The Middle of Nowhere
Annemarie's contribution:
It was the day after my sixth birthday.
I had been outside all day playing cricket on the beach with my friends. I
heard my mother call 'Garfield, Garfield, come in for supper. It's your
favourite - fried chicken and calalloo."
I was home as quick as my legs would run. But this time family supper was different; there was a seriousness, but also a hint of excitement, fluttering between my mother and father. They had a big piece of paper on the table and explained that our Mother Country, Great Britain, we're offering free passage to England. Of course I knew nothing of our mother country other than her history, which we learnt about in school but Dad had volunteered to fight in their RAF during the terrible war which had devastated so many countries. He was eager to get back into the RAF and told Mum and me that we would be helping our mother country as they had lost so many young men in the war. It would be an opportunity for her to enjoy all the modern things over there and I would go to school . What an opportunity for us all, said Dad! And Aunt Taniyah , mum's youngest sister would come with us.
I remember so well the journey over on a ship called The Empire Windrush. It was crammed with returning soldiers and about 300 of us Jamaicans. Our anticipation was somewhat dulled when we docked early in the morning, all grey, dreary and misty, each of us hanging onto a small suitcase with all our worldly possessions. The people in Britain were mostly in dark clothes and I already missed the sun, beach and the island's brightly coloured, patterned clothes and of course my grandparents whose house was next door to ours, but as Dad said, this was a land of promise and we would soon earn enough to travel back to see them.
Well, it was not quite as easy as that! First Dad was not accepted back into the RAF so he eventually got a job on one of the big red London buses, clipping the travellers' tickets - and Mum? Well though she had not had a job in Jamaica since she had looked after the family, two sisters and my grandparents. She had cultivated a wonderfully productive vegetable garden which she couldn't do here in south London as we had to live in three very cramped rented rooms.
I was home as quick as my legs would run. But this time family supper was different; there was a seriousness, but also a hint of excitement, fluttering between my mother and father. They had a big piece of paper on the table and explained that our Mother Country, Great Britain, we're offering free passage to England. Of course I knew nothing of our mother country other than her history, which we learnt about in school but Dad had volunteered to fight in their RAF during the terrible war which had devastated so many countries. He was eager to get back into the RAF and told Mum and me that we would be helping our mother country as they had lost so many young men in the war. It would be an opportunity for her to enjoy all the modern things over there and I would go to school . What an opportunity for us all, said Dad! And Aunt Taniyah , mum's youngest sister would come with us.
I remember so well the journey over on a ship called The Empire Windrush. It was crammed with returning soldiers and about 300 of us Jamaicans. Our anticipation was somewhat dulled when we docked early in the morning, all grey, dreary and misty, each of us hanging onto a small suitcase with all our worldly possessions. The people in Britain were mostly in dark clothes and I already missed the sun, beach and the island's brightly coloured, patterned clothes and of course my grandparents whose house was next door to ours, but as Dad said, this was a land of promise and we would soon earn enough to travel back to see them.
Well, it was not quite as easy as that! First Dad was not accepted back into the RAF so he eventually got a job on one of the big red London buses, clipping the travellers' tickets - and Mum? Well though she had not had a job in Jamaica since she had looked after the family, two sisters and my grandparents. She had cultivated a wonderfully productive vegetable garden which she couldn't do here in south London as we had to live in three very cramped rented rooms.
Mum started work in the hospital and started
her training to be a nurse.
'But things would get better,' Dad said, 'after all our Mother Country needs us.'
Dad never did get to join the RAF but Mum did get her nursing qualifications and we did manage to buy a small terraced house in a street where most of our Jamaican friends lived. I hardly knew a white Briton except the teachers at school and in the shops. Contrary to what we were expecting when we were invited we didn't find our white Britons very welcoming, in fact they seemed resentful and as soon as one or two of us bought a house in the same street the white Britons put their houses up for sale and moved to pastures new.
