An instance.

 Hello darlin can you shut the back door?  It's the window cleaner.  My first brush with humanity after retiring with this hideous headache.  I go and check my purse to see that I have the right cash for him.  My cash normally goes on him or fish and chips, the last £20 went on that, £30 for three fish and chips, no longer cheap (to be metered out between four. 

Living with a ginnel between the houses is a surprise for me.  It can be choked for instance with all the stuff they are taking out of the house which is being renovated, or builder's vans or even cars.  Cars are somewhat frowned upon and little altercations will go on.  The man in charge of the flats over the way was upset by the car that had parked in front of his row of dustbins.  So he carefully moved the dustbins in front of the car.  The car man still went on parking in the ginnel after he had moved the dustbins, then Lillie put a note on the gate which said obviously 'Please do not park in front of the Gate.  The car has gone, we feel guilty of course.

Guilt to my mind is a peculiar pleasure we indulge ourselves in.   I can feel guilty about many things past or present.  It is a foolish emotion.  And yes it doesn't worry me being addressed as 'darlin', it is the window cleaner's way of speaking and as I fork out the money for five minutes of work, I think this is also justified as well, keeping the wheels of work going around.

I don't think we will go back to the High Streets we once knew, or to cash for all our goods.  Though I suspect there will be some trades who will still take 'cash in hand' but that is the way of the world.

Why do I get such headaches, and why do I know they will eventually get better around three in the afternoon.  It's the weather and that high pressure which has once again moved in.  Yesterday I listened to Kevin Anderson spelling out the physics of why we are going through climate change.  I choose to listen to him but (and this is so important when you listen to other people) I willingly  also let my skepticism rule. He was fascinating in his political talk as well.  As a professor he chose to work one day a week, he was happy with his £28,000 annual salary for work done.  He was happy with the flat he had.  In other words he had made peace with his world. And more important allowed the new change in. Alas shocking news ;) ;) he had done some work for Burnham as well.  So we will see if the two oil fields come on line or not.

Playing

 Well flicking through my photos I came across a folder one called Miniatures.  It recalled the years I had furnished the Georgian dolls house we had plus of course making little boxed room sets.  I had all the tools, a miniature lathe, tiny drills and chisels and sent off for specialised wood from an expert.

I had bought the dolls house at Tridias the toy shop in Walcot Street in Bath, also a small octagonal shop, with a gold cupola on top, an imitation of Beckford's Tower up on the downs.  I fitted the shop with shelves and made the hats from bits and pieces.  Note: simple way to make hats from felt, is to shape with glue and then mould onto the bottom of the rounded base of screwdriver, something round anyway.

Then I went on to creating tableaus in  boxes.  Firstly there was Farley Hungerford castle, we did a dig there and the custodian told wonderful stories about the ghosts of the castle.  For instance the three little children coffins  down in the crypt when once the custodian stayed down there one night in the crypt for a bet..  She was woken up in the middle of the night by a child's voice saying 'I'm  cold'!  Yes I was a bit sceptical as well but she put her coat over the coffin.   At the moment l am listening to Barbara Erskine and her book which talks of leaving a wife to starve too death.  'Lady of Hay'.  Is  the book. The second photo with its chain and swords were put to good use by Tom for killing the dolls;)

When I had nimble finger making the pictures and frames was easy.  Though I note I was in my William Morris stage.  I started buying furniture, intricately perfected by much better miniature furniture people than myself and Christmas arrived in the scene with the purchase of a Xmas tree.

Then my favourite, Prittlewell Saxon Burial.  A father buried by his sons. Pagan and Christian objects within the burial chamber.  I used my little Persian salt and pepper silver bowls and enjoyed creating the timbered effect out of soft wood. Also the bags and Roman chair had leather from a purse.

I had found a box of all the little pieces of china, I must have kept, it sits now on my desk, Lillie hasn't found it yet, she was the only one interested in the Georgian dolls house, it had become a 'grown-up' hobby unless you think of yourself as a child of course.

