Postcards from the French Front

Mrs J.G Strangham, 7 West Avenue, Forest Hall, Newcastle-upon-Tyne, England

'My dear wife and kiddies Sunday (undated)

This is a new series of cards and as I am busy with a long letter for you (so that you shall get it on Sunday (green) I thought that I would just let you know how I am getting on. I got your letter tonight and I see that you are troubling very much about me standing the weather conditions. Well dears, I am pleased to tell you that I am in good form again. The weather is much better and it has been glorious today. I was out today for a long walk and quite enjoyed it. Just got back to camp in nice time for tea. Best love and good hopes that you will...(writing is damaged at this point)...you have had bad (writing is damaged) yourself I see. (?) send another card tomorrow. God bless you all and keep you until I return again your loving hubby. xxoxxxxxxxoo'

Miss Isa M Strangham, 7 West Avenue, Forest Hall, Newcastle on Tyne, England

Wed 22/8/17

'Now my little darling, what do you think of this rose? I was pleased to get your painting it was very lovely I am sure. You want to put your hair in ringlets (?) do you? Well you can if you want to; you shouldn't have bothered to ask me about that when I am not at home, you know when I look at your photo I always see a little girl with wavy hair so you see it doesn't matter a little bit. I hope you have enjoyed your holidays but I thought you had another week yet. I was pleased to get Molly's photo. I am quite well, write later (word obscured) best love daddy oxxxxooxx Busy as usual'

Friday Nov 22 18

My darling little girl

I was very pleased the other day when I got that nice long letter letting me know all your doings at the wedding. Were you not afraid when the padre and the other two officers came in. He would look smart when he got your mother's apron on, especially when he was such a great big man. Wouldn't it have been grand if your daddy had been one of the privates, I just fancy what you would say to this. The very thing we were wishing. Well I am glad my little dear that you are helping your mother as much as you can, of course you are getting a big girl now. I am longing to see those photographs of Albert and you. I hope that all of you are still keeping clear of the flue (sp). (Referring to the 1918 Spanish Flu Pandemic) Poor little Betty, tell her uncle sends some xs for her. I hope your auntie Annie is a lot better now and all the others who are sick. Tell grandma she has to be careful and not any cold. I see that you have another week holiday why don't you keep it until your daddy gets home? I am quite well will close with best love and kisses to Albert and yourself from your loving daddy

I do hope he made it home to his 'kiddies' and in one piece.

Lying fallow

It's been nearly five weeks since I duffed my arm up - I wish I could say that I've had a nice time of it and indulged in some serious relaxing, but until recently my days have been dull and pain filled - I don't mind admitting that I've had some pretty bleak moments. I had three cracks in my upper arm/shoulder joint and it was never going to be an instant heal; using it for anything has ranged from difficult to downright impossible.

From an early age I decided to dedicate myself to a creative life - there has been no room in my life for a 'proper job' which might have made things financially easier, nor for children who demand so much care and attention. All I ever wanted was what I had until recently, even during the many years when I barely earned a bean from it. Literally everything I do revolves around a rich, image filled inner world which soaks up inspiration from the outer world. Losing the physical ability to draw even a rough scribble has been a very hard lesson in learning to appreciate what I used to take for granted; my creative mind went dead for a while, which was almost worse than the constant pain.



So far, so self pitying. I also realise that it was my own silly fault for falling off a stile in the first place and that far worse things are happening in the world. It's not terminal and I am finally getting better. More to the point, I have really appreciated everyone's kind comments and private messages - thank you so much - if they were magic medicine I'd be turning cartwheels. I have also been the lucky recipient of this gorgeous stained glass fragment with engraved hare, from the hands of LiZZie - I have long admired her work, though our plastic window panes do not do this beauty justice. She sells similar items in her Etsy shop, and they are ideal Christmas presents, so warm and glowing.

Also, huge thanks to the kind friends who took the trouble to send me cards and little gifts, all of which brought bright points to my days. What is that horrid brown lump in front of them? Why, it's my voodoo quince of course.

