of Gwaenysgor village school for many years.

I had a great deal of respect for Basil.

When I had my small holding up and running, he would often stop at my gate for a chat and when I held my open days and ran the flower show, he would always turn up in his Sunday best to support the event.

Quiet and measured, praise given by him , always had extra gravitas and meaning and I remember once feeling near tears when he stopped to thank me for what I had “done for the village”, once one of my open days was over.

I was always grateful to him too as he always took the time to ask how My husband was and always referred to Chris by his name. That acceptance has always had my respect and was never ever forgotten .

Trelawnyd said goodbye to a dear son today

God Bless You Basil

Streams Full of Stars, like skies at night

The delightful P reminded me of a poem I know but have never read.

W H Davies’ Leisure

WHAT is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare?—

No time to stand beneath the boughs,
And stare as long as sheep and cows:

No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass:

No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night:

No time to turn at Beauty's glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance:

No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began?

A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

I went to Chester this evening to see the Spanish comedy The Good Boss with the delightful Javier Bardem.

It wasn’t as good as I hoped , so I left the Storyhouse early .

It was raining so I drove home and got home late for me at around 10.30.

The dogs and Albert and I walked down the Lane soon after

It was humid and raining still, but only lightly

And we all stopped at the end of the lane and stared at the sky to the West, the clouds over the hawthorn hedges that shadowed the hidden moon.

Albert chatted his teeth at the bats that circled the single street light and seemed to stand and stare too

And Dorothy growled a low growl when the horses in the livery fields stomped their feet in the grass.

Mary sat down and leaned against my calf , just happy in company

We stood there for an age, until my hair flattened

A poor life if, full of care,

We have no time to stand and stare

The View From My Kitchen Table

I’m not sure what I’m doing today.

The new washing machine was supposed to be delivered but that’s been delayed until tomorrow.

I’m sat eating brunch which is an air fried sausage on mozzarella bagel delight and am looking out of the door onto the patio pondering my day.

I’ve been pondering for almost two hours now.

I’m an excellent ponderer.

Coffee cup getting filled just twice.

I’ve finally booked to see the Spanish movie El Buen Patrón tonight at the Storyhouse

Which pleased me .

Open Range

I’m just enjoying one of the most underrated Westerns in cinema . Open Range (2003) stars Kevin Costner ,Robert Duvall ( at his most understated) and the gloriously attractive Annette Benning

The film says a lot about respect, friendship and loneliness. I’m enjoying it with a beer and a large packet of cheese and onion

Benning is the only woman I’d ever go straight for.

Saturday Night & Sunday Morning

I’ve just been sent this song from a friend

They have had , I suspect, a couple of scoops

And are tired and emotional.

We’ve all been there on a lonely Saturday night/ Sunday morning, have we not?

My mother would often ring people late at night “ for a chat”

Those were the days before mobiles when a phone call late at night would always mean bad news.

Often , that assumption would be correct , as my mother could spout drunken rubbish for hours.

Nowadays, our mobiles know who is calling.

And we don’t answer.

Egg and Soldiers

Sometimes you get a craving for the food of your childhood

Of butterscotch Angel Delight,

Beans on cheap white bread toast with lashings of butter

Or corned beef hash.

Fruit cocktail out of a tin with only half a cherry,

Artic roll,

And lucozade with the orange film wrapping.

Neapolitan ice cream

Evaporated milk mixed with the juice of tinned mandarin oranges,

Coca Cola in glass bottles

Custard with skin

And semolina in school only made bearable by a blob of raspberry jam

Cheese triangles with the ends bitten off and the cheese sucked through.

Full fat ice cold milk

Tonight I had a lightly boiled egg

And soldiers

Arse

I’m an arse

I’ve been caught speeding again. This time 57 in a 50 zone.

My fault it was after night shift.

I’ve now set up my sat nav at all times

It reminds me when I’m going too fast

Little else to report.

The pace of the last few days has changed to a welcomed and silent coffee at the kitchen table.

Albert is happy we are home

By the look of the white duvet cover on my bed he looks as though he’s been making snow angels

Night shift tonight

Kew

Now I know Kew Gardens well, it’s a favourite place for me and Nu to go and talk as we amble down the avenues of trees , through the glass houses and by the lakes.

On a beautiful day it’s especially impressive , and doubly so given the scorching high temperatures we’ve been experiencing recently.

Kew has been on Janet’s bucket list for ages , so it was nice for her to tick the box so to speak .

She was up in the hot house platforms like a whippet , with me in tow , but as I really don’t do heights , I refused the tree top walk ( next photo) as 60 feet is out of my play zone.