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Retirement Musings

Journey to a New Life – Part One

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It has been a long time since the last blog post, as access to the server was patchy at best, non-existent at worst.? Thank Orange France – another story for another day.

There have been many changes to family life in the last five months.? We have found, negotiated, bought and moved into a house in France.? This wasn’t the original intention but looking for the right house, at the right price, in the right area had been nine months of fruitless searching.? First, the market just seemed flat.? We had looked in ever increasing circle until we were even considering the West Country.? This would, however, have been at least a five hour drive – six, if you add an hour’s break which, at our age would be required – from any family and this was not an attractive prospect.? Even so, anywhere we could afford was in an isolated position or so small that we would have been uncomfortable.? And we had sold our house, so the clock was ticking.

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Map of the Pas de Calais

So we ended up in France.? Not a big city like Paris or Rheims.? Not a wine region (although that would have been cool) but a small village of less than seven hundred people, nestling in the Pas de Calais.? It is still, very much, a farming/rural community but that doesn’t mean we will be keeping cows.? Chickens, perhaps, and the odd duck, but nothing large and potentially dangerous.? Or that needs milking.

So when we decided that we would make this move, we started looking at one storey ex-farmhouses (fermettes) – thinking ahead to the years of our dotage.? We looked at lots online and then actually viewed some, but they were all in worse condition than they appeared in the photos.? On top of that, because they were constructed using a certain type and length of tree trunk for the roof beams, they were only ever ‘so’ wide, with one room running into another or a corridor running the length of the building.? The first option made the rooms less private and the second made them smaller.

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Front of the house

Then we saw Our House.? To begin with, it is three storeys, the top one being a loft conversion up to a possible thirteen years old. It was offered with six bedrooms, two bathrooms and a downstairs cloakroom, kitchen, salon (posh lounge) and salle (day to day lounge)/dining room.? It also has cellar and a range of outbuildings, as well as a half acre (about 2200 sq.m.) of garden. When we first saw the details it was way out of our range but, within a month, it had come down to a reasonable (for us) price and we agreed a deal with the owners.? So, here we are.

The house was actually built as the mayor’s house, by the mayor, in 1908.? His granddaughter lives next door in the house he built for his mother.? The house has quite a history and there are tantalisingly interesting stories abut the property that will be uncovered, I hope in due course.? We shall all have to wait for that.

 

Fiction

Step one …

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IMG_3684treecoveredpathStick to the path, Red was told.? Don’t step into the woods.? No good will come of it.? There are things living in the woods that would mess with your mind as soon as say ‘Good morning’.? All your life, you are told what to do and what not to do, and given creepy reasons for it.

Well, on this day, Red had decided to buck the trend.? She was going to step off the path – just once – and prove the grown-ups wrong.? It was her day for taking the shopping to her grandmother, who lived about ten minutes away through the trees.? Every time – EVERY time – she walked through that door it was the same thing: stick to the path, don’t step into the woods, no good will come of it, there are things living in the woods that would mess with your mind as soon as say ‘Good morning’.

She walked far enough away from the house to be out of sight, but close enough for someone to hear her scream if she ran into trouble – she wasn’t stupid – and she stopped.? There were one or two birds singing in the trees and a soft breeze rustled the leaves that still hadn’t fallen.? She could barely hear the clanking of pots as her mother washed the dishes from breakfast.? No other sounds.? She looked along the path in both directions and could neither see nor hear any signs of movement.

Now, she thought.? My moment has arrived.? She shifted a little towards the edge of the path and waited.? Nothing.? She moved even closer to the edge and waited again.? Now her foot was grazing the path border, a line of stones slightly raised to show you just where to stop before it was too late.? Red breathed in deeply, lifted her foot and moved it over the path border, without actually putting it down on the other side.? It hovered, as though transfixed, for several seconds and then she took the final step – literally – and put it down on the soft, mossy earth.? Now she stood straddled between right and wrong.? Was this the end of her?? Would something come tearing out of the trees, teeth glinting in the sunlight, and rip her limb from limb???? Was she to be the proof that dark things did live in the depths of the woods?? She waited for what seemed like hours.? Apparently not.

