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Monday, 19 April 2010

Springtime Blossom...

SprINGtiME BLossoM - AnN-juLIE aubREy... Beautiful, as ever.

Ah, yes the 'nother one moment of sweet serendipity... I said I was going to tell you what it was, non??!

I've done very little since I was last at the house, I'm waiting for something. For what, I don't know... I'll keep you informed.

I need to get in to the house to clear it further, before we arrange with our friend to have his stronger and bigger friends conduct a house-clearance and probably, probably, can you tell I'm still not sure, tidy and freshen the house for sale, or perhaps to rent out...

I keep having flashes of icy cold water down the bones of my spine. An interesting, and not altogether pleasant, experience. But I feel safer, cosier, warmer, more me, with the bits I have left of my father in the corner of the sun-room at home, awaiting their scattering place next to where my mother resides on Holy Island...

I know. We don't talk about such things, do we? We bottle our feelings up inside; We stiffen our upper lip here in the UK, and we brush anything non-PC under the Turkey Red paisley-patterned carpet... We don't talk about death.

Even those with that word for a name call it De'ath, as I experienced this week in the office... Rather like the man whose call I took at work some years ago, who insisted on being called 'Mr Pee-jee-ohn', as you would say it in French, but spelling it as you would 'Coo-coo-ti-coo Pigeon', as in Trafalgar Square and Flying Rats...

Alors, tant pis. Where was I? Oh yes, get on with it Fhina, you who are so so Fhina-fond of Serendipity...

We left my dad's house, a little reeling. The day was still young and GJ and I were musing on where we might find some lunch. My dad was stored safely in the boot of the car, and I took a call on my mobile from Grizzler. "Don't forget, mum", he reminded me. "It's G's birthday (our next door neighbours' lovely son). He's 19. We need a card and things. Don't forget, mind!"

We pondered where we might get something suitable for an older Teen so far from the city, with little neighbourhood shops selling either touristy things or cheap, by the bucketful, tat...

My husband, GJ, suggested the fading Victorian sea-side resort close by, and I doubted we'd find anything, but thought to humour him instead, so we headed off to the coast.

And I found myself in a tiny knick-knack crammed kind of shop which sold cards, hoping against hope. I grabbed a suitably funny birthday card, scanning the stacked shelves amongst the sea-side sweet pink, tooth-cracking rock and shell encrusted trinkets, for a small something to put in with G's card and a little birthday money. Perhaps I'd find a coffee mug...

I picked up a blue covered, bound collection of newsletters that my dad used to read regularly, regaling locals with stories, some of which he remembered from childhood. Tales of past glories and derring-do, "Creeful of Coals", it's called, and has local readership as well as subscribers abroad, who've long since fled our then particularly, economically pressed mining communities.

I knew G wouldn't be interested in it and that GJ was impatiently waiting for me in the car outside, but I flicked the pages and suddenly found myself looking at the spitting image of my dad.

Here was my dad's maternal grandfather, George, looking stern and studied, elegant in starched collar and bow tie, sheet music open in front of him, as he sat for the photographer before the towering pipes of a huge church organ, in another shot of the large working men's orchestra that he'd played Second Fiddle in for so many years. This picture was taken in 1939.

My mouth went dry, and I gabbled, stuttering to the shop-owner, "I must take this, I've only found a photo of my great-grandfather in here that I've never even seen before... It's incredible, I never knew it existed. I've only just come in to buy...", and I went on to describe the task in hand.

I left her shop, the door-bell chiming behind me, suitably furnished with her recommendation for some little shot glasses and a playful game for G, as well as the card and book, I returned to my waiting men in the car.

You see, here I am, searching for the past in remembered fragments of my childhood, while being astoundingly united with an image of my great-grandfather that I never even knew was out there in the Universe. We have so little of that side of the family left, if you remember, after my dad's father re-married after his wife died while my dad was away in the RAF, when he'd abandoned his home to relatives of my dad's mum to go out drinking, and they'd taken anything that wasn't screwed down, leaving my dad with absolutely nothing to remember her, and his grand-father, by...

My dad would have been ecstatic, proud. I am amazed.

Fate, you see. Serendipity...

Que sera, sera. Whatever will be, will be, after all, mes amis x

10 comments:

steelxmagnolia said...

For the past couple of days I, too, have been communing with my late Dad. Like yours he was a fly-boy ... Army Air Corps WWII ... piloting a B-29. Some days I channel him. Others not. My blog today (not yet posted) is a toast to brave fathers who perservered regardless. Their daughters are better off for it. Salut!

Fab, feisty and fifty... said...

searching i the home for fragments...a connection, andthen unawares on another trip for another task and you stumble across this....many would say it is a sign..

l think you were lead to it by your father...

but thats just my view...
see you very son...

hug

saz x

jinksy said...

Serendipity, synchronicity or happenstance- can't be beaten!

slommler said...

What a wonderful and joyful find!! That is fabulous!!!
And you got the gift as well. I would say a successful forage into this tiny coastal town.
Hugs
SueAnn

French Fancy said...

That gave me goose bumps, Fhi. Yes, like Saz, I feel you were led there.

As for G waiting for you in the car, yes - that is what happens with us as well. 'You go in, I've got a book with me' - is the usual refrain from Mr FF. 'I won't be long' I gaily say - knowing that I might very well be. I can spend hours browsing around shops like that.

Now, when are you off to Holy Island?

xx

ArtistUnplugged said...

I can't believe how you came upon that paper with that photo. It must be very difficult to be going through the house, and comforting at the same time. I'm thinking of you, my friend.

vegemitevix said...

Hi there honey, I just noticed that you don't seem to have my latest feed - if you'd like to update it is at http://www.feeds.feedburner.com/vegemitevix/KMsn or click on the rss feed on my page. cheers Vicki xx

Sniffles and Smiles said...

Wow! I'm so very glad...you deserve to have something good happen like that...it has obviously been a rough go...I am so sorry. My heart and thoughts are with you! ~Janine XO

Marilynne said...

Maybe your Dad was by your side that day. Maybe he knew how sad you felt and directed you to the spot.

The treasures of your parents are in your memories. Now that my parents have died, I find myself thinking of a little incident here, a little revelation there. It takes years to sort it all out.

Don't worry about the house, but do clean it out of memory items. Only you know what you want to keep.

Suldog said...

That's the hand of God, that is. Whatever else you are going through, remember that you've been blessed :-)

Something I wrote earlier...

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