Two early ones than I finish: the first is a sketch of Gandalf.  The story  of Lord of the Ring echoed through my life.  I was first introduced to it in Blonay by my then husband and have read it a couple of times.  A great classical telling of another imagined world.

The second tableau is of a small Roman temple, again the Roman temples round Somerset with their secrets.  There is one along the Bristol estuary that many little statues of dogs were found.  Apparently the saliva of a dog is healing - bet you didn't know that!

I think of Lucy occasionally

 

Which I often do!

It is Sunday, a day of peace and quiet, though Zelensky is pleading for more war weaponry but there is a stillness in the air and I have a sick headache unfortunately.  So a memory of Lucy.

We both suffered from untidy hair.  Lucy just knew when she landed in our house, that she had an easy billet. Eight years old and taken to The Dog's Trust for rehoming because she could not settle in the rented home of her owners and was a useless retrieving dog.  They had come back from Portugal with three dogs, two male and Lucy and because they were all put in a shed, she had barked and barked at this imprisonment.  Twice we went to the kennels near Thirsk and the second time she came home with us.  

To get to Thirsk we had to go down Sutton Bank, a steep road through a rather beautiful area, often shut when bad weather was around.  She sat in the back of the car and when we stopped to share a sandwich, she managed to scrounge most of it.  Yes she got to be rather plump.

I remember we had to leave her for the day with a friend and on coming back I asked had she behaved herself.  Well yes said the friend but she picked up her bowl of water and threw it across the kitchen, we had always gave her a heavily weighted bowl of water so that she wouldn't pick it up.

There was a determined but playful air to her, being 'naughty' amused Lucy greatly.  She also had some neurological problem, which would manifest itself occasionally at night times and she would pace restlessly around the house deliberately knocking the fireplace's bits and pieces over.

A walk was practically a no-no and there's me wanting the companionship of a dog to go walking, she agreed to walk down the lane to a farm gate, then with a jump and a swizzle she would turn round and pull me back home.  Once as we came back out of the fields and I was shutting the gate, she slipped the lead and went trotting off back home refusing to stop and I watched with heart in mouth as she went on the road over the bridge into the face of oncoming traffic. Luckily, She made it home safely with cars stopping. 

Paul adored her, as long as I kept her clean for the car, no beck swimming.  For some reason she always managed to start the car alarm going, so it meant someone had to stay in the car with her when we were grocery shopping.

When at the age of thirteen years old she had a stroke, and I had to make the decision of her being put down.  Though my son's best friend said putting down a dog was murder.  Such a forthright statement needs thinking over but it is true, though we do it for  a good reason.  I was all alone at the time, when I took her to the vet but as usual held her paw, as I had done with all my animals as she went under.  Breaking your heart over animals  somehow seems silly but the happiness they give you through their short lives compensates you.

But she had a good five years with us.  Our wandering in Yorkshire took us to churches and the moors, she would grab the lead in her mouth, fully independent and just follow us.

Dancing with joy

Sometimes I get tired of all the gloom and misery about the terrible time the North has with all their problems.  But then the Wakefield Morris Dancers come dancing across my screen and for all those moaners who want it to be "like it was before".  Just cop a look at this, for gaiety and frivolousness you can't beat a Morris dance, as I'm sure Ariel would agree. 

It was the dance in the sea that made me laugh out loud, you can only find it on F/B on their site,  (Wakefield Morris Dancers) and it is at Sidmouth Folk Festival, I think the group will now be found in Whitby for the festival there.

Their Wakefield appearance at the Rhubarb Festival here, note Ramsdens,(famous fish and chips outlet)  but  now the once famous name has become a pawnbroker!

Wakefield has plenty of culture by the way, plenty of sculpture in their outside spaces and galleries.  All spurred on by what must be the two most famous names that were born here - Barbara Hepworth and Henry Moore.

