By the time we left Guisborough on the Thursday afternoon the light was going but I so wanted to stop on the way back to Saltburn and see this Grade 2 listed church. I had a glimpse of it earlier as we passed through Skelton, hidden from the road by trees like a burried treasure.
We drove down the little lane and parked outside the neighbouring cottages. All seemed quite sleepy and so still and peaceful – a little corner of heaven.
Once again I could not believe that these notices on graveyard gates are necessary…who in their right mind would let their dog foul in a graveyard.
There is only a grassy path leading to this Georgian church, the old graves stand like a guard of honour to the right hand side and little mounds of snowdrops have naturalised here and there.
I knew we were in for a treat when we saw this window beside the entrance. It is like something time forgot.
The whole place had vases of mainly dried flowers dotted around on dust laden window sills with a sprinkling of pine cones or seedheads, but a hint that someone is caring for this redundant church. I hope my photos do it justice, the light levels were so low making the pictures grainy but I have not adjusted them as it adds to the atmosphere that we experienced…quietly we crept around feeling like an intrusion.
Like many of these old churches, there has been rebuilding and additions over the years and the version you see here took place in 1785, replacing an earlier medieval building. The first thing that strikes you is the flat plastered ceiling running the whole length of the church and the beautiful rose coloured plaster of the walls. Quite often in churches you would find a vaulted ceiling and this flat ceiling feels quite out of place and very low, cutting through the windows up in the gallery.
I didn’t spot any lighting or heating pipes so I am presuming there is neither. The old wooden pews are the box type with rows of little carved wooden doors.
The rather grand pulpit is set to the side of the aisle, adorned with a frill of lace and opposite is a raised room off to one side which would have seated the well to do family of Skelton Castle and housed a welcoming warm fire in the fireplace. What a difference wealth meant in those days.
There is a large expanse before the alter and this side door is left open presumably to allow a little more light to flood into the place, revealing all the plaques of bible texts and tributes that adorn the walls.
The gallery is reached by a simple but narrow wooden staircase at the back of the church.
On the widow sill at the top of the staircase we found this rather gorgeous ‘crown’ of coloured glass – a Round Community Lantern. I am sure it is a most beautiful sight once lit.
Round the back of the church you can see Skelton Castle through the railings.
The grounds surrounding the church are shrouded with mature trees and the old graves stones seem to march on into the woodlands – just beyond this point is a sharp drop down to the beck…I was almost expecting to see a mass of tangled graves lying in the valley below as if they had marched right over the face of the banking.
I hope the occupants of nos 1 & 2 Church Lane do not mind I sneaked in this little photo of their charming abodes. The light had just been switched on and it looked so warm and welcoming inside the cottage as cottages do. I wonder if they are the Friends referred to in the notice and the ones that keep this old church from being forgotten forever.
I expect though there are no weddings, christenings or even funerals taking place here now, but a candlelit carol service at Christmas would be so magical.
Once we were back on the road it was a short drive into Saltburn and as dusk was settling in the place began to light up and an opportune time for taking more photographs.
The Pier was empty now – though we noticed from our apartment window that many brave souls have been walking up and down all week no matter what the weather. It had become bitterly cold and the tide was coming in quickly with waves crashing about underneath the structure.
We eventually headed back to the warmth of the apartment and a very welcome hot drink.
I covered our trip to Kirkleatham Museum in my last post. Saturday was our last day in Saltburn. We packed the car and left just after 10am and met the owners who were about to go in to clean. It was dry, calm, sunny and the although there was snow on the surrounding hills and passing cars it was by far the warmest day since we visited my mum the Sunday before. We did not want to waste this change in the weather just travelling home so we decided to stop en route at Nunnington Hall.
We happened to have a free National Trust voucher as well as a flask of soup and sandwiches. Nunnington Hall is yet another fascinating place…but that is certainly another post.
Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed the photos. Our week in Saltburn was a much needed break and despite the weather we saw some fascinating things and learnt a lot about life in the the local area. I have no doubt we will be booking this apartment and visiting Saltburn again.
Oh my goodness, we have been back from our holiday now for over a week, and what a dreadful week last week was, not a brilliant home coming.
I had this post about our little trip out to Staithes and Runswick Bay almost complete but never had the chance to proof read and make it live. So before I report on the horrors of last week I will take you back to the holiday week.
