I'm Watching You!

Actually, it's a case of 'who's watching who?' because I've been waiting for an opportunity to capture on camera this beautiful female Cardinal who comes daily to visit me. She peers through my office window and quite distracts me from my work - but usually she doesn't stay around very long. The slightest movement from me and she's gone! But today she lingered long enough...

"I see you," she says.

"And I see YOU," says me. "Please stay a while!" . "Hmm...you look better from this angle..."

"...or maybe this one...""Aaah, that's better -- face to face!"


My favorite weather is bird-chirping weather.

Loire Hartwould


"Hear! hear!" screamed the jay from a neighboring tree, where I had heard a tittering for some time, "winter has a concentrated and nutty kernel, if you know where to look for it."

Henry David Thorea

28 November 1858 journal entry

Birds sing after a storm; why shouldn't people feel as free to delight in whatever remains to them?

Rose F. Kennedy

http://www.quotegarden.com/

And Now, This!

Snow -- in October!

But I must admit, it's rather pretty.

The first fall of snow is not only an event, it is a magical event. You go to bed in one kind of a world and wake up in another quite different, and if this is not enchantment then where is it to be found?

J.B. Priestley

There's one good thing about snow; it makes your lawn look as nice as your neighbor's.

Clyde Moore

A snowflake is one of God's most fragile creations, but look what they can do when they stick together!

Author Unknown

To be interested in the changing seasons is a happier state of mind than to be hopelessly in love with spring.

George Santayana

http://www.quotegarden.com/

I promise not to whine about winter anymore :)

Fall Transitions

From this...

To this...

And from this...

To this...

The demise of summer: the descent into winter

"Then summer fades and passes and October comes. We'll smell smoke then, and feel an unexpected sharpness, a thrill of nervousness, swift elation, a sense of sadness and departure."

Thomas Wolfe

I like these cold, gray winter days. Days like these let you savor a bad mood.

Bill Watterson

When the bold branches

Bid farewell to rainbow leaves -

Welcome wool sweaters.

B. Cybrill

http://www.quotegarden.com/

We interrupt this program....

I have been dreading winter. Last year's was one of the worst I've ever experienced, I think. But, before winter, comes fall. And I LOVE fall -- and this year's has been a particularly beautiful one. So I am interrupting my reminiscing to fill your eyes and your soul with some beautiful sights from around our neighbourhood and vicinity.

About 10 days ago, on a beautiful warm (for October) day, I walked up to the post office and brought my camera with me. The leaves were just beginning to turn and the scent of Autumn filled the air. Our neighbours were no doubt enjoying this pretty tree. Not anymore. They now have a beautiful carpet of leaves on their lawn and a big job ahead of them!

Not sure what this bush is, but just a few days before, it was green!
Outside the post office -- a sure sign that summer is over.
Home again, and in our back garden -- this beautiful Maple sapling. The colours in these photos are all natural -- nothing enhanced. I have never seen so many fall pinks and mauves before.

Then, last week, DOTH (Daughter Of The House) and I were feeling a little housebound. It's getting dark around 6:30pm now, so we had an early supper and headed out to the local park.

Look at these gorgeous colours!

A pretty little creek runs through the park:

And since there was still a little bit of day-light we went down to the lakeshore:

"Red sky at night; shepherd's (or sailor's) delight." Can you see the tiny sailboat in the distance?

Finally, what a beautiful day we had for Thanksgiving (October 13th in Canada)! The grandchildren and DOTH had a great time, up to their arms in pumpkin!

So, yes, winter's coming. But when we are overwhelmed with snow and whipping, ice-cold winds, I'll look back at these fall photos and remember -- it's only for a season. Spring is coming soon!

My Claim to Fame

In 1946 our family moved from the south of England to the North. A change in my father's employment eventually initiated what became some wonderful memories for me and my sister.

First we moved to a house in Primrose Valley, Hunmanby in Yorkshire -- which is near Filey. I was a little under two years old, so my only memory about this home was being in the pram one day and looking up at a big brass warming pan hanging on the wall! I've been told it was a picturesque location, but from what I can discover via the 'net, Primrose Valley is now a holiday caravan-site mecca.

My father had left the RAF at the end of the war, and returned to his old employer, Kodak Wealdstone -- while maintaining his own photo studio in the family home on Regents Park Road in Finchley. But he began to seek greener pastures.

A new phenomenon was sweeping Britain at that time -- and his name was Billy Butlin. While there were already quite a few holiday camps in existence in Britain, Butlin took the whole concept to a whole new level by making them far bigger and by offering a previously unheard of range of entertainment and activities. Butlin's Holiday Camps were really in a league of their own and were far larger than anything seen before or since. 'Mega-camps' we would probably call them, these days.