Red put her other foot onto the woodland floor.? Still no apocalyptic monster.? She realised she hadn’t actually breathed out in a while, so she did.? Given that she was now well and truly in unknown territory, Red decided to walk amongst the trees.? She kept the path in sight to her left and took the time to feel the forest floor under her feet.? She almost wanted to take off her shoes and socks to feel it on her skin, but she had a fear of stepping in ‘something’ that a small animal might have left, so didn’t bother.? As she looked around her, she spotted something brightly coloured a little further away from the path.? It was purple and seemed to shimmer in the limited sunlight that reached it through the canopy.? She checked her position.? She was still close to the path, although further away than she remembered.? Judging the distance to the purple thing, she decided she could still reach it and stay within range of the path.? She put her back to the lifeline through the woods and counted her steps as she moved towards the object of her desire.? She made it in fourteen steps.? The purple thing was a flower.? It was still covered in dew, which is what made it glisten, and it was one single bloom in a sea of brown leaves.? She knelt beside it to have a closer look and it seemed to stare back into her very soul.? She felt herself floating and was suddenly looking down on the flower from an apparently great height.? She blinked and, when she reopened her eyes, she was back on the ground.? She glanced back at the the path.? It had gone.? She thought she could hear her mother calling, reminding her of the dangers of stepping off the path.

Fiction

Always and forever

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IMG_3958It was hard to look at that place after so long.? The trees had grown and the grass needed cutting but, apart from that, nothing had changed.? There were more grave markers in the churchyard next door – obviously – but the overall feel was unmistakeable.? I looked at the windows for signs of familiar faces, but there were none.? No laughter spilling from rooms around the building, no good food smells drifting from the kitchen, no sounds of wheels on the gravel driveway.? Even the gigantic iron gate seemed sad and despondent.

As I peered through the bars, as small shiver went through me, a feeling that there was something nearby that wasn’t there before.? Something that knew me well yet was so distant in time that it might walk straight past me.? I turned.? There was nothing.? I would have liked to have run, in my bare feet, across the grass to the imposing front door, played hide and seek in the Long Gallery with my friends, sneaked into the kitchen for a secret taste of tonight’s meal.

A hand rested on my shoulder.? A soundless voice whispered close to my ear:

“Time to go.”

My hand was taken and I felt myself rising into the air.? Now I was looking at the house at an angle, now from above.? It drifted out of view behind the clouds and was gone.? It was always the same.? No-one I know and nothing to see.? In another hundred years it would be the same.

Other thoughts, Retirement Musings

For all those who hate the SATs

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This is something I have told people over the years but I need to write it down, as I still don’t believe it.? It never loses relevance.

I was lucky enough to spend the last fourteen years of my working life in a small, private girls’ school. The first two years were as a Year 2 class teacher, during which I was responsible for teaching to the end of Key Stage 2 SATs.? The whole testing, marking and reporting back to parents merry-go-round was an annual ritual that no-one enjoyed.? These girls were six and seven years old but it was the way it was done.

The first year was difficult, as I had a huge range of abilities; there were, effectively, eighteen children and five ability groups.? The girls at the top were very bight and easy to teach whilst the ones at the other end were a real challenge.

The second year was equally taxing.? By the time we were a few weeks away from the tests, it became glaringly obvious just how stressed these children were.? I discussed it with my head teacher – a down-to-earth woman with very strong opinions – and she agreed to come and talk to the class, to try and calm them down a bit.? She did a sterling job and was just about to leave when she casually asked them to put up their hand if they had a tutor.? Two-thirds of? the class raised their hands.? We looked at each other and said nothing.? At the next break, I went to her office and she was genuinely shocked.? She told me she had no idea of the prevailing situation and was going to stop doing the Key Stage 1 SATs immediately.? We would still use them as a baseline assessment for moving into Key Stage 2 but it would be unofficial and there would be no detailed reporting back to parents.? Any comments would just form part of the end of year report.? The school governors at the time agreed.

It was a bold step.? As we were an Independent School, it was possible but the ludicrous situation of force-feeding children linguistic and mathematical information that they will probably never need – and certainly don’t need to know at seven or eleven years old – is barbaric.? I am actually ashamed to have helped perpetuate? this system for so long but it was my job and that was the price.