Writing in his The Anatomie of Abuses (1583), a sort of Elizabethan version of the Daily Mail which excoriated the declining state of England and the degenerate behaviour of its people, Stubbs turns the full force of his censorious quill on the morris men: "They strike up the Devil's Dance withall: then march this heathen company towards the church and churchyards, their pypers pyping, the drummers thundering, their stumpes dancing, their belles jyngling, their hankercheefes fluttering about their heads like madde men." More than four centuries later, they are still doing so; in fact, the pastime appears to gaining popularity. taken from The Independent.

Taken from an earlier blog

Morris: A Life with bells on; trailer

7th August 2026

 It was cool yesterday, showers all day, and puddles in the road! Again, the trains were playing up.  Ninety seconds of an interruption of the signalling and the whole theatre practically closed down.  My daughter will tell you of people sitting on trains waiting for them to move, or the sudden rush of people across the platform as a rumor has gone out that another train is about to move.  She calmly goes to a restaurant, has a meal and reads a book.  A train eventually got  her to Rochdale, no replacement bus so an Uber to Tod.

All I can think of is rather than play around with money on the stock exchange, especially AI, put the money to a decent use, clean up the water and see that our rolling stock is up to date and of course build more houses and see that people do not starve, even the food banks are finding the shelves more empty.

Speculation and gambling?  we now talk in trillions rather than billions, though you can slide quite easily out of being the richest person on the planet  as Elon Musk was last week, or maybe the second one this week.  Not really important, as the money doesn't even really exist, just scribbles on a bit of paper. 

Well Burnham is settling down to the job, his 'shocks' metered out over the days.  I am not quite sure what to make of him, he has got social care in his baggage but it is a giant of a problem.

Yesterday I filled in one of the innumerable surveys that make their way across my emails.  This time Nova Media.  I like their discussions, youngish people musing on the daily going on in the world.  They are striking out into new premises and of course the future lies in these start-up news venues. Note: it gives me kudos with the young in the family by the way! 

There is so much to read on the net, with Substack for instance, a lot may be nonsense, but it broadens the mind.  We are definitely becoming a 'Babylon' of words.  

Which reminds me, of a quote by H.G.Wells, when all our little egos will become part of the one large ego of the world. We will be (was he prescient I wonder;) subsumed by AI no less.

Strikes me as funny

3rd August 2026 - Yorkshire

 

When one cannot find something to write about, I run through my photos for a bright spark to engage the numb brain.  Trouble is if I do the same on my blog I spend time reading the stuff I wrote so many years ago.  Look at these beautiful trees, planted on a slope, the soil has washed away, exposing the roots but their grip is solid. Another line of trees below, up on Wheeldale Moor.  Has a tree fallen allowing suckling branches to grow or is it the work of a peasant that once lived here a couple of centuries ago.

This was once a cottage I think but more recent history says it was a building, for walkers maybe, a piece of history I have not looked into.  There is a pair of stones placed as for a gate at one time but now overgrown with bracken.

Catch up news The crypt under the church of St. Mary, Lastingham

In answer to Dawkin's book - The God Delusion, (Yorkshire Pudding) I would argue that there is a need for religion, whether you believe or not.  Humans were born with a need for creativity, from the first charcoal drawings on the walls of caves to the intricately built cathedrals.  The need to create was overwhelming it just needed a channel to open up the way.  Of course the foolishness of men (yes that stays) who wanted to dominate, a whole class of stupidness was born, mostly it had to do with power and greed.  Also, probably not thought of, a need for  developing brain power to workout.  It went horribly wrong and there was no God to pick up the pieces!

Ghosts always interesting to carry along.

31st July 2026

Something more cheerful or a start;  Jablog said about writing a book of my family, I  somehow don't think that would be welcome.  But that admirably titled book 'My family and other animals' by Gerald Durrell twitched my inner giggle because I have been unfairly accused of loving my animals better than my children.  As if!