The weather over the week got far worse rather than better, so we had to choose our trips out carefully. Sketching was impossible, even from the car, as there was no let up in the rain. On the Wednesday we stayed in the apartment, DH did a lovely little sketch from a photograph whilst I did some writing for the blog post.
Below for anyone interested are a few photos and commentary of our day out on the Tuesday to Staithes and Runswick Bay.
We woke up to more drizzle on the Tuesday morning, but there was little wind which makes a big difference by the sea, so we wrapped up made a flask of soup and a few sandwiches and set off to explore Staithes.
For those who have never been it is the birthplace of Captain Cook and the old village, centred around the harbour, is down a long steep hill.
Only residents parking is allowed down at the harbour but parking at the top is more than adequate in the winter and free until the season begins in March.
The hill down to the harbour is not for whimps, neither going down or coming back up, but a sturdy handrail is provided to keep you upright. Once down into the village the footing is easier although there are cobbles to negotiate on the roadway. There is a mass of higgledy-piggledy housing clinging for dear life to the hillside, plenty of steps and nooks and crannies…and here and there you come across a narrow ginnel feeding its way through between the houses like a maze.
We questioned whether the houses in front would have been built after the houses behind or vice-versa. Did someone come along and build in front and block your view or did they squeeze in behind? Some of the cottages are almost completely hidden, tucked well behind with no view at all.
There are a modest amount of shops, some we found open, even though it is out of season and hardly any tourists about. We dodged into the sweet shop cum deli for a hot chocolate (best I had tasted so during the week – rich, dark and not too sweet), of course it might also have been the fact that just holding the warm mug helped to get the blood flowing to my fingertips once again.
The whole village is full of cute cottages and like Runswick Bay you can imagine going in a door at the bottom and coming out three houses above you.
After a good wander around we started back up the steep unforgiving hill.
We decided to move the car round to Runswick Bay and sat in the little car park overlooking the sea to have our lunch. There was still drizzle here and quite a breeze, but that didn’t stop the washing going out on the line!
Runswick Bay is one of the prettiest fishing villages, with a series of white washed cottages with red pantile roofs all higgledy piggledy and climbing up into the hillside. It was once renowned as an artists colony and has an obvious wealth about it – quite a noticeable contrast to that of nearby Skinningrove.
It has known disaster in the past when in 1682 the original village was destroyed by a landslide and it is said that no villager died because they were all attending the wake of a man in the only surviving cottage! The village was rebuilt but it has always been in danger of further landslides so in 2018 there was £2.28 million pound award-winning coastal erosion protection scheme put in place to protect the village in future.
Both the beauty and the drawback of the place is that no cars are able to get close to the houses. There is a residents car park provided and I expect for visitors and full time residents alike all shopping and baggage has to be unloaded and walked to the house. Goodness knows how they manage with furniture and appliance deliveries and even worse should any building maintenance be required.
The tight knit walkways are fun to explore as you never know where you might pop out from along the maze of footpaths.
On the Thursday we visited Kirkleatham museum which is well worth a visit to see the story of the steel works that evolved in the area after the discovery of iron ore in the nearby Cleveland Hills in 1850.
It is a fascinating exhibiton – I was amazed to learn that Middlesborough, now a sprawling industrialised town, was once a tiny hamlet with a farming community of only 25 people. It was enlightening to discover how steel is made from the iron ore in the large blast furnances. Those steel framed structures of the plants that you see, comprising of sheds and towers and long runs of pipes resemble a long forgotten theme park. On the outskirts of Middlesborough these old steelworks at the Lackenby works stretch for miles like an industrial wasteland. I am presuming these buildings are still operational but it is hard to tell as there is such a feeling of desolation to the area.
In 1967 the British Steel Corporation was formed as a national company and re-privatised in 1988. Eventually, through its chequered history and demise it has ended up being owned I believe by the Chinese. I thought this sign was quite poignant.
My grandad, and many of my relatives worked in similar steelworks in Sheffield – it was a protected job during the war and he worked long hours and was always in danger of a bombing raid. My dad was a metalurgist and he often went to the power stations as part of his job though I have no idea what he actually did there, I only know he has notebooks full of mathematical equations. He always said inside those large concrete cooling towers they were the size of a football pitch.
