I noticed it a few days ago – already, the dawn is creeping earlier over the parapet, the Sun is setting a little later than it was a week ago. Accustomed, around the Solstice, to full darkness before 4pm, I noticed as I went to settle the stock at Christmas, that there was still some light at about 4.10. And therein lies some hope, I guess. Four minutes more light each day. It doesn’t sound much, but that’s almost half an hour in a week. We country folk tend to notice these things.
The highlight of the festive season was a visit from two very good friends – our former rabbi from London days, and his wife. Being intrepid and interesting souls, they took us out to a couple of local attractions which, being local, we’d never enjoyed.
The first was a drive to Sandringham last Sunday to gawp at the Royals progressing from the church back to the great house after the morning service. Even though we were searched – and had cameras removed – before we could get close, it’s remarkably informal, even in today’s hysterical times. We saw Philip, Charles, Anne, Andrew, Edward, Sophie, William and Harry – as handsome a clutch of HRHs as you’ll see anywhere. What struck me most was how tall they all are. I expect it’s because they’re so – well, so Royal – unlike we mortals, that is. Makes one quite believe in their natural superiority over we hoi-polloi.
Conspicuous by her absence was HM, who went from church to house in the Royal Bentley. This was a shame, because our rabbi was denied the chance to say a blessing that comes out only when one sees a head of state. There’s a blessing for every conceivable occasion, and those learned in Torah can become blessing-twitchers. So, if ever you happen to pass HM in the street, you can say
We praise you, Eternal God, Sovereign of the Universe, for You give of Your glory to flesh and blood.
although in Hebrew. Something then, to be said only in the presence of those who’ve touched the hem of his garment. Or, at any rate, a nice old lady in a cloche hat.
After Sandringham we drove a short way north to Hunstanton, where we looked at the marvelous polychrome cliffs of that resort.
The seeing was crisp and clear. From the top of the cliffs one could see across the Wash, all the way to Lincolnshire, and, on the horizon, the full majesty of a wind farm, out at sea. The weather, however, was a bitter wind from the north, which kept beachfront frolics to a minimum, although the rebbitzin, being a twitcher of another kind, pointed out fulmars squabbling in crevices high on the cliffs.
This is the time of year when one takes stock. It ends, for me, on a muted note. Projects I’ve been involved in are either in remote pre-pre-pre development; are coming to an end; or are never likely to get off the ground to begin with. I’m also having these recurring dreams in which I am ostentatiously undervalued … and also hearing, for the second time in recent memory, of a marriage I’d assumed to have been as solid as a rock, breaking apart. This causes a peculiar kind of distress. I can’t help but wish I could get the couple in front of me and knock their heads together. Marriage can be very hard, but if one makes a promise, one should really do one’s best to keep it, unless the provocation to part is unendurable. But peoples’ inner lives, perhaps, are like the winter weather – chill, and full of shadows. Nevertheless one should, I feel, hang on in there against the certainty that Spring will one day come. For, as a blessing-twitcher can say, every day, even if he never catches a glimpse of HM in his life:
We praise You, Eternal God, Sovereign of the universe, whose world is filled with beauty.
That's the rub, isn't it? It may have gone past the head-knocking stage; who can really tell if one's very best has indeed been done?
Who indeed? But it casts a pall over all who know and like both parties.
Yes, it does. I'm sure Proverbs or even Lamentations might have an apposite word.
Henry, what's causing those cliffs to have that amazing color? The closest I've ever seen to something like that is in Yellowstone Park, a place called Mammoth Hotsprings. But I think in that case the color is caused by thermophilic bacteria, not the rocks themselves.
I admit I did enhance the colors very slightly with a red filter, but they are really are very red. The red cliffs are Lower Cretaceous red limestone – I suspect that the redness is caused by iron (almost always the cause of redness in rocks). The white above is classic Upper Cretaceous chalk, just like the White Clifs of Dover.
nice post as usual HG. I am vivdly aware of my ex-marriage at this time of year. Even though many moons have passed since the former Mrs Tideliar and I parted ways I wonder if I did try hard enough. Or did she. I think it's seasonal though. I knew at the time I had, and then I wonder if I did, but then i know I did…etc, ad infinitum.
Ah, sweet nostalgia… my Granddad (who I never met) was the headmaster of the primary school on the Sandringham estate (at West Newton), and my Mum and Aunties grew up there and were all married at West Newton church. (A stunning black and white photograph of the church graces my parents' living room wall, situated in their house on a street in York that is called Sandringham Close). My Grandma then lived in Dersingham, where we visited frequently, including countless trips to Sandringham (I lost a tooth on the see-saw there) and Hunstanton (known in my family as Huntingstanting – good giant dippy slide thingy). I haven't been back since my Grandma's funeral (West Newton, again, in 1992). Mmmmmm. A friend of my husband's separated from his wife about this time last year. He lived in our spare room for three months, before taking over our basement suite when our former tenant moved. In his case (and every case is different), he is much, much, much better off after the split. His doctor even advised him 18 months ago to leave his wife for the sake of his health.Sorry about all the parentheses, by the way.