I will speak out for animals of course, and I did have my quota of dogs, cats, rabbits during my lifetime but that was it.  Also, I looked after the 'acquired' pets of my son, frogs, which I had to dig worms from the garden for.

Shamefully I was indulged in childhood with a pony and a St. Bernard at one stage but dogs drifted in and out of our household at the time.  Rescued probably.  Also, Snowy the cat, with one green and one blue eye, who could never make up her mind as to whether she lived with us or next door.

On my shelves are two drafts of manuscripts, one by Con Opper the other by Lotta Opper.  One is very bureaucratic, the other a bit too honest on relationships.  So neither would find a market and are only of interest to the family.  I think like most families we looked for the exotic in our family or at least a brief brush with royalty, either side of the bedsheet! 

Being born illegitimate  and in my time as a child it was shameful, the word used was bastard.  Then spending a good part of my life thinking I was part Jewish, only to find out that my mother came from Staffordshire in the Midlands I realised the fibs one is told as a child are really not good.  

My Jewish friend who I went riding with tried to convince me to go out when I was in my twenties to Israel and join a Kibbutz.  Thank goodness I did not, what a terrible dilemma I would have faced as I watched the settlers taking the land off the Palestinians.  How would I have reacted?  

These small changes in our lifestyle can have so many repercussions later in life.

The grandchildren growing up, are though, very similar to our animals in the way they grow up.  We laugh delightedly at their antics.  Their energy tamed over time into what is expected of them - I would add the word sadly  there.  For we must always subscribe to the norm of our class, a word I hate for its implications but so necessary when describing one's background.  Like the labelling in our blogs we hit a number of defined statistics in life.

The question is do they explain us?

 --------------------------------------------- 

The fridge/freezer has given up the ghost in this weather.  It is German and brightly coloured (orange for goodness sake)and has been struggling the last two weeks.  The freezer parts still work but the fridge has packed in.  It will be removed tomorrow and a new sedate silver one installed.  No flashing bright lights, no ice making frippery or cold water on tap just a plain old fridge/freezer to harbour the many dishes and foodstuffs only a fridge can accumulate. 

We have the scouts small camping fridge to keep cheeses, butter and milk cold but that is all till tomorrow.  We also have a cold basement but no one really wants to trot down there for milk for the tea or coffee.

A photo seen by millions

 

France on fire.  Ringside view

This couple are of course unable to do anything about the fires that burn in Europe, or even in the UK.  I ceased saying anything years ago about climate change.  It has only been on the table this last 30 years, people just did not want to know.  And we, so like this couple will sit back and watch, listen to the ceaseless arguments about fossil fuel being 'needed' and some will wonder at the laziness of the population in not making more direct action to at least  remedy what is happening now.

People will be evacuated, wild life will be left to their fate.  Land will be scorched and crops burnt.  Not a future we should leave for our children.  

Kevin Anderson climate engineer

Kevin Anderson (scientist) - Wikipedia

29th July 2026

 Thinking of food.  Yesterday was Scandinavian.  Yes two of the clan went out hunting in Greater Manchester yesterday at Ikea.  Basically it was just a walk around the store, funny how men do not like Ikea, a feast for the eyes in stuff you would never think of owning.  Luckily as we do not have a car, nothing large came home with them except storage bags and meatballs with the necessary meatball gravy.

All the news is about Andy Burnham, I think it is asking rather a lot of him to turn Britain into another Manchester success.  Do you notice how I do not say Great Britain, I dropped the great when the unfortunate Brexit was delivered to us on a plate and ever since it has been a downward spiral.  

Actually we should set Burnham on the train service, its ups and down and replacement buses are exhausting for many people.  But today he is to address the thorny issue of social care, it will be an interesting speech and also talk of cross party engagement, times they are a-changing.

In September the whole family is setting off for Switzerland for a weekend visit, Andrew who loves planning has jogged us into acquiring passports (me) and insurance.  I think there is a car being hired there, but there should be about ten of us going, give or take girlfriends/boyfriends and their ongoing relationships!

