Nat is off on a four day foray to historic monuments, namely the war graves . I confess I am suffering a variety of Envies. First there is War Grave Envy , and second there is Puppy Envy as sister Laura is getting a shiny new puppy who is to be called Tiny Ted and who is the offspring ( sort of ) of her little Gromit dog , who was introduced for the purpose to her son Harvey's friend Matthew's Border Terrier bitch and hey presto , we have puppies . And the puppies , in the pictures I have seen , look just like cute little puglets . Black puglets , in Tiny Ted's case .
Back to the war graves. Steeped in war grave history myself from an early age when we studied the First World War in History at O level , and the poetry thereof in English Literature and many heart breaking accounts in novel form .
And then I also have my friend Caroline's odd tale of how her mother appeared at her elder sister's bedside after she had given birth at the age of eighteen to her first baby ( a somewhat hushed up affair at our Grammar School I should add , Caroline being eleven and her sister much older but unwed at the time , or possibly wed but in the nick of time , I forget ) and in Caroline's words , " ranting on about the War Graves and refusing to look at the new baby " . It transpired the new Grandma had indeed taken out a packet of snaps of the fields of white crosses and insisted on showing these to the newly delivered young mother , who was probably suffering her own private trauma though her battlefield that of the delivery suite of yesteryear with attendant attitudes and very little in the way of soft lighting and birthing pools or even a supportive partner it would seem, poor soul . Caroline recalled her own horror and said though she tried to distract her mother , and ask her to come and look at the baby , there was to be no distracting , such was the level of fixation on these images of war .
So there we have it .
I am likely to see the puppy soon , but when I proposed on several occasions that I might accompany the History Trip as a parent helper , as I would have dearly loved to have witnessed the spectacle myself , the idea was well and truly squashed by my daughter , who was horrified at the idea of mother cramping her style and possibly also aware of the potential for emotional leakage on such an occasion as this had been considered by ourselves in contemplation of such an excursion .
Ah well , I shall have to arrange such a trip for myself , perhaps with a friend .
D has already made the pilgrimage and regaled me with tales of the effects of all of those crosses , all of those names on the monuments .
If anyone wishes to accompany me , let me know .
Back to the war graves. Steeped in war grave history myself from an early age when we studied the First World War in History at O level , and the poetry thereof in English Literature and many heart breaking accounts in novel form .
And then I also have my friend Caroline's odd tale of how her mother appeared at her elder sister's bedside after she had given birth at the age of eighteen to her first baby ( a somewhat hushed up affair at our Grammar School I should add , Caroline being eleven and her sister much older but unwed at the time , or possibly wed but in the nick of time , I forget ) and in Caroline's words , " ranting on about the War Graves and refusing to look at the new baby " . It transpired the new Grandma had indeed taken out a packet of snaps of the fields of white crosses and insisted on showing these to the newly delivered young mother , who was probably suffering her own private trauma though her battlefield that of the delivery suite of yesteryear with attendant attitudes and very little in the way of soft lighting and birthing pools or even a supportive partner it would seem, poor soul . Caroline recalled her own horror and said though she tried to distract her mother , and ask her to come and look at the baby , there was to be no distracting , such was the level of fixation on these images of war .
So there we have it .
I am likely to see the puppy soon , but when I proposed on several occasions that I might accompany the History Trip as a parent helper , as I would have dearly loved to have witnessed the spectacle myself , the idea was well and truly squashed by my daughter , who was horrified at the idea of mother cramping her style and possibly also aware of the potential for emotional leakage on such an occasion as this had been considered by ourselves in contemplation of such an excursion .
Ah well , I shall have to arrange such a trip for myself , perhaps with a friend .
D has already made the pilgrimage and regaled me with tales of the effects of all of those crosses , all of those names on the monuments .
If anyone wishes to accompany me , let me know .
