A diverse offering twixt the interesting, the unusual, and the amusing.
Sunday, 16 August 2015
My Dear Cousin's parents.
I have no picture of my lovely Aunt and Uncle, so the above will have to suffice.
My Aunt was quite straight-laced and sickly sweet walnut cake, my Uncle was garden shed and spotless apple trees. They lived comfortably in a terraced Shropshire town-house with a small back garden.
But they were truly 'blessed'; they had a son (my 1st cousin) of whom they were extremely, and rightly, proud; he was the centre of their universe.
He had always been an exemplary child, everything he did he did well. He sang in the church choir, he rang the church bells, he passed all his exams with ease, he was accepted into his university of choice with open arms, he was good-looking, he even had a pilot's licence; his achievements seemed endless.
My cousin also had that rare characteristic of being liked by everyone he met, and was regarded by women as being 'highly eligible'.
At my Aunt and Uncle's house there were pictures of him everywhere. Receiving his medical degree, dressed in jet fighter pilot's gear, receiving tennis trophies, etc. Every success had its photo, and every photo was displayed with pride.
Then in 1977 it happened; their wonderful son was murdered.
I didn't see my Aunt and Uncle much after that, I was away in France and they were back in the UK. I would have liked to have been there in the months after the tragedy, but it was not to be. I wrote letters, of course, but they pretty much suffered their loss by themselves. 1977 was pre-Skype, Email, etc; and at that time we didn't even have a phone; no-one here did.
I saw them a few times in the early 1980's, and we were able to talk, but somehow it felt too late.
Years later they both went to live in a home for the elderly, but I don't know if anyone visited them or not; maybe some did. All I know is that I didn't, and it troubles me to this day. I don't even know when they died.
RIP Agnes and Gib; such lovely people. Life treated them very well, then suddenly it gave them an almighty slap in the face, from which they never really recovered.
We went with friends to the Scallop festival in Whitianga; a charming
seaside town in the Coromandal District.
Had a great time...5000 people, lots of wine...
3 years ago
The difference between an optimist and a pessimist, is that the optimist enjoys himself whilst waiting for the inevitable! I AM that optimist!
This is a daily, optimistic, 'photos and comments' blog. I make no judgements (only occasionally), just notes. If you wish to comment in any way at all, please feel free. Everything and everyone is very welcome.
I was born just south of London, but for the past 44 years I've lived in S W France. I am a painter by profession, and writer by desire. Lady Magnon and I live in an ancient cottage, in a tiny village, in perfectly tranquil countryside. We have a vegetable garden called 'Haddock's' (this may crop up from time to time), a Border Collie/Black Lab' cross called Bok, a cat called Freddie, plenty of fruit trees, and a view that takes the breath away. I try to treat our planet with respect, and encourage others to do likewise (without preaching).
Contentment is a glass of red, a plate of charcuterie, and a slice of good country bread. Perfect!