Of family out there only Marc and Sylvia, so in all it will be rather sad.  Sylvia is Karen's aunt, she taught in Hong Kong for many years and is an expert on Piaget.  Then there is Marc, successful businessman but slowly retiring from work.  I think this is because of a terrible car accident he had, I think it was with a tank but I shall find out more on it.

28th July 2026

Byland Abbey

Buried in the valley this English abbey reminds me of those lost temples in Peru. Hidden by dense jungle, only now such abbeys in this country as Rievaulx and Byland lie hidden in the North Yorkshire valleys.  Once home to a thriving community of monks.  Now vanished with time.  The good and the bad must have played out their stories in these buildings.  The 'greater glory of God' worshipped within the great stone walls.  Meike's blog reminded me of having never visiting Fountain's Abbey.  I owned a book once on the ruined abbeys of England.  It was by an American author, who had listed all the abbots in succession of the abbeys he had visited.  The usual attention to detail of 19th century writers.

What brings it sharply to mind?  Could be I was watching the tv drama 'The Rapture' yesterday.  A psychological drama, one of those weirdo cults, that every now and then comes into being.  The Rapture is of course, the coming of the end of life on Earth? (not sure about that) but anyway you are flown to heaven.  It is a nice cosy comfort story.

   

In the drama, heat temperatures have risen and the young are panicking about it, in other words it encompasses all that we fear today.  The restlessness amongst the young and the theme of the story, a young girl supposed to have killed her mother and now she beats herself against a window longing to be outside but she is trapped in a psychiatric hospital,  all very  reflective of our society today;

Change is happening, we all aware of that, it thrums in the air as agitation rises in  protest groups.  A battle is being fought, you maybe can't see it but fear stalks our young.  Capitalism is out of balance, it comes crashing into our lives, leaving us worried about food on the table and a roof over our heads.  Yes it is quite alright for some baby boomers, secure in their very expensive houses, paid up  mortgages  out of the way, but many of the young do not have this advantage.

So we once more look to a different guru to solve the problem (unsolvable).  There is a slow movement going back to the socialist fold but there is a fair proportion of the population following in the steps of Farage and asserting their rights to be who they are and (don't forget this) shutting down everyone else's rights.  The constraints of fascism are beginning to appear.

But I am old and heading for my place in the sky;) So I will leave you with a Japanese, sort of frittata omelet  and a foggy Yorkshire England.

North Stoke: fog (and notes)

North Stoke: Okonomiyaki cooked at the table

This was a Japanese restaurant somewhere near the British Museum and funnily enough the two sauces used to enliven the pancake is a brown sauce very similar to our brown sauce and a  Japanese mayonnaise.

Off track

 

The wedding of William and Catherine 29th April 2011

And I wrote these words the following day, not exactly over excited by their wedding ...   but I did mention it.  So much water has passed under the bridge since then.  Three attractive children later means the strong line of the Windsors is going forward. 

William's brother Harry in  disgrace living in America. Is the real reason that he is shunned by the royal family his marriage to Megan, a film star in her own right? She definitely raised the hackles of some of the royal family.

Andrew, William's uncle also in disgrace because of his connection with Epstein.  He is, there is no other way of saying it, a rather stupid man.  At the moment flailing around at the unkindness of the world. 

 

Charles survives as king, mostly untouched by the scandal of these two.  Like Catherine he has been seriously ill.  He came to the throne late but is thought well of, that is, if you are a royalist.

And I was only looking for meadowsweet photos. Click once on photos for larger views.

Buddha Fields

North Stoke: Catching up

24th July 2026

Teasels Dipsacus Fullonum;  I love the perfection of this plant.  Guarded on all sides by its spikes, even the stem, it is defiant and its colour from the faintest silver to the dark purple and then brown (a final act)  is a lesson in growing old.