'But things would get better,' Dad said, 'after all our Mother Country needs us.'
Dad never did get to join the RAF but Mum did get her nursing qualifications and we did manage to buy a small terraced house in a street where most of our Jamaican friends lived. I hardly knew a white Briton except the teachers at school and in the shops. Contrary to what we were expecting when we were invited we didn't find our white Britons very welcoming, in fact they seemed resentful and as soon as one or two of us bought a house in the same street the white Britons put their houses up for sale and moved to pastures new.
'Well we have the house now and soon we will
have enough to visit Jamaica and the family.' said Dad, ever optimistic.
We never did earn enough money to go back and
see my grandparents before they died. In the seventies new laws were brought in
and we soon discovered that life would change considerably for us and by us I
don,t mean just my family. Weston, two doors down from us, was not allowed back
into the country after a hasty visit to see his dying mother and then attend
her funeral. Weston had lived in Britain for thirty-six years, paid his taxes,
paid his rent and raised a family. It is now thirteen years since he has seen
his daughter.
The first hint of our problems regarding our British citizenship came when Aunt Taniyah had to go for an operation. She had already had one operation under the NHS and now was to have a second with chemo treatment to follow. As she had no proof of landing papar, passport etc. she was denied the treatment under NHS and told she would have to pay the cost herself. Where were we to find money like that? Why had we been paying our taxes? Then the government brought in new laws as the white population raged against the 'immigrants taking over their country'.
The first hint of our problems regarding our British citizenship came when Aunt Taniyah had to go for an operation. She had already had one operation under the NHS and now was to have a second with chemo treatment to follow. As she had no proof of landing papar, passport etc. she was denied the treatment under NHS and told she would have to pay the cost herself. Where were we to find money like that? Why had we been paying our taxes? Then the government brought in new laws as the white population raged against the 'immigrants taking over their country'.
The hospitable invitation in times of need
had become a hostile environment.
My turn came when I applied for a job
teaching history in a local school but I had no papers and no passport as I had
come with my parents at the invitation of Britain with the promise of
everlasting citizenship. We did not know that in deep the Home Office vaults
someone had shredded all our landing cards which proved when we had come
into this country.
'It will be alright, 'my father said, this
has been our home for the last forty years.;
So much for his conviction - the next
thing I knew I, his only son, was about to be deported back to Jamaica, a place
I did not even know and have not seen for thirty-six years. The home office was
even so good as to give me a leaflet which offered a list of dos and
don’ts for people being deported to Jamaica, including the tip: “Try
to be ‘Jamaican’ – use local accents and dialect”. It advised deportees
that “overseas accents can attract unwanted attention”.
“How exactly can someone pretend to ‘be
Jamaican’ when they are British and have lived here all their lives?”
'I'm sure things will turn out right in the
end,' says my ever trustful father.
So here I am in a foreign place, no
passport for Jamaica and no wish to live there and not wanted in Britain. And I
wait month after month in this crowded
land for Mrs. May and her government to sort things out but in reality I'm
in the middle of nowhere.
In the middle of nowhere, I found everything that I had been
looking for.
My journey to the middle of nowhere was literal. It required
a 17-hour flight, then a five-hour flight, then a two-hour flight, then a
three-hour ride in a four-wheel drive vehicle built to navigate rocky strip
mines.
When I left New Orleans, I could point to where I was going
on the map. But I was lost. I felt like I needed to take a leap of faith. Traveling
to the other side of the planet seemed like as good an idea as any.
The invitation came unexpectedly, from a close friend whom I
had known for more than 20 years. I adored him – but with the care and distance
that men and women do when they are married to other people. Which is to say, I
knew him well, and not at all.
One morning the phone rang, and I smiled when I saw his name
on the screen. “I have to go to Australia and do some work, but then my friends
and I are going into the Outback for a week .... Why don’t you come down and meet
me?”
Come down, like he was just downstairs waiting. Not “come
down to the other side of the world, to a place you’ve never been before.”