I once read that a famous author’s work was analysed and didn’t even make a Level 5.? What need does an eleven-year-old have to do so?

Other thoughts

Happy birthday, Mum

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Not many women live their lives in virtual obscurity, as far as the wider world is concerned, and yet have such a true impact on their future.? A mother is a very special person, as I’m sure most people will agree, but to have laid such firm foundations for two generations (so far) is not something that can be overlooked.

Coming from an immigrant family, she arrived in England as a toddler over ten?years before the start of World War II.? She grew up in the English education system which she hated, until one teacher gave her a love of history.? She lost her mother whilst she was still in her teens and her father when she was still in her early twenties, being effectively brought up by a maiden aunt.? She lost close members of her family in the Holocaust.? She made her own way in employment and lived on her own for many years.

She and her aunt were on the verge of emigrating to Australia – they had the papers ready – when she met Dad.? If ever there was a story of love at first sight, this was it.? She actually told someone that, if she didn’t marry this one, she would never marry.? I’m sure she meant it.? On Dad’s part, he felt exactly the same and the story could only have had one end.? Mum and her aunt didn’t go to Australia and I am the living proof.

Her own life – early loss of a mother, fending for herself to some extent, caring for a dying father – could have made her such a very different person, full of hate and bitterness.? However, it all strengthened her and she was a woman of high morals and principles.? This didn’t stop her from also being compassionate and understanding.

Her legacy is a far-reaching one.? As children, we were given a good, solid grounding in how you treated people and life in general:

  • See the best in them unless provided with evidence to the contrary.? It was not often seen but you really did not want to get on her wrong side!
  • Work for what you want – nothing actually comes free.
  • Plan – surprises aren’t all good.
  • Be faithful – friendship is a two-way arrangement.
  • Everyone deserves your respect – I know that, between my sister and I, we have raised three old-fashioned (in the best way) gentlemen and a formidable woman, and the fact is often remarked upon.
  • We all deserve the same chances.

Thank you, Mum, for being who you were and for helping us to forge our futures.? Happy Birthday.

IMG_5410mumyoung2

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I am probably about to be controversial

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I’m confused. Headline this morning on the BBC New site – “Fire brigades ‘must do more to improve racial diversity’ – minister”.
Whilst I am all in favour of giving anyone and everyone the chance? to reach their potential, surely this area of work – like any other, should be based on suitability for the job. I also wonder how a campaign would be run – would the job centres latch on to someone from a ‘minority group’ thinking “Ooo, here’s a possible!” and ask them if they would like to join the fire service? What should happen, in this as in all areas of employment, is that the same tests and checks should be applied to all applicants and may the best ‘person’ for the job win. Kinda like ‘The Voice’ where, in the Blind Auditions, the only thing the ‘Coaches’ know about contestants is their voices. I was under the impression that all anyone really wanted was equality and the opportunity to do a job well but what do I know.
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That one colleague …

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I recently heard of a newly appointed member of an office staff, who resigned only a couple of weeks after starting work.? It wasn’t the workload or that the job didn’t match the advertised description.? It wasn’t the hours or the rate of pay.? It was one other person in the establishment, who made her life so awful in that short time that she couldn’t stay, regardless of any other good aspects of the job.

We’ve all been there.? We’ve all had a job that would have been perfect if not for that one colleague, who had an over-inflated sense of their own importance.? We’ve all felt the frustration of knowing what was the right thing to do but being thwarted at every turn by one person, who seemed to have sway over the final decision makers.? We’ve all seen more than one of our colleagues feeling the same way but equally impotent.? It’s not an easy situation to resolve and no blame should be laid at the feet of those too insecure or lacking in self-confidence to stand their ground.? It’s harder if the difficult person is longer established, even if your position is senior.

At some point, this situation will ex – or im – plode.? This will not be good for anyone at the point of ignition but it will ultimately clear the air.? It may result in someone leaving – it should be the catalyst, but that isn’t a given.? However, someone – the senior manager for preference – needs to be strong.