There was also an exhibition of textiles in their temporary exhibition space at the museum with some rather lovely textiles on display. I did weaving many moons ago in the attic at the Ramsden Art School as part of my foundation course, and a couple of years later aquired my own table top loom that was going to be put in a skip. The problem with these large looms is that they take a lot of yarn and you require a skein winder. When we downsized from a four storey mill workers house to the house we are in now there was no room for the loom and it had to be sold.
Seeing these lovely exhibits has made me want to have a go again with just a tiny frame.
On the Friday afternoon we spent a couple of hours pottering around Guisborough – a bit of window shopping and a few minor purchases. On the way back, just as the light was going, we stopped to look around Skelton Old All Saints Church….but that is another post another day.
We are now catching up with ourselves after both our holiday and the eventful week we had last week, and given that this is a long enough post for anyone to read I will tell the tale another time.
Although I was trying to make our shopping stretch over two weeks I could not ignore all the items on offer at Sainsbury’s today, so I ended up spending far more that I had intended but I have a well stocked pantry to show for it. I can’t help noticing that some prices have leapt up again and even when on offer the offer now is dearer than it was the time before.
I have my audiolgy appointment tomorrow – I always dread it. The NHS hearing aids I was given are so hard to get used to they make the world seem a very loud place so I am tending not to wear them unless I have to. The audiologist is not impressed by my lack of progress – I know I should persevere but I have to be in the right frame of mind and this period of my life is rather stressful at the moment dealing with my mum seems to make my hearing worse.
You never know I might even manage a comment or two on the blogs I read. I do keep dibbing in and out as time allows but it was half term last week and blogging plus mum plus grandchildren do not sit well together…something has to give!
I will be back soon, thank you for reading. x
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Where do you go when it is damp, cold and continuous drizzle?
On holiday to the north Yorkshire coast of course!
And here we are.
And I am loving it…the winter bleakness, even the dull and damp weather can’t diminish my enthusiasm.
Our 1 bed apartment (see this link if you are interested) looks out over the sea; crashing frothy waves, the occasional surfer (brave), the more than occasional dogs running round and the rolling sea mist.
The journey north was quick last Saturday so we stopped off at Great Ayton (birthplace of Captain Cook) for refreshments and a wander. Too muddy for the little park, we wandered round the churchyard of this Grade 1 listed 12th century church – the Church of All Saints with its cute entrance gate. Though why there has to be an ugly’clean it up’ sign for dog owners attached to the ancient gatepost baffles me – surely no-one would be so disrespectful in a grave yard not to clear up after their pet.
The church is still used today for special services but has no electricity or heating. The tower was removed in 1880 and the whole place is a mix of different periods adding to it and taking away. It is though, a wonderfully peaceful setting and if I were to be burried one day this is the sort of place I would choose, under the great Yew trees with rampant blackberries, ivy and a carpet of snowdrops.
Members of the Cook family are burried here, though we didn’t stop to identify the graves.
I was quite taken by the old vicarage next door which you can see here over the wall standing in front of the newer church of All Saints. It is currently up for sale for the first time in its history and is quite a wonderful house – peeking through the shrubbery for a quick nosy I could easily see myself living there and all for £875,000. Dream on in my case.
Saltburn is not far away from Great Ayton so we arrived before tea, located the flat and dragged our bags up the never ending staircases to the 2nd floor (no lift) but then we need the exercise. We never pack light when going self catering – there are certain things I always take ‘just in case’ after finding some rather unsavoury equipment in previous rented accomodation, one is a sharp knife and our potato peeler (I find other peoples are often blunt),a cheese grater (we have come across some quite rusty ones in the past), a clean jug (I once discovered that it is quite common for some people to use a jug to take a urine sample in for the doctor – so I take my own…jug that is), my steamer (as we never boil our veg and most places don’t run to a steamer), a chopping board (as most will have had meat chopped up on them)….yes I am picky when it comes to the kitchen….oh and a couple of extra towels to supplement the ones provided.
I might add that thankfully – this apartment is well equipped other than the steamer.