Yet his timing was impeccable. I was unmoored in my life,
and he knew it. My marriage had failed, and I wasn’t sure why. I was alone for
the first time since college, and unsure where my life was headed. He was
divorced, too, but had been on his own for longer, had seen other people,
seemed contented.
We knew each other well enough for me to believe that when
his invitation came, he wasn’t necessarily asking as a friend. I was surprised
to find myself happy about that. I only took a moment to decide.
“OK,” I said. “How do I get there?”
As I walked off the plane in Perth after 22 hours in the
air, he was waiting at the gate. When I saw him, I could see that he had tears
in his eyes. So did I. He reached out to hug me, and for the first time in
months, I could feel oxygen in my lungs. Finally, he pulled away, looked down at
me, smiled, and said: “Come meet my friends.”
Bill and Sean were waiting at the top of the concourse. I
did not know then that his friends would become mine, so important and dear to
me. But they greeted me like I already was, to them. That said something
important about the kinds of friends he had.
After a night’s sleep, I was still jet-lagged. But we were
up at dawn for another two-hour flight, to an airstrip that served one of the
largest open-pit mines in the world. Paraburdoo was a mining town through and
through. But it was also the gateway to Karijini National Park. That’s how we
ended up in a rented Toyota Land Cruiser with flashing yellow lights and a tall
orange flag on the back, streaking through the red clay roads of the Western
Australian outback.
Our destination was an “eco-resort” in the middle of the
park. It was a step up from camping, but at least one down from a comfy hotel
room. Which is to say, it had a real bed, but in a wood-floored tent. Running
water, but a bathroom open to the sky. A flush toilet, but one that you needed
to keep closed, lest the frogs get to know you intimately, from below, in the
middle of the night. If you know what I mean.
Sean couldn’t make the trip, but three more new friends,
Michael and Amy and Greer, joined us. They welcomed me with the same openness:
You are a friend here. You are accepted. You are safe.
That first day in Karijini, Bill had arranged a small bus
tour with Baz, a garrulous and friendly Australian who had lived in the area
his whole life. Baz showed us several of the beautiful red sandstone canyons
and gorges, the waterfalls leading into them, the cold, deep lagoons at the
head of each cleft. Fortified with this lay-of-the-land overview, we retired to
Bill’s veranda for cocktails and sunset amid the stark beauty of the landscape.
As the shadows lengthened and the vodka started going to my
head, I said goodnight and retired to my cabin. As I drifted to sleep, I was
thinking about how amazing the day had been, about how much I had enjoyed his
closeness to me all day. And I couldn’t wait to see what the next day would
bring.
I awoke in the dark, disoriented in that way you are when
you’re far from home. I did not know how long I’d been asleep, and I was unsure
what had awakened me. Then I heard his voice: “Are you awake? Come outside. I
have something to show you.”
I could see a small circle of light just outside my tent
cabin, where he was shining his flashlight on the porch. I dressed quickly against
the night chill, and came out to find a blanket stretched out on the ground, in
the open a little way from the porch of my cabin. I was a little nervous.
“I want to show you the sky,” he said as he led me to the
blanket. We lay down next to each other, not touching, and I looked up.
What greeted me was a field of stars like nothing I’ve seen
before or since. The sky was brilliant, full, unfamiliar. But the thing that
took my breath away cut right through the center of the blinking black, from
the horizon all the way past the zenith. It was like a giant sideways mouth,
filled with stars, but also clouds of light, and streaks of color, glowing red
and blue.
It was one of the most stunning things I’d ever seen. “My
God, it’s beautiful,” I said.
“That’s what the Milky Way looks like,” he said, “when you
go somewhere where you can really see it.”
We lay in silent wonder for what seemed like a long time.
The only sounds were the light rustle of the breeze in the trees, our breathing,
and my heart pounding in my ears.