The camps were like mini towns, in some cases spread over 200 acres, and were virtually self sufficient. They were eventually equipped with shopping arcades, indoor and outdoor pools, a whole range of sporting and entertainment facilities, a fairground, a host of bars and discos, professional theatre shows, amusement arcades, boating lakes and even churches. They also boasted hairdressing salons, newsagents, betting shops, launderettes and post offices. Some camps had chairlifts, miniature railways, water skiing and even monorails. It was quite possible for a family to remain on Butlins soil for the entire duration of their trip, and many did.

The best part was that most of these activities were free and Butlins pioneered the use of all-in-one admission in Britain. What is now common practice was unheard of back then (in the 1940s!), and many people marveled at the fact that you could spend all day enjoying these facilities at no extra cost. (Find these and more fascinating facts and memories about Billy Butlin and his holiday camps, along with great photos at http://butlins-memories.com/

With the opening of a new Butlin's Holiday Camp in Filey, and because my father's great love was photography, he wrote to Billy Butlin with recommendations on how to run a photo business in his camps -- and was promptly employed by him as a consultant in 1946.

Butlin's camps were famous for their 'redcoats' as seen in the photo above. Redcoats were hosts or hostesses, smartly dressed in red and white, who were to act towards the guests at the camp as if they were guests in their own home. They were to be good mannered, know exactly where everything in the camp was, so that they could direct those who did not know, and they were to mix and mingle with the guests, not staying too long with any one person. They ate with the guests and even slept in the same accommodation as the guests.

Some redcoats were also photographers and they would wander through the camp offering to take photos of the guests in any and all kinds of activities and situations. The guests could then purchase the photos later. My father organized the building of the 3000 square foot photo factory at the Filey camp, gave oversight to 45 staff members and opened a full photo service available to 5000 people a week!

Life in Filey was fun, as I remember it. We spent much time on the beach in Filey Bay, where the brig reaches a mile out into the North Sea.

My father was also producing photos for postcards, at that time, and the above is one of his.
This is me, with my brother and mother on Filey beach. Look at those chubby cheeks...I was such a cutie!

Because my father was a photographer, my brother and sister especially must have become quite tired of being used as 'models.' I think his camera must have been glued to my father's neck, as we have SO many photos of us as children -- some of them extremely posed; so much so that in adulthood I have always determined to do exactly the opposite. I always like to take relaxed, natural, definitely un-posed photos of my family.

I have in my possession some 20 or more of these little photos of me, every one a different pose: My father was obviously looking for the perfect shot -- but for what?

For this! A postcard showing Butlin's Holiday Camp attractions, but with me as the centre of ALL attractions! I have never seen another postcard like this one, even though I have scoured e-bay from time to time. So I don't really know if it was just a prototype of an idea my father came up with -- one which never got off the ground. Or if they really were made for sale, perhaps they were to be personalized, where people could have a photo of their choice in the middle. But anyway I'm kind of proud of it!

By the end of 1946, my dad was in a position to purchase a house and we moved to Woodcock Road in Flamborough -- a tiny, idyllic fishing village on the North-east coast of Yorkshire. Thus began some of the happiest years for my sister and me.

High and Dry -- and Soaking Wet!

As a family one of our most favourite vacations was to rent a cabin cruiser and go boating on the Norfolk Broads.

The Broads is a fascinating area with a rich history, reflected in the many wonderful places to visit and the unique wildlife. There are restored windmills, medieval churches, beautiful gardens and great places for family visits. If you enjoy walking or cycling, there are also many routes to choose from. For many people, a great way to explore the Broads is by water, as much of the history of the Broads revolves around the way the rivers have been used over the years. For many, the charm of the Broads rests on the illusion of remoteness you get when you're on the water. You can be near a village without knowing that there is anybody or anything for miles around. (http://www.broads-authority.gov.uk/)

It was absolutely thrilling for me, when at age six, my family decided to take a broads' holiday. We browsed through the boat companies' catalogues choosing which boat to rent. This is what a page of the catalogue looked like:

Our boat was a little larger, probably a six-berth, since there was five of us.

The day came when we loaded up the car and drove down to Brundall, on the River Yare, to pick up the boat and head out for an amazing week cruising the broads.

This is the Brundall boat-station today

And here we are on board; my sister, my mom, me and my father. My brother is taking the photo. As you can see by the life-belt, our boat was called Amethyst.

We were vacationing with another family, friends of my parents. Ray Mercer, a hair-dresser in Bridlington, and his wife and children.

We had lots of lazy, sunny days meandering through the waterways.