Then I take my library of books – this trip I have included two on sketching, as that is one reason for the holiday, the Michael Mosely book Just One Thing to read and make notes, an interesting book called Shiny pennies and grubby pinafores : how we overcame hardship to raise a happy family in the 1950s by Winifred Foley, A Stitch in Time by Una Stubbs (recommended on someone’s blog and which I bought recently for £1.78 as new), last years Country Living Spring edition (still waiting to see this years in the shops), my February folder of magazine cuttings, notes and ideas and my planner.
So I am well stocked up.
On Sunday we abandoned our holiday for a few hours to go across to Yarm to visit my mum for the day. It was the best day so far…calm, sunny and really pleasant – so we bundled her into the wheelchair and pushed her the half mile to the local park and the cafe. It was a good visit and mum enjoyed herself so we were not expecting the barage of calls the following day when our holiday proper began. Sixteen calls throughout the day – I had set my mind to not answering any of them and letting it go to voicemail. It was always the same questions ‘when was the next carer going in?’, ‘why was I not answering straight away?’ Knowing the carers would alert me to any problems I knew she was safe and cared for and honestly…I just needed to enjoy one day of my holiday away from the never ending calls.
I didn’t enjoy the day much in the end it was as bad not answering the calls as it is answering them. I rang her just before the last carer came as I always do and of course she was not pleased that I had not answered her calls and I said I couldn’t possibly be on the end of the phone all the time and sometimes had to have a shower, go shopping or to the doctors etc. Her huffy reply was she wouldn’t be bothering me anymore ever again, which of course then makes the guilt too much to bear and my palpitations worsen and a sleepless night ensued. It was well after the early hours and a long conversation with DH wondering how we can manage this new period in our lives as mum becomes more anxious and needy of us and has to call for reassurance as soon as a carer leaves.
So on Tuesday, true to her word, we had no calls. I rang her at my usual teatime call and told her who the next carer would be and when Vera was on the TV and she was grateful I had rung. I rang her again at 8pm to tell her to put Vera on (thank heavens for Vera on a Tuesday) and all is well again. I expect it will be business as usual again now and she will have forgotten our conversation of me not being on the end of the phone all the time.
Whilst dodging the calls on the Monday, we had a stroll around the centre of Saltburn, checking out possible places for a drink or a meal and having a browse in the craft and gift shops. We returned to the apartment for lunch, a healthy egg salad open sandwich on rye bread and afterwards drove out to Skinningrove, the next coastal village down.
If you have never been and experienced the delights of a gritty, down to earth northern coastal village, then Skinningrove is the place. Fogotten in time, and with no injection of any serious funds from the council budget, I presume, it has a raw charm which I quite like but would not appeal to many who no doubt would prefer the nearby picturesque villages of Staithes and Runswick Bay.
The original cottages, in what would have been a small hamlet, are so lovely. Built with the local sandstone blocks of a soft orangy-brown hue, topped with red pantiles, they once housed families making a living through fishing or agriculture, before the industrialisation took hold.
In the early history of the village there would have been only 13 dwellings, but this was all to change when a seam of iron ore was discovered and in 1848 the opening of nearby Loftus ironstone mine attracted, not only a large workforce, but the building of long rows of tightly packed terraces to house them in and the place expanded within 40 years to 348 dwellings resembling something that looks more at home on the outskirts of Manchester.
This dense mass of red brick terraces (the remaining ones now rendered and painted) with only a back yard and no garden covered the valley bottom and was encased either side by steep hillsides, the mine workings being on the top.
Photo Credit: Facebook
The sheer scale of the model village is absolutely awesome, I couldn’t avoid showing this picture I found from the local Nostalgic North Riding group – my original link through to this photo did not work on all devices so I decided to include the picture (I am never very sure of what photos I can copy from the internet so I hope this one will be kosher). It is said to have had over 80 small shops within this tight knit community. I would imagine that these brand new two or three up and two down houses in red brick would have been thought a luxurious place to live in the day but now suffer from needy maintenance and repair.
These terraces are some that remained after the clearance in the 1980’s
On our stroll around the streets we came across a few notable things.
I thought this hidden away Fish and Chip shop in an old garage round the back of the houses quite enterprising.
And when we came across this sculpture the ‘shanty town’ of sheds littering the hillside on both sides started to make sense.