Then with a small catch in his voice, he whispered, “I can’t
tell you how happy I am that you decided to come.”
I reached for his hand at the same moment he reached for
mine, finally crossing the boundary we had held between us for so long. Here in
the dark, 10,000 miles from New Orleans, lying in the middle of nowhere, I knew
that I was finally home.
__________________________________________________________________________
Jackie's contribution:
Three men blocked the path of Miss Mary Hay who was on her way to start a missionary station in East Griqaland an area of South Africa. One man was extremely tall and the other two stood stocky with bulging muscles shining, melting in the scorching heat. They stood like trees swaying gently in rhythm to the heat waves, shimmering and radiating like a hazy mirage.
All three were black as coal their bodies glowing and glistening with sweat the white of their eyes like stars on midsummers night. Faces scarred and marked by tribal traditions. Feathers, beads and necklaces, bracelets adorned their heads, ankles and wrists like turkeys trussed for Thanksgiving - the middle man held a sharpened spearhead which reminded Mary Hay briefly of the ones she had studied in a Glasgow museum a few months before coming to SA as a young 23 year old missionary girl - he pointed the spear towards her as if she, a slight Scottish lass on her quest could be a threat. They advanced together gesticulating, intimidating, pointing - menacing - she must have wandered onto forbidden territory.
Alone in the what seemed like the middle of nowhere Mary Hay had arrived to spread the word of her God through the United Free Church of Scotland by holding classes for native women. Most of whom had never seen a white person before. Sent to help spread her faith but most of all set up missionary schools and chapels to spread the light of her faith.
…she shuddered and shifted slightly in her saddle, her horse sensing discomfort stepped back two or three paces flaring his nostrils with a scent of the unknown but the men advanced slowly, one of them pointed to the ground and mumbled in a language she couldn’t understand. Her horse reared and she fell, bruised and shaken - looking up she saw a dark face staring down at her with spear raised - she watched as he lifted his arm and she could feel the rush of air as it hit target - was this to be the end of her journey before she had really started? She felt herself being rolled into the dirt and then a cry of triumph from all three men as one of them lifted up with his spear a 5 meter long snake still writhing in his grip.
In a split second he beheaded it split it’s belly down the middle with his blade and turned it inside out - scraping and cleaning it with nearby cottonwood branches …There were broad smiles and laughter all round as Mary Hay brushed herself off and the three men came over to shake her hand . Welcome to our village Miss Mary Hay.
The villagers were lined up on either side of the dirt road Singing and dancing, colourful clothes, drums beating, children running up to meet her. Hands outstretched in greeting - Mary Hay was met with excitement. It was an honour for a village to receive a missionary; a prestigious gift and everyone was so proud to be the first to see a white woman among them.
My great great Aunt - Her very first African adventure.
______________________________________________________________________
Monica's contribution: Typed on another typewriter so some of the words are mixed.
Jackie's contribution:
Three men blocked the path of Miss Mary Hay who was on her way to start a missionary station in East Griqaland an area of South Africa. One man was extremely tall and the other two stood stocky with bulging muscles shining, melting in the scorching heat. They stood like trees swaying gently in rhythm to the heat waves, shimmering and radiating like a hazy mirage.
All three were black as coal their bodies glowing and glistening with sweat the white of their eyes like stars on midsummers night. Faces scarred and marked by tribal traditions. Feathers, beads and necklaces, bracelets adorned their heads, ankles and wrists like turkeys trussed for Thanksgiving - the middle man held a sharpened spearhead which reminded Mary Hay briefly of the ones she had studied in a Glasgow museum a few months before coming to SA as a young 23 year old missionary girl - he pointed the spear towards her as if she, a slight Scottish lass on her quest could be a threat. They advanced together gesticulating, intimidating, pointing - menacing - she must have wandered onto forbidden territory.