When we lived in Essex near to Chelmsford, we would often wander round the area and it was very beautiful in places.  Lost little spaces of tangled wild flowers and lanes coming to an abrupt stop.  We were near to Sandford Mill, and there seemed to be a lot of teasels around.  On reflection they could be the progeny of the clothier teasel, (OE taesan, to tease) used to brush the surface of cloth and Grigson gives many local names for it.

To quote Grigson;  In the Wild Teasel the bracts are straight, the Fullers' Teasel they curve back, and so can be used to raise the nap on the newly woven cloth.

Meadowsweet has also crept in because it is a favourite as well.

Interesting historical fact?:   Apparently the goldfinch was seen as a special healing kind of bird in the medieval period and can be found occasionally in paintings.  Why? because the little goldfinches' red face came about because it plucked the thorns out of Christ's thorn crown.  Goldfinches love teasel seeds by the way.

Grigson goes from the Roman naming of the plant, Labruim Veneris - Lip of Venus, to William Turner in 1548 calling it virgo pastoris - Shepherd's Rod.  It's local naming holds the word brush as part of the description, Gipsy Brush, Ladies Brush, Barber' Brush, etc.

Another fact;  in the Wiki on this plant, and  from Darwin's son Francis Darwin's work  is to do with carnivory...

"Rain water can collect in the cup-like receptacles that form where sessile leaves join the stem; this structure may perform the function of preventing sap-sucking insects such as aphids from climbing the stem. These receptacles in turn may also be used to collect the nutrients from any animal matter that accumulates within them, making them a form of protocarnivorous plants"

I should think the sapsucking insects would be put off by the fine spikes that cover the stem.

Moment of doubt, I have many of them, perhaps it is a thistle said that annoying little gnome in my head.  But thistles have a different shape! ;)

The inspiration for teasels come from Shadows and Light, and as I wandered through my blogs it brought back happy memories, especially now as I hardly see any wild flowers.

23rd July 2026

 

Wild Icelandic ponies on my front page greet me this morning, they are similar to our Dartmoor and Exmoor ponies.  When William Morris made a visit to Iceland he bought back a pony for his children.  Now that is a present that needed some packaging on the boat!  He was called Mouse.  Note I call the above ponies because they look below 14 hands but there is a tendency nowadays to call most ponies as horses but I am not going to check.

When I view my tablet I get a whole lot of different news, especially at the moment with philosophical homilies. yes they can be boring.  Though those of us who grow old would perhaps like The Marginalian  An American magazine, I think on screen as well. 

There had been an article on growing old, Bertrand Russell was quoted as was Henry Miller.  Everyone down the centuries have words to say before they face their end.

Do we see things differently from the Americans? Silly question of course we do but I think in our feelings towards the philosophical art forms we tread the same ground or pathways.  The intelligentsia of the past is brought forward into the present.  History as a written word which  in our Western world is in Roman and Greek time makes this happen.

But I will stop being gloomy and mark my latest find, a rather romantic view of Richard Jeffries.  A video that traces the past of this writer and perhaps a reminder that it is good to protect our old cottages and villages from the vandals who will 'do them up'

And just as I was writing, an email from Rebecca Solnit came through.  It unfortunately contains rotten detail of rape and therefore comes with a warning but interestingly covers the new film of Odyssey as well.  Anyway it is a record of today.

Wittering

 Radio Caroline, I bet that takes you back!  Pirate Radio, illegal music no less, how far we have come from those days.  Glastonbury rules the big concerts of music today, and even manages to squash in some oldies  as well.

I remember a book I bought my young son 'The Way Things Work' and was fascinated by the mechanical action of machinery. 

Well onboard Radio Caroline they had a generator to make things happen in the 1960s.  So old fashioned. Apparently there are still plenty of illegal radio shows around.

When the young descend on this household, this time Matilda and Lucien, the talk revolves around music, films and celebrities they meet in the clubs.  Lucien is intrigued by the 'olden days'. My one and only clash with the famous 'Rolling Stones (before they were famous) on Eel Pie Island is all I can offer up.

