Day 230

Thursday 05 November

Today started with some mild Covid19 concern at work but it all got sorted swiftly and calmly. The first day of the second nationwide lockdown started with a bit of a bang.

It’s been a cold but clear day today. We have also taken delivery of 50 trees from the Woodland Trust.

We have had a box of tree saplings delivered to the school for us to plant up on the school grounds and in the local community. We are planting a cluster of hazel trees in the new woodland area near the canal and a few crab apple trees in the area that will become our food and produce area. We then have some dog roses to plant in our mindful space.

I took a couple of pictures of our local Buzzard. On my phone, through a lense of the binoculars. It’s far from spectacular but has made me think that I could experiment a little with that.

The roads felt a little less busy but nothing like the post-apocalyptic emptiness of March and April. It feels very different this time round. People are tired of it all, a little war-weary and perhaps, even unconvinced by the scale of it. There is still anxiety out there though, mainly among the elderly and those that have a link to the old or vulnerable.

I am sat in a seriously uncomfortable chair at the CUFC football stadium waiting to give blood. Everything is slower, more people waiting in socially distanced space. I’m on a chair propping open the doors. Every space is being used. There is a desperate need for blood at the best of times but even more so at the moment. I guess many donors can’t or have chosen not to.

The US election still hasn’t been resolved although it looks like Joe Biden will sneak it. Just a few more states counting the postal ballots and it’s tight. The implications are far reaching. Biden has said that he will focus on trade and relations with the EU, which of course the UK is leaving at the end of the year.

Ahhhh. Trees………and relax.

All in all, it’s a time of so much worry and concern. And it feels exhausting. I know we will all get through it but big events and issues tend to space themselves out. But those tiny tree saplings that have been delivered to us to plant, nurture and grow will provide us with something positive to do over the next couple of weeks.

Day 229

Wednesday 04 November

What a weird couple of days. Everything feels out of sorts and upside down.

The majority of the news today has focussed on what is unfolding in the US. The election is being billed as one of the most divisive battles in US electoral history. As I write this Biden and the Democrats need 27 more electoral college seats.

Trump is declaring that there is fraudulent practice afoot. Meanwhile, back in the UK, and England to be exact, our parliament has agreed the national lockdown which kicks in from midnight tonight.

Long shadows this afternoon on the field at the back of our school.

It’s very hard to explain exactly how everyone feels at the moment and today in particular. I have always felt that each term is a marathon and not a sprint. This time round though it feels like I am sprinting a marathon. People in schools are shattered, mentally, physically and emotionally.

As I was driving home, after receiving my flu jab at the doctors, I listened to Boris Johnson talking to the house of commons before the vote on the latest lockdown (there were a further 496 deaths). And after the shenanigans in America, I felt unusually content that we had what we had. Calm, liberal politics. Of course, I would prefer something a little more left of centre but, at least it’s not the USA.

Day 228

Tuesday 03 November

There is a weird sense of the inevitable but also of the unpredictable.

The second lockdown in England is coming on Thursday. Wales, Northern Ireland and Scotland have already been living with lockdown style restrictions. Nervousness is growing amongst people I know, despite us arguably being much better prepared than before.

Across the Atlantic the polling stations are closing from the east coast to the west across the time zones. Eyes are focussed on the key battle states such as Florida and Pennsylvania. This is happening to a backdrop of Covid 19 and over 230,000 deaths so far.

I love the radio. I always have done for music and sport, but as I have got older it’s the spoken word that I increasingly tune in to. That and classical music. Why is that?

Anyway, I was listening to the radio on my way home from work this evening and heard a piece of music by Schubert. Accompanying it was a quote from him and his music; “When I wished to sing of love, it turned to sorrow. And when I wished to sing of sorrow, it was transformed for me into love.”

Late last night, news broke from Vienna, of a gunman who had seemingly open-fired indiscriminately on the public. This was the eve of a national lockdown in Austria, starting today. Franz Schubert was born in Vienna. The piece above was recommended by the Mayor of Vienna for its citizens to use to contemplate what is good about the world and their city.

A quote is a powerful thing. A small collection of words are so memorable and easily reusable. They allow for reflection. One of my personal favourites is from Gustav Mahler “But it’s peculiar, as soon as I am in the midst of nature and by myself, everything that is base and trivial vanishes without trace.” That brings me back to the post of yesterday.

Day 227

Monday 02 November

Why do we go through, what seems like, phases of bad things happening? Times when it feels like there is a relentless stream of sadness or badness. I don’t ever remember similar stretches of ‘positivity’ occurring.