Alone in the what seemed like the middle of nowhere Mary Hay had arrived to spread the word of her God through the United Free Church of Scotland by holding classes for native women. Most of whom had never seen a white person before. Sent to help spread her faith but most of all set up missionary schools and chapels to spread the light of her faith.
…she shuddered and shifted slightly in her saddle, her horse sensing discomfort stepped back two or three paces flaring his nostrils with a scent of the unknown but the men advanced slowly, one of them pointed to the ground and mumbled in a language she couldn’t understand. Her horse reared and she fell, bruised and shaken - looking up she saw a dark face staring down at her with spear raised - she watched as he lifted his arm and she could feel the rush of air as it hit target - was this to be the end of her journey before she had really started? She felt herself being rolled into the dirt and then a cry of triumph from all three men as one of them lifted up with his spear a 5 meter long snake still writhing in his grip.
In a split second he beheaded it split it’s belly down the middle with his blade and turned it inside out - scraping and cleaning it with nearby cottonwood branches …There were broad smiles and laughter all round as Mary Hay brushed herself off and the three men came over to shake her hand . Welcome to our village Miss Mary Hay.
The villagers were lined up on either side of the dirt road Singing and dancing, colourful clothes, drums beating, children running up to meet her. Hands outstretched in greeting - Mary Hay was met with excitement. It was an honour for a village to receive a missionary; a prestigious gift and everyone was so proud to be the first to see a white woman among them.
My great great Aunt - Her very first African adventure.
______________________________________________________________________
Monica's contribution: Typed on another typewriter so some of the words are mixed.
In the Micidle of Know where
Rebecca iiever tii.ed of watcliiiig botli tiie Set tiiig air,i tiie i'isiiig or"ilie
suii eveil after aii ihese Jvears uf iiviiig in her littie Croft in tire iiii,i,iic of
Know-wlere , SLre was an oid iady now and tende,i to relive heriifb
sitting watching the Suii Sipping irer= \'vhiskey if it was evetring time.
Liie at'rlie beggirg wasn't eas) or-r this croft she was a Lontiorrer wiih a
iit'r.le money it took a long tiine for'her to'oecotne excepted in to tiris hard
brutai way of iife, to go back'ro London woul'i have l:een a faial faiier'
fbr Rebecca eveii itio\ iltg io a Towtt in Scotlan,J, wlricir slie had
corrsi,Jered at orre poini in her time here -would also ltavc been a faiier in
her eyes , Rebecca rtevel' faiieti at anytliing slie sct ltei' iitiiid too .
Aftei her iiusbarrd irad ,iie,i in a ,irurtketr Accideut aiong witir flcur of iris
Ri;gby ivfates Ret-recca took a long irar=d iook ai iift irerself and her job
ihe ilrree other widows had remarrie,j ovet'the yeal's exchanging orre ricli
irusband ior a richer one , because her husbands deatir couirJ have beert
avoide,i iithey all w=eren't so ,irunk it took her a loiig tiine to con-re io
tenns noi only her grief but this catastropire iiie charrging event '
Charles arli Rebecca were one of 'uhese dreanr couples aird wet'e a soiid
togetlier-on the sarne wave iength an,i woul,i have beeii the sort of couple
iii tlieir oid age as soul niates .