But how the ship Radio Caroline worked is discussed and that old method of radio waves, they are still around, worked.  Now we have satellites cluttering the space around Earth, a digital paradise of knowledge.  Always up for expansion but draining our world of precious water.  And, I think our brain power.

I see Burnham has taken the 5% VAT tax of electricity whilst allowing the Rosebank (field of oil?) and another oil source free run.  Apparently they do not pay tax on the enormous amount of money they profit from the oil.  It was always thus. But I am getting political - yikes.

So I shall write of something else.  Which is 'wokeness', apparently it follows on from socialism and not empathy.  We had got round to discussing words not allowed now.  I had been mulling over mental asylum.  Now I can use it in a 19th century context with no fear of being leapt on.  For instance, the famous nature poet John Clare ended up in a mental asylum.  

But there is stigma attached to the words which makes it offensive today.

So phones were addressed to see how we would call a medical centre for people with problems.  So I mentioned Wakefield Hospital, I had read a book on someone from Hebden Bridge ending up there and he had given a perfectly normal report of it.  So asking Wikipedia about it, and it came up with this answer.

A psychiatric hospital, also known as a mental health hospital, a behavioral health hospital, or an asylum is a specialized medical facility that focuses on the treatment of severe mental disorders. 

I am rather worried about the restriction of words by today's measures but it is also fascinating to see how words are replaced by modern thinking.  We have all railed against the misogyny and racist appeal of old comedians and their jokes in the past and it seems to have fallen by the wayside thank goodness.  But it has taken me a long time to use the word 'they' for him or her.  

A happy edit:  Tom Stephenson left a comment below on the blog before this one. It is lovely to see him around still!

Family history

 

 A random photo.  It was taken 50 odd years ago.  Myself and my daughter by the pool at Es Planches in Blonay.   At the time I am  happily married to Nick before the terrible crash that took his life a couple of years later.  Our daughter Karen in the photo is still a baby.

The car crash robbed me of a much loved husband, a father for Karen and the youngest son of Con and Lotta Opper.   Of course such things happen to many people but it has a profound effect individually.  

It is something I never talk about, the grief at the time was unbearable.  Nick had called in at Oxford to meet an old friend, David Double and was driving back home, which was Woking in Surrey at that time.

After the car crash. Down to a foolish women pulling out without looking to see if there was any one coming, Nick was taken to a Nottingham hospital.  Con and Lotta came over immediately and for a fortnight till his death, he was unconscious, the prognosis was that he would have probably been confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his life.  I remember Lotta saying that perhaps his death was the best outcome for him, for me that was impossible, but death settled the matter.

His death hung over the family for years, his three siblings, all older were also traumatised as well.  Annabel his sister would  have often take on a mothering role and visited him when he was at  school or later at Oxford, taking him out for a meal.  For, like most families that worked overseas all the children were educated in England at boarding schools.

The Swiss connection for my family has always been strong, each year my daughter, Karen and I  would spend  a summer month in Switzerland, Con always good with both Karen and Marc, Annabel's boy, would keep us all entertained whilst Lotta would keep the peace with two youngsters rushing around.

A rundown of those people in the photo.  From the left, a lady from one of those minor Eastern European countries (it will come to me).  Next Lotta, then Florine Katz (Karen's godmother) from America.  Sylvia in the centre.  Then Florine's husband Eugene.  Next Annabel with Marc's friend.  The three below are Marc, Karen and me.

There is a fourth sibling but as Michael lived in Canada we did not see much of him.  He had become a boxer at one stage than a lumberjack working in the forest.  He had married Sharon, daughter of a newspaper owner, and sad to say addicted somewhat to drugs.  She was to go off to India to follow one of the gurus that were in fashion at the time.  It also happened in our family as well,  this time my cousin.  The Beatles had a lot to answer for....

