And then it sprung away. Despite switching to daylight savings time (where do we save it? in a box?) the weather has got cooler, and the forecast is for see-sawing between the 60’s and the 40’s for the next few days…with a rainy Wednesday.
I hope the peace hasn’t bounced out of Northern Ireland. There’s been a few killings of late, which is a bit reminiscent of the bad old days. I was growing up in England during the 70s, which has been described as being “as bad as Poland without the excuse of totalitarianism” and the bombing campaigns were always on the news (when the miners weren’t on strike and we actually had electricity). I wouldn’t care to go back to three day working weeks (everyone! you can take a 40% cut in wages because the miners want a 7% increase), television going off at 10:30 pm, or to the ‘Winter of Discontent‘ when even the bodies piled up in morgues because of a grave-diggers’ strike.
I do remember gas stations closing because truck drivers were on strike, kids having to wear coats in class because the heating was switched off, and reading about bombings and killings first ‘over there’ and then more and more in mainland towns and cities.
Mind you, in lovely Knaresborough, Yorkshire, where I lived, there was very little of all this that directly impacted me, my school was never closed (more’s the pity!) and I had to be in bed before the telly shut off anyway. Life for me was bound by the housing estate we lived on, my school, and trips into town or to gracious Rolls-Royce-stuffed dowager-in-fur-coat-infested Harrogate with mum for shopping. Knaresborough (another link) was a great place to grow up in in those days; there was very little crime, I was allowed to ride my bike all through town, along the riverside, up Gracious Street, into the Market Square, along the High Street and (naughty me) through the cemetery back to our house. We had England’s oldest chemist’s shop, and an even older castle and I thought everyone lived some place with views like we had. Poor dears, some people lived in grim places like Luton (voted the crappiest town in England!) or Sunderland, as my relatives did. Nasty ugly grey places they were. Not like snug cosy Knaresborough or the windswept moors and dales that were only a quick car ride out of town. (Think James Herriott’s books and the TV series based on them). To give you an idea how lovely the place was/is I’ve attached an image gallery; I hope you like it.
I hope you’ve not minded my rambling; be prepared for more. C & I are definitely going back and it may take wild horses or the threat of unemployment to get me to leave again.