The iuxurl flat became soulless and i'r was quickiy ren'red out atl,i herjoi:
ai a sinall finance cotrlpaily slnall by 'r.;,3ay's stanriarris becaure fileaii
less so after movirrg oui in to ihe coutriiy sire left lier jo'o, fbr' ihe nex'i
fb-w non'rhs slie ina,ie soil1e quiie serious iinprovemenis to the coitage
she ira,J bougirt when corrrpieted sire iei it out aud wetrt traveliing not
abroa,i btii tire irigir larrds an,i lowlatiris of Scotiand an,i iiris is wtrere slie
siumble,i across tiris iittie croft . i'r wasn'i love at fir"st sigirt she triade
enquires and rented a rooni a few iriiles away w-ltere she walke,i to it nros'r
l^_-_ uaJvs
Clofting is a srnall scale Sustainabie agricuiiure some oithe crofter kepi
Goais or sheep or cows but Rebecca di,iii'i watrt to keep atlitnals she
warrte$ to Carden on a small scale herbs planis that would grow in'uiris
Hais[ etivirorriiieiii and clo Toui'isnr iioi on a lai'ge scale, the cr:oft was in
e1
tl.re remoie nor*rlr westerly islar.rd of Sco.ularr.j two 'u*, "*',l'
,-,.0
before yor,i evell irrrJ ir1. place how Rebecca s-rut-nLr1ed upon tiris she
doest reai reaily;.;*] p..r*pr I i;rt *"t the road less tt'aveile'. sire says
AcrossthewhoieofScotiancithereareiTthousaniiscroftsmost
abandoned ihese rlay sorne ,tot *o'ittcr at ail o'uhels jtrst have'oeen
bougirt by rich tu"io*"tr and iurtre'J in to holiday reutals'
CroftinglrasasetofRulesan.Jreguiatiotrlthat,JatebacktotiieiS
hundre,is an'J you have 'r'o be app'"outd Rel:ecca trow day dreairring
re1-reillbers'rhe nightrrrare oijur-nping tiuougir all tirese hoops ' t-ru'r
;orrrP.,J througir thetri sire did '
Her croft is beautiful an,J stili so well *rai*taine'J 'uhe ou'r b-tiiidirrg which
s'e co*ver*red trto a iuxur-,v studio it att.actetJ l'ore irrteres'ting peopie
ihan just ti,- urout ianriiy iroli,iayl *uk.., +li:,, ivri'uei:s an,i loneli soul's
looking ior trea-uty irr t#".. qldr-oi course f,ild rr atcher's she -was iir arr
i,Jeai spot witir a goo,J pair of binoculars -uo,i hei iittie irili she could see
the migr-ating Vvtales '
Rebecca iea,rt the mc,orjs an,j'rhe w-eather chatrges artrj e\ eil iila'ie
fi'ien,Js, rniles aw-ay of course it sadden her io think the lLeii Coiite IS itt
ihe crofting ,Jor;,rrrity are ali ove.65 weaitfuy retire to irre peace arrd
qui-re arid spen,J ihe wirrters irr w-ar-rner clinraies, atrother tiiirg iiLa:
*d,r"r. hei is the rise in Alcohoiisil it is a huge problern irr the crc'ltLrrg
cointnutrity
Rebecca ,jeatli rr,as repofted ir-r'r.he locai llewspapers the L,ltrdorr croft
lIa u1y url'c s a_B--s.u9:.
Rebecca iiever tii.ed of watcliiiig botli tiie Set tiiig air,i tiie i'isiiig or"ilie
suii eveil after aii ihese Jvears uf iiviiig in her littie Croft in tire iiii,i,iic of
Know-wlere , SLre was an oid iady now and tende,i to relive heriifb
sitting watching the Suii Sipping irer= \'vhiskey if it was evetring time.
Liie at'rlie beggirg wasn't eas) or-r this croft she was a Lontiorrer wiih a
iit'r.le money it took a long tiine for'her to'oecotne excepted in to tiris hard
brutai way of iife, to go back'ro London woul'i have l:een a faial faiier'
fbr Rebecca eveii itio\ iltg io a Towtt in Scotlan,J, wlricir slie had
corrsi,Jered at orre poini in her time here -would also ltavc been a faiier in
her eyes , Rebecca rtevel' faiieti at anytliing slie sct ltei' iitiiid too .