While we were in Herefordshire, Andy went off exploring and returned with a quince. It was a golden, bumpy-lumpy hard fruit - inedible, but beautiful to look at. My arm was colourfully swathed at the time with wrap-around bruising which has only just faded, and I pretended that the quince was soaking the bad stuff up as I recovered. It will be at least a week before I have something approaching normal mobility, by which time my voodoo quince will be ready for a ceremonial dumping in the compost heap.

Next week I have a check-up x-ray to make sure everything in my silly arm is behaving. I can't feel anything crunching around inside anymore and I can put a little weight on it. I can chop vegetables again, spread butter on toast, do my trousers up and almost clean my teeth right handed again. When I can sleep in our bed again, not the saggy sofa, when I can haul myself out of the bath on my own (thank you Andy!) and needle felt for more than ten minutes without cramping up, I will be properly well again and be a little less boring.

Herefordshire break

After our last disastrous attempt to go on holiday, we planned the next one very carefully. We booked an annex in a 15th century farmhouse in rural Herefordshire, one of the last few un-spoilt areas of England. It is just a county away from us, so not too far on the bike and the weather was set fair. Our landlady was lovely and so was the cottage. A mediaeval traditionally built timber frame with original cruck frame construction inside, dating back to the early 1400's and far older than our little 240 year old stone Cotswold home.

Unfortunately it was also on the edge of a busy road, with a constant stream of heavy traffic which barely stopped except for a few hours at night. It was a bit of a change from our own peaceful little lane. However, we had lots of outings planned, Andy had almost every detailed map of the county and had Googled the backside out of Herefordshire, so walks and little trips to historic towns would keep us busy. Neither of us had been here before and walking round the village we were charmed by the plethora of historic timber framed houses, part of the famous Black and White Trail.

For Phil Rickman fans, this is Merrily Watkins territory, the mysterious, shadowy Borderlands between England and Wales. He is one of my favourite writers, so this was a bit of a pilgrimage for me.

On our first full day last Sunday, we biked over to the pretty village of Lingen to do a big circular walk through woods and fields. It was about then that we began to fall in love with the Herefordshire countryside; I felt distinctly unfaithful to my beloved Cotswolds. Not only is it stuffed with interesting and beautiful buildings -

- but it is plumply cushioned with trees - even more than we have and most of them deciduous; nice mixed native woodlands hummocking the gentle swells of the landscape.

It was a last echo of summer and we happily strolled for about six miles, noticing the differences in flora and fauna, soaking up the warm autumnal sunshine. We stopped to share a pork pie and watch a Red Kite hunting over the ploughed fields. It had been, we hardly dared say it, the most perfect of days, full of interest and pleasantness. Life seemed very sweet indeed and we were destined to have a wonderful holiday. Oh hubris! Oh fickle Gods!

We were about half a mile from Lingen, where the bike was parked, coming along a woodland path, Andy ahead as usual, with me pottering behind. Then I came across what was to be my final hurdle. Instead of the usual stile with handy stepover, there was a cobbled together construction consisting of a wooden fence panel and a resty metal gate, the only way past being to climb over precariously or squeeze round the tiny gap at the edge. Not wishing to turn one of my ankles as I'm prone to do, I began climbing the slim posted hurdle. At some point gravity and I had a disagreement because somehow I found myself falling backwards, landing directly onto my shoulder and slamming my right arm - my working arm - into the hard earth.

I screamed twice, loudly. Poor Andy came running up the track, white and frightened. I almost fainted from the sheer agony of trying to sit up, but we eventually managed it and he called 999 for an ambulance. At this point, even though I was practically vomiting from the pain of every step forward, I was determined to get on the back of the bike to be taken to hospital, a barmy idea I quickly gave up as I stumbled along the last of the footpath, cradling my useless arm. Andy ran ahead to Lingen, coming across the dispersing congregation of the Methodist chapel, who had just finished their Harvest service.

A nice man with a soft Welsh accent drove his Landrover up and drove me back to Lingen, to the pub. Soon I seemed to be the centre of attention, with concerned villagers cooing over me. The local nurse arrived to look after me until the ambulance arrived. I have never in my life come across such collective kindness.