It is a land of pigeon fanciers. Makeshift huts and sheds, some in a state of near collapse are a continuing reminder of the dedication of the many pigeon fanciers that lived here.
The slopes of the valley would have been their only green space to grow a few vegetables and house their pigeons. It is hard to tell whether some of them are still in use or just abandoned; there seems little evidence of any gardening or winter crops…and not a pigeon in sight.
Eventually, this boom went into decline and progressive closure of the mines led to mass unemployment and in 1958 the last of the mines closed for good. The 1980’s saw extensive demolition at the heart of the village and the long terraces replaced with some very unspectacular more modern social housing, which does nothing to enhance the appeal of this village, but has given each family a small garden. The village has since been awarded the status of a Conservation Area – far too late in my mind. Many of the really old buildings had already been destroyed. Still you can’t help feeling that this village presents a true picture of its history, where the pleasant and picturesque sits tightly together beside the decay and decline and has become an enduring memorial to changing times.
Just as the village itself is in decline so is the hobby of keeping and racing pigeons – it is no longer a young man’s sport anywhere in this country.
It is that kind of idyllic place, nestled into the surrounding hills with a beach on the doorstep and a peaceful atmosphere, where you want it to be beautiful and cared for. A place to treasure. But the reality is different. The community is still tight knit but there seems to be a complete disinterest in improving or acknowledging the decline of their surroundings. When we passed an old chapel, now used as a builders storage unit, I asked the guys working there what the inscription said on the carved stone above the doorway. They were quite amused came out to have a look and said they had never noticed it before! Looking on as an outsider this whole village feels more like a poor urban area and only the rugged beauty of the shore and hills around saves it.
I saw this quote on Facebook ‘History is made up of ordinary days, lived one at a time’.
This sums up this strange place where Skinningrove’s past has shaped the community that’s here today and will continue into the future.
It is Friday now and we still have more discoveries to make this holiday, sketching has been quite minimal so far given the continuous rain, but that doesn’t matter – we will try again another day…maybe even another holiday.
Christmas Eve, Christmas Day and the Christmas walk
We finally all arrived at my younger daughter’s new house for our Christmas Eve celebrations. It is her first Christmas in this brand new house and she had decorated it beautifully. Elder daughter with partner, Master Freddie and Baby Chocolate had been delayed by over an hour so we ate in two sittings. It was a simple meal of baked potatoes, beans and cheese – which suited everyone’s pickiness, followed by a homemade (by Little L) chocolate log. I had my slice with icecream.
When tea was over we cleared the table, assembled the children and brought out the iced Christmas cake ready for decorating.
The characters had been patiently waiting in the wings.
Baby Chocolate was eager to join in this year and soon got the hang of coating the bottom of the characters with icing and once a gap was located on the cake, splodge it on, no accuracy required!
Once all the characters were in place, the Christmas sprinkles are added and even more eaten.
The remains in the bowl all tipped on for good measure at the end!
And the cake frill put around the sides – then stand back and admire.
Master Freddie’s homemade snowman took centre stage this year.
Once tea was cleared away we went into the living room to open the Christmas Eve boxes, with Master Freddie’s surprise crackers inside.
They were rather tough to pull open!
As the children were engrossed in the contents, DH crept out of the back door with the Elve’s present to leave on the front doorstep, then rang the bell and crept back in. As soon as the children heard the doorbell there was a rush to open the front door with anticipation and excitement as they saw the present with a big tag saying ‘a gift from Santa’s Elves’.
This year I had chosen a 50 piece jigsaw with a Christmas Scene that they would all be able to do, as our age range is from 2 to 11 now.
The pyjamas were on straight away and all fit well.
With the children suitably occupied and ready for bed we went off to our hotel for the night at Preston Park to relax for an hour and watched the end of Love Actually – it was to be the only TV we would get to see over Christmas.
The next morning we had breakfast and then prepared for get-together no 2 at my sister’s new bungalow and we would meet up with both our daughters, their partners and grandchildren, plus my mother and brother would be joining us…14 of us in all.
The Christmas Day walk
We had an hour to kill before we drove down to my sister’s house near Northallerton, so we decided to stop in Yarm on the way through and have a walk by the river. It was absolutely freezing and we had to wrap up well, but the cold air was very welcome after being in the airless hotel room.