Aftei her iiusbarrd irad ,iie,i in a ,irurtketr Accideut aiong witir flcur of iris
Ri;gby ivfates Ret-recca took a long irar=d iook ai iift irerself and her job
ihe ilrree other widows had remarrie,j ovet'the yeal's exchanging orre ricli
irusband ior a richer one , because her husbands deatir couirJ have beert
avoide,i iithey all w=eren't so ,irunk it took her a loiig tiine to con-re io
tenns noi only her grief but this catastropire iiie charrging event '
Charles arli Rebecca were one of 'uhese dreanr couples aird wet'e a soiid
togetlier-on the sarne wave iength an,i woul,i have beeii the sort of couple
iii tlieir oid age as soul niates .
The iuxurl flat became soulless and i'r was quickiy ren'red out atl,i herjoi:
ai a sinall finance cotrlpaily slnall by 'r.;,3ay's stanriarris becaure fileaii
less so after movirrg oui in to ihe coutriiy sire left lier jo'o, fbr' ihe nex'i
fb-w non'rhs slie ina,ie soil1e quiie serious iinprovemenis to the coitage
she ira,J bougirt when corrrpieted sire iei it out aud wetrt traveliing not
abroa,i btii tire irigir larrds an,i lowlatiris of Scotiand an,i iiris is wtrere slie
siumble,i across tiris iittie croft . i'r wasn'i love at fir"st sigirt she triade
enquires and rented a rooni a few iriiles away w-ltere she walke,i to it nros'r
l^_-_ uaJvs
Clofting is a srnall scale Sustainabie agricuiiure some oithe crofter kepi
Goais or sheep or cows but Rebecca di,iii'i watrt to keep atlitnals she
warrte$ to Carden on a small scale herbs planis that would grow in'uiris
Hais[ etivirorriiieiii and clo Toui'isnr iioi on a lai'ge scale, the cr:oft was in
e1
tl.re remoie nor*rlr westerly islar.rd of Sco.ularr.j two 'u*, "*',l'
,-,.0
before yor,i evell irrrJ ir1. place how Rebecca s-rut-nLr1ed upon tiris she
doest reai reaily;.;*] p..r*pr I i;rt *"t the road less tt'aveile'. sire says
AcrossthewhoieofScotiancithereareiTthousaniiscroftsmost
abandoned ihese rlay sorne ,tot *o'ittcr at ail o'uhels jtrst have'oeen
bougirt by rich tu"io*"tr and iurtre'J in to holiday reutals'
CroftinglrasasetofRulesan.Jreguiatiotrlthat,JatebacktotiieiS
hundre,is an'J you have 'r'o be app'"outd Rel:ecca trow day dreairring
re1-reillbers'rhe nightrrrare oijur-nping tiuougir all tirese hoops ' t-ru'r
;orrrP.,J througir thetri sire did '
Her croft is beautiful an,J stili so well *rai*taine'J 'uhe ou'r b-tiiidirrg which
s'e co*ver*red trto a iuxur-,v studio it att.actetJ l'ore irrteres'ting peopie
ihan just ti,- urout ianriiy iroli,iayl *uk.., +li:,, ivri'uei:s an,i loneli soul's
looking ior trea-uty irr t#".. qldr-oi course f,ild rr atcher's she -was iir arr
i,Jeai spot witir a goo,J pair of binoculars -uo,i hei iittie irili she could see
the migr-ating Vvtales '
Rebecca iea,rt the mc,orjs an,j'rhe w-eather chatrges artrj e\ eil iila'ie
fi'ien,Js, rniles aw-ay of course it sadden her io think the lLeii Coiite IS itt
ihe crofting ,Jor;,rrrity are ali ove.65 weaitfuy retire to irre peace arrd
qui-re arid spen,J ihe wirrters irr w-ar-rner clinraies, atrother tiiirg iiLa:
*d,r"r. hei is the rise in Alcohoiisil it is a huge problern irr the crc'ltLrrg
cointnutrity
Rebecca ,jeatli rr,as repofted ir-r'r.he locai llewspapers the L,ltrdorr croft
lIa u1y url'c s a_B--s.u9:.
| ____________________________________________________________ |
| ||||||
No comments:
Post a Comment
Comments welcome.