How very interesting, Mike. You were privileged to be in a position to get to know all this. As a youngster it is very easy to be unaware that behind the older exterior lies someone who has also been young once and probably led a most interesting and useful life. It’s something that carers and nurses ought to be reminded of. When my father was old and ill and treated often very patronisingly by carers who were ‘superior’ to him only by virtue of their youth and ignorance I used to wish I could convey an understanding of his true worth. (I feel a blog post coming up…)

Thank you, Gill. How lovely, if that is the right adjective. You’ve captured the bleak atmosphere. She was such a tragic figure, but could write with such cheer and enthusiasm at the same time. The contrast is rather bewildering really.

Mike, how very interesting! Was she resentful, or simply accepting? I think my mother was luckier, in that her parents were happy for her to go to the Sorbonne after school, and then Oxford. There as you know she met my father, and thereafter – I always felt – most willingly committed her life to being a supportive wife but also working in her own right at the same time, after we children were past the infant stage.

I remembered I wrote a poem about Virginia Woolf.

VIRGINIA

“There is anguish here. The roots make a skeleton on the ground.”
Virginia Woolf, “The Waves”

I watch the sharp beak flare
as the bird dives for the kill,
the fish leap high from the water
and sink like a knife
under the black mud
of the stream.

The willow trails its fingers
at dusk, shaking the silk
from its roots,
and a face, pale,
rises from the depths,
dead long ago.

The stones from her pockets
give shelter to the fish,
cloth shredded to silt.
I sit by the window,
watching the bird,
the paper stiff under my hands,
immersed in her words.

I’m sure you’re right about poetry being an acquired taste – I’d better get a move on! Pity about the birds but are you painting, even if not photographing?

I guess poetry is an acquired taste!
Alas, the flamingos are not here, and I have come with my new bridge camera, Fuji HS50 EXR. All very disappointing. We suspect the water is too saline, and the swish new golf course has been taking the water from the two small rivers. Gialova lagoon is supposed to be a world class wetland site for migrating birds. Otherwise, this place is heaven.

Thank you Gill. You writing poetry, Mike photographing birds…? It sounds idyllic. Are your poems for public consumption? In spite of the fact my brother is a poet, I’ve never found poetry easy to enjoy. One silly reason is that I read too fast, too keen to move on rather than linger. Perhaps now I have more time I should try again. I loved the refrains from ‘Maud’ that Virginia Woolf quotes – perhaps I should try with Tennyson… (Never thought I’d say that!)

Thank you Mike, all the way from Greece – I’m so glad you enjoyed the post. A Room of One’s Own is mentioned so often I think we all imagined that we had read it, but actually none of us had… What a lot of missed opportunities for interesting chats we’ve all let slip, concentrating more on the here and now. Your Aunt Dorothy was at school with my mother, wasn’t she? Did she go on to Oxford too?