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Leaving work has opened many new horizons.? More time to do things during the week without rushing it all; more energy to do those things; less watching the clock and the calendar.? Above all, however, there is ‘not having to cope with work politics’.? In the most cordial and friendly of environments, there is always someone who thinks they can rule the roost, even if they aren’t the chief chicken.? I wish it was simple to take that stand, but it isn’t.? We can only hope that someone will have enough before it is too late.

 

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Deep thoughts

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I don’t often get sloppy, but seeing the news over the last week or so has focussed me a little.? We have lost a number of entertainment icons since January 1st and the world has been in uproar – who knew so many people loved David Bowie, for example.? How can Celine Dion bear the loss of two of her closest family within days of each other?? Hasn’t Alan Rickman left a huge void in the entertainment world?? I have also heard of less well-known, but not lesser people, who have lost their fight, whether through illness or old age, and it appears to be a trend.? It seems that every year, during these winter months – and especially just into the New Year -? people ‘move on’; not through the unpredictable weather, although we should all look out for vulnerable friends and relatives as the cold bites, but because their particular fight has become too much to continue.

Last week, when I took my 94 year old dad shopping, he absolutely insisted that this particular jacket was warm enough over his short-sleeved shirt.? He had his flat cap, if he needed it – what was the problem?? You can only try to change his mind for so long but he’s an adult – and then some – and ultimately it’s his choice.? To be fair, we didn’t spend a lot of time in the open, so I wasn’t too worried.? But I sat here, reading about Bowie and Rickman, leaving us at sixty-nine, and others in their seventies and eighties , or even younger, and mentally looked around my family and friends.? We are very lucky.? Obviously, we have had our losses but, on the whole, we are a long-lived, healthy bunch.? I believe that the most useful – and challenging – resolution we could all make for the new year is to make the most of every day, whether it’s to do more, do less, make more of an effort to be with people, exercise *shudder*, eat less, eat better – the list is endless.? However, at the top should be ‘think of me’.? You’re no good to anyone if you’re no good to yourself.

?They always say time changes things, but you actually have to change them yourself.? ? Andy Warhol

?You?re braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.? ?A.A. Milne

Retirement Musings

“Is it really 10 o’clock?”

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Sitting at the breakfast table this morning, a thought came to me very suddenly; I am beginning to enjoy retirement.? It is now almost exactly six months since I walked out of the last school I will ever teach in and settled to a life of finding things to do that would fill the void.? It finally dawned – this ‘altered state’ – when Hubby said casually,

10-o-clock

“Is it really 10 o’clock?? Now you really must feel as though you’ve retired!”

I grinned, thought for a moment and agreed.? It took me a while.? At first, it had been in the back of my mind that I ought to be doing something.? I found myself? thinking ‘I would normally be doing [insert school-based activity] at this point’ or ‘I wonder if [insert school-based activity] is still going to happen this term’.? It suddenly became clear, this morning at the breakfast table, that I haven’t had one of those thoughts for a while now, probably since before Christmas.? I have lent a hand, from home, with some ‘computery stuff’ that I had initiated in the first place, but I don’t mind that.? If there’s one thing I do miss it’s creating resources for the classroom or for colleagues.? What I don’t miss is the speed at which some of these activities needed to be done or the possible fallout if they didn’t work first time!

frazzled

Although I still miss the camaraderie and my mad fellow teachers, I have now doffed the ‘member of the profession’ bit and I am settling into that very important new phase of my life.? I have heard from others that, after you retire, you suddenly find so much to do that you wonder how you ever managed to find the time to go to work.? I haven’t quite reached that stage … yet.? There are things that I do on a Tuesday and a Wednesday that are not shopping or housework.? I also have the time, each day, to make the bed (yes I have said it before but it’s very special to me!), empty and refill the dishwasher, do the washing AND drying on the same day and prepare the night’s dinner at any time during the day that I damned well please!? Going away for a couple of breaks in term time last year was my way of rebelling – snubbing my nose, if you like.? Now, I am settling into more of a routine and it fits well.

So, goodbye to waking up at 6.20 am because I have to, to wasting? half a day (at the very least) doing the shopping at the weekends because I don’t have the time (or energy) during the week, to arriving at 8 pm on Sunday night and remembering that very important something that I forgot to do for Monday – and hello to retirement.

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