“They always come in threes, you know.” Or “It’s just one thing after another.” These sayings tend only to be associated with negativity. As is the  situation at the moment, another piece of sad personal news came to me today. Again, to the backdrop of all the crap that we are all dealing with locally, nationally and globally.

But, it was Epictetus who said “It’s not what happens to you, but how you react to it that matters.” Very true. On the radio this morning, the author Charlie Mackesy explained how he manages his own emotional well-being during these challenging times.

For him, it’s all about his morning routine and his connection with nature. He lets the dog out to the backgarden then, bare footed, stands on the grass and watches for birds. Just back garden birds, I presume, and listens to the songs they sing. Then inside for a cup of tea. Simple pleasures that ground you can prepare you for the day ahead. I can totally get that. They know nothing of Coronavirus or Brexit or Trump. They’re unaffected by it all and some of us try to connect in some ways with them. It makes so much sense.

Saved by a Whale’s Tail by Maarten Strujis

But I also find myself seeking solace in other things too, especially as the daylight hours are shorter this time of year. A metro train in the Netherlands was saved from plunging into water by a sculpture of a whale’s tail. How ironic that nature once again comes to the rescue, but in such an unnatural way.

And finally, football. I love having a kick about with friends every week. Complete escapism to add to the other jaunts from the weekend just gone. My legs felt oh so heavy this evening; a twelve mile walk on Saturday and reffing to two matches on Sunday took their toll. It didn’t stop me from smiling though.

Day 226

Sunday 01 November

I don’t know if today is the end of an incredible week or the start of an incredible week. Arguably, it’s both.

This past week has seen the fishing out of good parcels and a half-term break of if, buts and maybe’s politically, so ially and economically. It culminated personally with a wild, windy and wet walk past Sizewell nuclear power station and time to catch up with friends and family.

But it also has seen the announcement of Lockdown 2 which will start on Thursday after discussion on the detail in the coming days. Then on the way to my football matches this morning, my wing mirror got smashed by another car’d mirror traveling in the opposite direction. The case of mine broke but the mirror of the other car shattered. Is that bad luck for me?

We also have the US election taking place on Tuesday/Wednesday. Biden still leads in the polls but Trump has a weird habit of getting his own way.

There was a general malaise around the pitches today as I refereed a couple of games which are likely to be my last for at least a month. People are tired and fatigued by it all. They’re also scared and anxious and I do feel the mental health of young people is being impacted. They asked if we could observe a minute silence as we may not be able to do so next week when it would be the actual weekend to do so. Wow.

At our matches today we observed a minute silence to commemorate those that have died in wars gone by.

Something I didn’t share from yesterday’s walk. This memorial stands just off the beach at Sizewell to remember a group of 32 Dutch soldiers who tried to kayak to Britain to join the allied forces during World War 2. Only eight made it, and only three survived the war.

This text is displayed on one the broken oar of the memorial.

Day 225

Saturday 31 October

A soggy day outside in the wet and wild, walking part of the Suffolk coastal path. Then back home to watch the prime minister announce the latest lockdown measures to the nation in a prime time TV special briefing. Another interesting day.

12 miles from Walberswick to Thorpeness.
Reuniting once more with the Gentleman’s Film and Leisure Club.

We started the walk in sunshine and strong head winds. The sea was being whipped up by the force eight gale winds and the spindrift was spraying bright white sea foam onto the beach. I couldn’t resist grabbing a handful of it as my eyes winced to the bright sunshine.

As the walk (and the day) progressed so the weather started to worsen. To me, the coast tends to accentuate all weather. If it’s hot and sunny, it really is. If it rains and is windy, it really is. And was. The weather also changes so quickly. The signs were there though. The gulls headed inland, away from their beak-forward behaviour, gliding into the wind, eyes down for food.

The last grave of the grave yard that is gradually being taken by the sea. The erosion occasionally exposes bones. This is the last grave stone, Jacob Forster who died in March 1796.

By the time we reached Dunwich Heath the heavens were prised open and were not showing signs of closing. I tried to brave it out in just shorts, partly because I wanted to feel closer to the elements. In my mind I anticipated that this may be the last weekend for a walk such as this. By this time we had no idea that the PM was going to announce another national lockdown later in the day. It was daft, water headed down my legs and into my boots, lesson learned.

Walking with pace past Sizewell A and B nuclear power stations. On the day that Sizewell C got the nod. It will go up behind the trees to the right of this picture.