Crossing Breydon Water was a challenge, however. It's a vast stretch of water that can get very choppy, and crossing it can sometimes feel like going out to sea. But it is also very shallow, so boats must keep between the posts marking the channels. Deviating from the channel can.....well, it can lead to this: Yes, that's my father, none-too-happy, aboard the Amethyst, high and dry, waiting for the boat-station tug boat to come and tow us out. When the tide is high, the water depth can be very deceiving, but when the tide goes out -- well, the truth is made known. I am not sure what went wrong, but obviously he didn't stick to the channel! I do remember this being quite a stressful time, and I was scared that we were never going to be able to move, and perhaps never get home again!

But I guess the incident didn't daunt my courage.

This is Ray Mercer. My sister and I are closest to the camera, and his children -- seems to me his daughter was called Bubbles, and his son was Peter -- are on the other side. I was not too fond of Peter. He was a little older than me and teased me mercilessly. This is their boat, the Black Swan (each of the boats towed dinghies behind for little sight-seeing trips).

There came a day when both boats were moored alongside each other, probably right here, since I think my brother took this photo from our boat. Peter was standing on his boat, on that narrow ledge that goes all the way around, and I was standing in the same place on ours. He began to taunt me "Yo-ou're only si-i-x years o-old, and yo-ou ca-an't swi-im!"

Well, I'd had enough. I drew myself up as tall as I could, and responded, "Ye-e-es I ca-an!" and promptly jumped in the water -- six feet of fast-flowing tidal water, no less! And I couldn't swim!

I can distinctly remember sinking down. I can see the green, murky water and the bubbles, even now. I don't remember panicking; in fact there was quite a sense of peacefulness. I do remember surfacing (someone said I went down three times) and I have this picture of my brother indelibly etched on my memory. He was looking over the edge of the boat and very calmly calling out "Someone throw the life-belt in." He was standing inches away from it!

I'm not exactly sure where Ray Mercer came from, and I don't remember being fished out of the water, but they tell me he jumped in, clothes, wallet and all and had to swim quite a little distance to catch up to me -- but he saved my life! It was said afterwards, "Wasn't it lucky she was wearing that little pleated skirt!" Apparently it floated upward and acted like a life-belt (no thanks to my brother!).

I was quickly bundled in warm blankets and rewarded for my folly with some slices of delicious, crusty french bread with chunks of chicken -- yummy!

In spite of it all, I never lost my love for the Norfolk Broads. Below depicts my last trip, at age 14, before I left for Canada a couple of years later. My dad took this photo of my brother, me, my mom and friends Vi and Don Jackson of Goole, in 1958. The old wooden cabin cruisers have long since been replaced by streamlined, luxury boats. Here is a lovely video of what a trip on the Broads was like in my day and even is today, accompanied by some beautiful British minstrel-type music too!

Happier Times

Although my days in Goole were not particularly happy ones, there were some occasions that brought joy.

For example, our Sunday afternoon drives into the country. Sometimes we would pack a picnic lunch, bring along a blanket and head out across the Yorkshire Moors. We could travel the roads for miles through luscious heather-covered hills that would open up to panoramic vistas of the moors. Then suddenly the road would descend into a picturesque, tiny village tucked away at the bottom.

Or sometimes we would find a quiet country lane and pull off to the side of the road, where we would picnic on the blanket. For my parents, who were 'on call' 24 hours a day, six and a half days a week in the hotel, this afternoon trip was a time of sweet relaxation for them.

Ah, forty winks! Blessed rest for my mom. And yes! We even had sun-roofs in those days!

My sister Chris got married in Goole, in 1959. I was the one and only bridesmaid -- that's me, to the left of Barry, the groom. My mom is to the left of me; my dad is third from the right. Since I was a real tomboy at that time, I wasn't too happy about wearing that fancy orange organza dress!

Having my sister around once-in-a-while was always a pleasure for me. She is seven years older than me and had long since moved away from home. I'm not sure of the timing of this, but she, Barry and I did spend a terrific time together once - while I was still living in Goole I think - hiking in the Lake District.

My parents drove me to Keswick, where I met up with Chris and Barry. I waited for them at the foot of this clock tower.

We spent lots of fun hours hiking up and down the hills, and through the quaint little villages around Derwentwater. Sometimes we would get caught in huge downpours of rain that passed over as quickly as they had arrived! Loads of fun! But the black-headed ram wasn't quite as amused.

We actually made it to the top of Mount Skiddaw. I remember hearing that it was 2000 feet high, which doesn't sound so high to me now, but it did seem like a long way up, then! (Wikipedia says it's 3000 feet above sea level)

But we made it! (I'm on the right)

And so did Barry -- more recently known as MOTH (Man of the House)...

and there was nothing better than coming back down to the B & B, after all that hiking, and having a lovely hot mug of Horlicks. Mmmm...yummy!

Next post, we are moving on to holidays on the Norfolk Broads, where I once gave my family a terrible scare!