To cut a long and sorry saga short, I was whisked to the county hospital, (looked after by super ambulance medics) where eventually a fracture of my right shoulder area was diagnosed. As it was impossible for me to ride pillion on the bike we had to stay overnight in a city motel and the next day, after a proper sling was fitted, I somehow managed to get painfully back to our holiday cottage via country bus and taxi. With no other transport than the motorbike, I was confined to a couple of short village walks for the rest of the week, feeling terrible at ruining our holiday with my clumsiness. Andy's parents heroically drove down from the North to take me back to the Cotswolds by car at the end of our stay, which was wonderful. Thank you again - I know you read this sometimes.

Ten days on, my right arm is healing but useless. I am sleeping upright on our saggy sofa, as lying down is too painful. I can't work at anything and can barely lift a can of beans - needless to say I am bored and grouchy as hell and going loopy with inactivity. I wish I could be more graceful about it, but I am afraid I make a very bad invalid.

However the memory of the good will of the people of Lingen village is the shining bright light in the gloom and I've even managed to stay in contact. High on gas and oxygen, I shoved a Moo card in the nurse's hand before the ambulance took me away and have been able to update her and thank everyone. It was lovely to know that my recovery was toasted at the pub that evening, the Royal George and Andy has written to the Lingen village website, where his email has been posted on the front page. We have rather fallen in love with the area - and next year we will return.

(Typed with one hand and a pain killer).

Little Harvests

The garden is gently decaying into autumn dishevelment. It's been a good year; we've experienced a steep learning curve with the polytunnel and grown a staggering amount of tomatoes. We've had disappointments; too few green beans, a whole packet of Dumpling Squash which refused to germinate, not enough space to grow as many potatoes as we need. Slow Acorn Squash which are only just flowering - too late. Made mistakes; garlic which we misplanted and failed. Put courgettes in the tunnel when they didn't need to be. Planted them out once the broad beans were over and we had the space.

But these are part and parcel of gardening and no year is perfect. We hope to learn not to make the same mistakes twice (but often do). It's good to look back and see how our year went. Our once yearly pea indulgence - one whole packet scattered and grown closely in a small square.

Broad beans - we were ambivalent about this type, the Sutton; they didn't grow tall enough and the pods could have been longer. Nonetheless, fresh broad beans are heavenly, no matter what.

Growing a minuscule crop of round carrots in a tub.

They were quite small, a bit holey in places and funny shaped. Only enough for a few each, but they were the carrotiest carrots we've had since the last time we grew carrots.

Finally managing to grow one of my favourite flowers, sweet peas, in a big pot; they don't grow well in the garden and we need the space for veg. I luxuriated in having a regular posy of them to sweeten the air.

From August we have had mostly our own potatoes - not huge amounts, but just enough to keep us going. Duke of York reds -

Salad Rattes - a somewhat mean crop I thought, considering we planted two rows.

And good old reliable (not to mention delicious) King Edwards.

Our Boston Marrow squash were a big success. If a certain LB is reading this, then here are the results of your seed packet from America - thank you for the pleasure we've had with them.

We were rather proud.

There isn't really enough storage space to preserve these beauties safely, so they rest in majesty on the stairs.

We picked modest batches of strawberries all summer long.

And my new fig tree came complete with one magnificent, succulent fruit.

Tomatoes we had plenty of! What a beautiful crop it is to grow. From over-ripe sweet 'chezzers' -

- to big, bold beefsteaks. German Strawberries, golden orange and perfect for roasting -

A bountiful crop of Principe Borghese plum tomatoes - one of the best types we have grown, very prolific and one to remember for next year.

Buxom, blushing Brandywines, grown from seeds sent from the USA by Janet -

All these - and one small cucumber which somehow managed to grow in their midst, despite being crowded out.

However we grew far too many - we didn't have to dedicate the entire 14ft polytunnel to them. I think we've exorcised the memories of the last few years of blight now. Split tomatoes have their uses though.

Waiting for a cold winter's night when we will need some bottled summer.