Then it was heads down pretty much all the way back. We stopped off for a spot of lunch and a brief drying session at a cafe at Sizewell. Which was welcomed but flashed back lyrics of the Morrissey song ‘Everyday is Like Sunday’.

By the time we reached Sizewell Tea cafe we were soaked through. The rain eased but only temporarily. It was definitely a day for the boats to remain on the beach.

That didn’t stop us from enjoying the satisfaction of this good walk down a beautiful part of the East Anglian coast. I was constantly aware that this was M R James country and was keeping a look out of the corner of my eye to see if a dark figure was tracking me on my journey.

A little gem spotted in the rain as we headed inland towards Thorpeness on the last stretch. A Fly Agaric mushroom (Amanita muscaria). I had never seen one before. And this one looks like, despite its poisonous threat to humans, has been nibbled by mice.

When in the car, we anticipated a press conference from Downing Street which didn’t materialise on time. In fact not until we all returned home. The PM announced a month long national lockdown for England, starting on Thursday. Schools and universities to remain open though. We will see what happens. Pretty gloomy stuff.

Day 224

Friday 30th October

I went to the Imperial War Museum at Duxford today with the Gentleman’s Film and Leisure Club. It was great to be on a jolly outing, just cross the Essex/Cambridgeshire border with my pals.

It is a fascinating place, huge hangars housing hundreds of planes. It’s quite interesting how we have conquered flight and, in return, pay homage to the experts. So many aircraft are named after birds. Eagle, harrier, gannet, hawk, osprey, skua, hummingbird, grebe. The list goes on and on, and in a range of languages.

The Grumman TBM Avenger wing folds back and tucks in to its body in a similar style to that of a bird.

In one of the hangers, appropriately named sea and air, displays aircraft that are associated with water. There were a number of aircraft that fold up their wings or rotar blades. There was one that uniquely folds back its wings, in the same way that birds fold back their wings.

The joints of the birds’ wing is unique.

Yes, it’s practical and it is so that many can be stowed onboard an aircraft carrier. But it also feels more than coincidence that it took that specific design?

The plane designs I warm to are those that resemble living forms. Avian shapes endure. Helicopters are amazing machines, but they are just that, machines. They have no affinity to birds. Insects maybe (The Wasp) or winds (Chinook), but not birds.

The softer, smoother shapes. Curves and waves work best.

And it doesn’t stop there. Birds wings have been something we have traditionally revered for millennia and across many cultures. Pegasus, Icarus, Jinn, angels, the devil. Stories, myths, legends? The ability to fly is a strength that those who possess can use for good or bad.

The Vedbaek burial in Denmark, unearthed in 1975, revealed an adult and newly born child laying on top of a swan’s wing.

But the single wing of the swan, used to cradle a woman and a recently born baby, takes the symbolism to a different place. It is thought that both mother and child possibly died during birth and were buried together on the wing to aid their flight to the next world.

Day 223

Thursday 29 October

Its not lost on me that whilst discovering so much more about my local area, I am using the global world wide web to understand it in more detail. My legs do the walking and my eyes and ears take it all in, wowing at the beauty and the marvel of it all. Then I follow it all up with some reconnaissance at home, looking up this and that, identifying this flower or that mushroom.

The other day we went for a walk in the neighbouring village of Stratford St Mary and walked past this rundown Tudor house. It was pretty shabby and the front garden was unkempt. The chimney stack looked as though it could crumble and fall at any moment and the roof looked far from secure.

The porch was scattered with leaves from several Autumns and the window frames looked like they would be lucky to survive another winter. It looked every bit of the four hundred or so years that it was. But the house had been built and lived in. The finger prints of four hundred years of occupiers were on it, as were the finger prints of the craftsmen who built it in the first place. The walls would have soaked up the atmosphere of good and bad times and the windows would have reflected the faces of so many people as they looked out on to countless street scenes from the past four centuries.

Gazing in through one of the windows it looked creepy. Really creepy. A doll’s house sat alone in the middle of the room. I mean, seriously. Post were slotted into another window frame with a postmark of 1995 alongside a water colour print of a Tudor woman weaving cloth. I came away thinking there must be a story with this place and if not, I would make one up. My aim is to create a ghost story that I can pass on to others in the area and see if it will become a shared story by word of mouth alone. This was the perfect place to set it, but first I needed to check out it’s back story, if there was one.

And what a story.

Weavers House was built in early-mid sixteenth century and, as the name suggests was probably owned by one of the wealthy few who made their money in the cloth trade. The River Stour, running along the back garden, would have been part of the navigable trading network linking London, East Anglia and the Midlands to cities, ports and beyond. This region was famous for it’s wool and cloth.

