Equality

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dear Reader,

 

 

The years seem to go by very quickly these days and it is difficult to believe that it is Christmas time again.  Of course we all had a strange Christmas last year due to the pandemic. My family joined us here at the house and we had mulled wine in the garden and then sang some carols.  Emma, who has a lovely voice, sang some songs from musicals and we all joined in. It was a very jolly occasion but not Christmas as we know it and look forward to each year.  Still with luck we will be able to enjoy a traditional day this Christmas.

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The photographs this week are to do with the poem.

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Taken from Francis Kilvert's Diary, Christmas Eve, 1872

'The churchwarden Jacob Knight was sitting by his sister in front of the roaring fire.  We were talking of the death of Major Torrens on the ice at Corsham pond yesterday.  Speaking of people slipping and falling on ice the good churchwarden sagely remarked, 'Some do fall on their faces and some do fall on their rumps.  And they as do hold their selves uncommon stiff do most in generally fall on their rumps.'

I took old John Bryant a Christmas packet of tea and sugar and raisins from my Mother.  The old man had covered himself almost entirely over in his bed to keep himself warm, like a marmot in its nest.  He said, 'If I live till New Year's Day I shall have seen ninety-six New Years.'  He also said, 'I do often see things flying about me, thousands and thousands of them about half the size of a large pea, and they are red, white, blue and yellow and all colours.  I asked Mr.Morgan what they were and he said they were spirits of just men made perfect.'

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I often think I see spirits in the garden.  I decided they were spirits of friends who had died, just checking up on me.  Sending me love.

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Equality

Christmas Day.
The house fills with laughter, music,
the tree sparkles, aglow with stars,
angels and white roses.
Under ribboned branches, a present pile,
exciting, enticing, the children
jump, squeal, and dance, eyes bright.
The turkey is succulent, the pudding sweet,
there are chocolates, crackers, jokes.
But a thought buzzes, wasp-like in my head:
while families reunite, reaffirm love, smile, chat
I think of those who have none of that.

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With best wishes, Patricia