Still under our trees
It was warm when we woke and it was only going to get worse. Decision made we’d stay put for another day under our shady trees. We wouldn’t be moving for anyone.
Yesterday we’d not quite bought enough supplies to last us another day, so Mick hopped on a bike and returned to the shop with it’s aircon. I was quite jealous of this but then I didn’t have to endure the journey there in the sunshine.
Our mooring doesn’t totally miss out on the sun, for about an hour the sun bakes hard down on the cabin sides and roof before some shade creeps back over us. In that hour we all melted just a touch.
Tilly had an hour or so out first thing, but then retired to the shade for a morning snooze. Life in the shade still necessitated having the doors open for and aft so we kept our fingers crossed that Tilly’s friends would be adamant not to return home with her. We were fortunate.
I collated together information on the theatre in Vienna and then added up my expenses for Puss in Boots so far, printing off receipts I’d need from emails. I even considered doing our tax returns today, but quickly changed my mind.
A day for not doing very much. Mick watched the cycling, then listened to the cricket. Day boats headed out, most returning with their crews dangling their feet in the river. One such boat appeared from under the railway bridge behind us, we could hear them coming! As soon as the bridges had been cleared there were numerous people stood on the cabin roof, the person at the tiller zigzagging their way along.
A following day boat made a dash for it to overtake them. ‘RIGHT’ ‘No LEFT!!!’ more zigzagging as a collision was narrowly avoided. Would Oleanna end up being what stopped them? It was hard not to watch. Both of us realised that they appeared to be towing an inflatable boat, one not really big enough for the chaps in the river. The yellow inflatable and the two chaps were close to the stern, therefore very close to the turning prop!
We shouted and shouted to them. A couple walked past and said ‘We lived on one for two years, you can always tell the holiday makers!’ We weren’t bothered about that or getting biffed. We were far more concerned that we could be calling for an ambulance any minute if nobody turned the engine off!
It took what felt like ages for anyone to hear us. Eventually one chap in the water managed to get someone to stop the prop turning, we’re not sure if it was just in neutral or off OFF. They drifted into the offside bank. Far too many voices needing to be heard most likely fuelled by alcohol and the sun. One chap got back on board quite easily, the other finding it hard to hoik himself out all the time being very aware of the prop, thankfully not moving. I think he was the only one on board who had an inkling of what could have happened. Our phones stayed in our pockets and they managed to avoid us as they headed off into the distance our quiet, calm mafting mooring returning to just us.
I decided to look through a folder I’d brought from the house. This was full of things my Mum had kept in a ‘Happy memories folder’. 1948 exam results for her year at Leeds School of Architecture. A letter from her sister thanking her and Dad for the bridesmaid present and how wonderful their wedding had been. Menu’s (she was a cook in later life) from dinner dances, they always seemed to have Turtle soups for starters. 21st Birthday cards. A few letters from my Dad, he lived in York and she in Bradford.
There were programmes for Operas and plays in London collated in a ribbon. A note book listing things to do whilst in London. Then a letter from my Dad which predates her visit asking her if she’d like to see Carmen and visit the Tate when she is next in London. These all connected.
Then a small pocket sketchbook, another item passed from father to son. Granddads drawings, very boring architectural details, very Banister Fletcher. But every now and then there were sketches my Dad had done. One of Shibden Hall 1945, where Gentleman Jack was based.
The sketches coinciding with his second diary I’d scanned whilst in London.
16th September 1945, the day he and his mates took the train to Southampton where they boarded the ship that took them to India. This is the first connection in words and pictures, my Dad illustrating his own story.
0 locks, 0 miles, 34 C in the pram cover (with the sides off today), 29.4 C inside, 20.1 C minimum inside, 1 very hot day, 1 shady spot saving us, 9 receipts, 12 pages of tech spec, 4 swimming woofers, 1 accident averted, 1 hot cat up in the canopy, 1 folder, 1948-51, 1 wonderful find of Fatso’s.