The river Tees dominates and loops around the market town of Yarm. We parked in the empty Sainsbury’s carpark and headed out on the path going towards the old road bridge, known locally as True Lover’s Walk (though at this point we didn’t know that).
We came across many unusual features starting with this 19th Century Mill Wheel.
Decorated Christmas trees lined the route for part of the way.
And just before the railway arches we came across this tiny King Charles Coronation Garden full of woodland creatures.
We couldn’t make out if this was a quirky house or a cafe maybe?
A few steps later and we saw this sculpture and began to realise this was True Lover’s Walk.
There are many houses that line the route, their back gardens face the river and can be accessed from the pathway. Strong black metal gates are placed at the end of every garden to prevent flooding. We noticed quite a few decorative touches by the owners, creating a path of interest for passersby.
This one is obviously a Disney fan….
…and some time has been spent to decorate the rather ugly block concrete steps with heavy metal handrails that prevent the banking slipping into the river when it rises above the banking.
Other people have chosen to protect the wildlife along the route with bug hotels…..
and yet others have made a feature of their gateways.
We followed the path for a while longer as it runs behind the old church. It suddenly comes to an abrupt end with a notice that prevents you using the next part and you are oblidged to turn up this alley that will lead you, eventually, back into town.
A little way along the alley we came across this door in the wall which had a notice above saying ‘True Lover’s Library’. How I would have loved to have seen inside but we dare not try the handle – I suspect maybe it is like the mini libraries you find at the end of people’s drives sometimes.
I just love the bold colour of the door, the wreath looks quite stunning against it.
Emerging from the alleyway we were back beside the railway arches again and these houses are built, not quite underneath, but close enough.
Turning to our left we walked up through the old churchyard of St Mary Magdalene. It is said that the graves of the True Lovers, to which the story originates, are laid in a medieval table tomb inside the church against the west wall. It was only through good old Google later that we discovered more of what we had missed.
We crossed over the road and turned to the right, admiring some of the unusual houses and features along here.
This is one of them below with a stone model of the Town Hall (to the left) and Yarm Castle on top of someone’s gatepost. This castle, or fortress, no longer exists and refers to a site where a castle once stood, now occupied by St. Mary Magdalene’s Church. The current building incorporates parts of earlier structures, including a 12th-century Norman church on the same spot.
Many of the houses have only a tiny outside space between pavement and front door, but I rather liked the simplicity of this one.
As we came upon the end of the row, the house on the very corner displayed this plaque – ‘Hope House is Elizabethan. Probably the oldest dwelling house in Yarm’
I was curious to know if it had always been a 3 storey house and once again Google tells me that Hope House, wasn’t always just three storeys (two floors plus attic); it was originally much larger, but the section containing its western part was demolished in the mid-19th century to make way for the railway viaduct, reducing it to its current two-storey (plus attic) size.
As we were lingering at the top of this narrow street called High Church Wynd (I was actually waiting to take a photo without the pedestrians coming in view), a lady appeared with a cake tin and asked if we were looking for the Wellness Centre. She said it was only a few yards away on the right and we would be welcome to go inside and sample the free buffet that was laid on there. How lovely!
Apparently, it is a charity who run mind and body wellness courses, with a drop in cafe, for the local town.
Unfortunately, we were at the end of our hour and, after thanking her very much for the kind offer, explained we would be having our Christmas dinner shortly at my sister’s house once we left Yarm.
And this is the Wellness Centre looking very welcome.
I have been down this wynd before and have been enraptured by the beautiful cottages that line either side of the street. All the traditonal cottage names like Lavender and Hazel displayed on decorative plaques.
And even more delightful, the little window displays in each one. Should one stare into the windows? – I wouldn’t want to appear too nosey, but there was no doubt these are done for the pleasure of the passerby as blinds and nets prevent any further intrusion.
This tiny cottage in candy pink is by far my favourite and their simple, but cute, window display of tiny hanging characters did not disappoint.
Across the way we noticed Flood Cottage which is a constant reminder of the great height the flood waters reached in 1881.
This was the tallest house – was it built like this or a storey added at some time in the past? I always have so many questions – that even Google cannot satisfy.
The stonework by the steps caught my eye here at Ruby Cottage….
….and the wooden star filled with pinecones in lieu of a wreath.