But it’s last owner was the most notable. The poet Ida Affleck Graves lived and died there. She is actually buried in the garden at the back of the house. She was a member of the famous Bloomsbury Group, mixing with the likes of Virginia Woolf and John Maynard Keynes. She died in 1999 at the age of 97, just before her final, well received, compendium of poetry was published – The Calfbearer. In an interview just before her death she said she would love to become a cult and was grateful for her refound. And that is only part of the story.

It goes that the house was full of laughter and happiness. The door was always open and local children would visit regularly. Ida wrote children’s books too. Something must be done to preserve that house.

Day 222

This morning started quietly. I took a bit of time simply watching and listening to the sights and sounds in the back garden. The sunshine was blasting the lawn and quivering branches with luke warm light. It’s a hollow light compared to that of the spring or summer, but it is very welcome nonetheless. What it lacks in warmth, it more than makes up for in colour, intensifying the reds and oranges and greens of the plants.

The breeze, pretty strong in bursts today, was spinning loose leaves hanging precariously on to their branches. Providing a backing track of white-noise to the tip-tap of the birds’ beaks on the wire feeders. Simple pleasures. A few minutes of calm and awareness.

I’m still reading ghost stories a plenty and these two locations would make great locations or names of stories.

We then went for a walk with the dog. We ventured over the main road which splits our little patch in two. I used to live in London where there has always been a ‘north and south of the river’ thing. I see a similar thing up here with the A137 Harwich Road which cuts through from east to west. Picturesque Dedham, Flatford, Stratford St Mary and Manningtree to the north. Agricultural Ardleigh, the Bromley’s and Frating to the South. The road cuts straight through Ardleigh, splitting it in two.

We parked pretty much on the main road and walked part of the Essex Way with bridle ways and other footpaths at each end. It was so nice to look at something different. We are so fortunate to still be able to do our walks. A kestrel drifted over-top being carried by the breeze and perched on top of a silhouette of a tree. It was the cherry on top of the cup cake.

A couple of miles away is the village of Stratford St Mary. And in it is this house. A run down, unloved Tudor house that must have been quite something when it was alive. But now it is dead and the dead live there too. Probably. I would love to make up a ghost story to keep alive a tale of wrong-doing or injustice. We will see.

The ghost stories are playing with me a little each day. I am listening to a podcast that takes a more historical, cultural and factual perspective of them. We clearly hold on to them for a number of reasons; to keep alive our memories of the dead, to right historical wrongs, to ward off or to bring too. I am aware of who may have been before us and what life stories could be told, adding new layers of history to a place. Just as our stories play out in the here and now, laying a new story layer on top. It would be good to invent a ghost story for near here. One that people could talk about and share with generations.

Day 221

Tuesday 27 October

What a day this will be? Pretty much perfect. We had coffee in bed this morning, no rush to get up to be anywhere. I walked down the stairs a little like the tin-man from Oz after playing football last night. Letting Mabel out on to the back lawn (cut yesterday afternoon – smug) to carry out her toilet needs.

But then, after coffee, toast and porridge. We took Mabel for a walk over the fields in Lawford, aiming to get it done before the anticipated rain comes.

It’s nearly November but there are still a few little specks of colour on the fields near us. No

The skies were full of it but we did indeed avoid the worst. My attention was drawn to the clusters of birds hanging about in groups of six or more. I’m reluctant to call them flocks; I don’t really know how many constitute a flock but it feels that you need more than that.

The crows are very anxious. Although they lumber about and take a while to lift their heavy frames off the ground for flight they’re reactions are swift and they anticipate any threat very early on. You cannot creep up on a group of crows. Once their heavy, strained wingbeats lift them up, they drift and glide low to the damp ground just shifting a hundred or so meters away. Occasionally, very occasionally, pulling themselves up higher and head towards the trees they roost in.

Shadowy crows lift themselves just enough to travel the short distance to new ground or a roosting tree.

Fieldfares and Starlings are the other notable gangs hanging about the fields. Their behaviours are a more frenzied affair. Rising quickly but not much higher than the shadowy crows. By their flight is swooping, with twists and turns of direction and speed. All seemingly leading each other. Their numbers will increase over the coming months as gangs join other gangs. Making flocks, perhaps?

Later today, some chores around the house with tea and my ghost stories. Pizza night at home and football on the telly with a lovely bottle of red. Whilst the rain tap-taps on the windows outside and the dog sleeps next to me. What a day.