What funny photos we take of ourselves, the one above is surely taken by Marc and he is messing around making us cross!

Marc had been brought up in Iran on an oil camp in the desert, so he was a bit rough with his younger cousin Karen.  With his farming friend they would wander around with a knife and air gun.  I cannot but look at a picture of him now, overweight and a successful business behind him and giggle at the transformation.

Marc had an impetuous nature as a boy.  Once while sitting at a Swiss restaurant he put his hand on the hot plate in the centre of the table and burnt his hand badly.  He would push through crowds without thinking and there would be a lot of crossness at his behaviour and us apologising as  we followed him behind.

This is for my grandchildren, especially Lillie, who bought me a book to record my history with the Opper family.  Mostly I think photos tell a better story than words.

At Gruyere, a family annual photo capture. at the same spot See below

Canadian side of the family in snowy Switzerland rather than Canada

Sunday 19th July 2026

 It is Sunday. a quiet and peaceful day.  I have been round the blogs, seen Going Gently's long photo album of happy people being together in the Rectory Garden.  I went out yesterday to the Folklore cafe there was a 'maker's market' though hardly many stalls.  But as I opened the cafe door, the sound of children's excited voices hit me.  Families were gathered together in little clusters on the sofas playing games, and I realised this was also a happening.

The Folklore Centre has been closed mostly over winter and up to now.  One reason is because the pavement has been closed for the Hippodrome works.  Also because more money was needed.  But it has been slowly opening with different small venues happening.  A certain emphasis on feminist speakers, which is not my kind of thing.  Just feel we should have moved forward on that issue.

Anyway Holly was there and we chatted and I  bought three pieces of fabric from her.  It is sad because such a warm and friendly place where people gather is hamstrung by the need for money.  The building is I believe owned by a baker from Hebden Bridge, and he is happy to run the cafe and the bakery behind but with a certain emphasis on Vegan fare, which I would think  is only enjoyed by vegans.  His bread is lovely by the way - real organic.

Holly by the way is the leading force behind the Folklore Centre, with the big library of books upstairs in the cafe she has led the way and worked very hard to keep the Centre going.  And, I believe it has taken its toll on her health. 

A photo of several stones piled together at Stanton Drew stone circle, which is behind.  The circle with two smaller ones inside is I think the third largest stone circle in Britain.  The ones piled together by some farmer in the past, were probably a small avenue that led down to the river.  The relationship of the church which you can see in the background, is once more the need for the religious faith of the church to dominate the pagan stones.

Edit: One of the smaller stone circles was outside. I had written a lot about this circle, because it also influenced the John Woods, builders of Bath Georgian houses and the thinking which influenced them.

So two links.

Stanton Drew

Druidical Bath

Ness of Brodgar  Which just happened yesterday.

Gathering the News

The Binman:  Okay, collective failure of British people to take life seriously.  We welcome you alien garbage bin from outer space.  Government will even make it legal to enter  into the hallowed space of Parliament for strangely dressed creatures.

Nigel, poor lamb chop,  you shot yourself in the foot this time, let us hope it is the end of your despotic, despairing, disgusting play for power.  Being ripped apart by the country is so unfair!!  Well the link is playing up so I will just give its link to You tube.   link

As for the Binman he seems quite lucid, maybe he will make a better MP for Clacton,  but does he live in Clacton?  I forgot, you can be an MP in any part of the country according to your party.  Some of us see that as wrong, especially since Nigel tends to be in America a lot of the time.  Which reminds me of the Marsh Family, who have been growing up before my eyes the last couple of years.  Their naive songs appeal, and it is a nice historic memory to gather.

Saturday, I have finished my morning coffee, the house is empty.  Andrew has taken the train to Mytholmroyd to walk back over the moors to Tod.  Karen off to Manchester to work.  Lillie off to scouts camp with three large backpacks of stuff, knocking stuff off the shelves as she went.  Matilda is down tomorrow for a few days.