At the end of the wynd you have a good view of the Town Hall which has recently been renovated.
Going back along the town’s main street I just had to have one last photo of the window display with moving parts. It was like being a child again being taken to see the department store windows in Sheffield at Christmas (only on a much smaller scale of course).
The Christmas Day dinner
Back at the car with frozen fingers we headed off down the road to my sister’s house and arrived just as they were wheeling mum back from the local pub, where she would have indulged in a large gin and tonic. The idea being to get her relaxed enough to enjoy the day and see if we can get her through it without any complaints.
We knew it was going to be tricky as my sister’s new bungalow, which she only moved into 2 weeks ago, is like a 1960/70’s museum and half the wallpaper is missing as you can see from the bare plaster, and what decoration remains is a strange combination of print and pattern and clashing colours throughout.
And who knew you could have plain painted gloss walls teamed with woodchip covered coving around the ceilings (and then, as an added touch, painted mustard).
Mum must have felt at home because she never uttered a word about her surroundings. We reckoned that the huge stone fireplace and plastic wood panelling in the living room reminded her of the 1960/70’s bungalow that my dad built as the family home. That too had a similar feature fireplace wall, very fashionable back then, and very handy little shelves for accomodating the Christmas knick knacks.
It was a squeeze getting all 14 of us seated for dinner, we always have to have a long run of tressle tables to accomodate everyone and extra chairs are brought in from the local village hall. The tables had to run through the dining room and into a wooden (actually melamime) panelled vestibule type room that sits beside the two kitchens.
Yes, you did read that correctly, the bungalow has two kitchens – the old original one, completely covered in pine boarding, still equiped and in use by the previous owner, and the one added on the back, (the purple one – with purple perspex ceiling…I kid you not) also fully equiped with central style island and also in use, as a bonus!
Once seated there was no room for anyone to pass at the narrowest point so we rigged up a self-service servery using 3 hostess buffet servers spread throughout the two kitchens and devised a one way system, going into one kitchen and coming back out through the other into the dining area, selecting your choice of veg from the heated dishes on the way. So an orderly queue was formed starting with the people sitting furthest away and once you had your plate full you sat down and eventually the rows were filled. It was like a military operation on a roundabout, with a lot of commotion and laughter trying to sort 10 adults and 4 children into place with their meal.
Mum has to sit on the end so we can manouvre her walker and she was joined by myself and my brother so we had to plate our dinners up last. Once we were seated no one could get through the kitchen door behind me. Eventually, we were all settled and eating and a hush fell.
So, well done to my sister for cooking an amazing meal in two strange kitchens with strange appliances and having to try and locate her dishes and utensils in a new layout.
Of course, after the large dinner, the whimps amongst us had to have a snooze. (They will kill me for showing this!)
And the rest of us helped with the washing up. That is a story in itself as the old kitchen has a dodgy strip light, to go with the dodgy boiler and plumbing. Halfway through the light decided to give up and plunged us into darkness. The starter motor at the end of the tube needed taking out and putting back in (this according to my sister would bring it back to life). For this she needed the steps…the steps were in the garage outside, but to open the garage door she needed the scissors to prise it open….well of course she did!
Eventually, she found the scissors to retrieve the steps and the starter was taken out and put back and lo and behold….we had light and we all cheered just like the moment on the National Lampoon film when the lights come on at last. The steps and scissors were returned and all was well.
But only for 5 minutes until it decided to strobe frantically and then cut out altogether again. So the scissors and steps were called for once again, by which time we could not do anything for laughing with tears rolling down our faces. It felt like some kind of two Ronnie’s sketch. All the men had a go at fixing the light and then the electrician (snoozing on the sofa) was woken and brought in.
Did he fix it? Well no!
So that was our eventful Christmas – I hope you made it to the end of this post. We went to mum’s apartment on Boxing Day, cooked a meal, and as it was a lovely sunny day, wheeled her to the park. The cafe was closed, but we managed to get a Costa coffee and hot chocolate from the machine in the garage opposite. She had a good Christmas and a smile on her face most of the time.
We are safely back home now and making plans for the coming year.
I know a lot of bloggers have also had a lovely time, I have been reading along on my phone when time allows.
No doubt I will be back very soon to share the new year plans. x
where the journey takes me 2 