FAMILY LIFE

Travels to my Aunt

Last weekend I went to visit my Aunt, down in Surrey. I’d realised a little while ago that I hadn’t been to see her since Helen died; it was something we used to do from time to time, but we always drove  down together and I haven’t been driving so much over the past two years, because it’s much less enjoyable on your own. When I came to look at the map it dawned on me that it was perfectly possible to do it by train, as it wasn’t a particularly long walk from that station to my Aunt’s bungalow; I’d just never thought of doing it. The only time we had taken the train was when we went to my Aunt’s ninetieth birthday party, which had happened in a village hall virtually next door to the station. I have a vivid memory of waiting with Helen on the platform to go home watching an excellent stag beetle under the pine trees in the summer heat.

Remembering how long ago my Aunt’s ninetieth birthday party happened was the sort of thing that Helen was very good at, and I am much less good. So, it was in the summer, clearly not the summer of 2015, nor the summer before that, because I would remember, so it was some time longer ago than that. Fortunately Aunt June wrote a book, of which I have a copy, so I could check, and there found that she is now in fact ninety-eight and a half.

I had proposed giving myself a bit of a lie-in that Saturday, and thought of getting to her at half past twelve, but she was shocked at that suggestion, which was much too late, so I said I would get to her for eleven-thirty. She then called me again to check whether I was driving or coming by train, so I confirmed that I would come on the train that arrived at eleven-eighteen, whereupon she said that she would meet me at the station. I protested that I could perfectly well walk, walk would do me good etc, but was firmly overruled. It would be much too muddy, and they had had a lot of rain, which left lots of standing water on the roads, so walking was really not a good idea. You will understand that Aunt June is not to be deflected.

So, I duly got the train, and wrote half a sermon on the way (in increasing discomfort as I had forgotten that South-West Trains commuter stock doesn’t feature lavatories). Aunt June was there on the platform to meet me, and showed me to her car, parked just outside. She then drove us home. She made us tea and insisted I sit with the newspaper while she finished making lunch. I was able to help a bit with bringing things through and clearing up, but my attempt to leave after lunch was smartly brushed aside, as she intended us to have tea and cake (she apologised that the cake was bought). She drove me to the station just before four, so that she didn’t have to drive in the dark, which she no longer does. I sympathised, and said that I don’t enjoy driving in the dark either. I at least have the excuse of wearing glasses, I suppose.

This may seem a very mundane tale, but I repeat that Aunt June is ninety-eight and a half. I suspect that part of the explanation for her longevity and spirit is that she still works; the BBC sends a car for her whenever she is required and she goes and records in Birmingham, as she has done for decades. She certainly keeps her mind sharp, and founded a Scrabble club in the village fifteen years or so ago after my Uncle died, with whom she had played the game for years. Do not imagine that this is all sustained by her children either, because my cousin David died more than ten years ago, and his sister Roz lives up in Suffolk, so Aunt June doesn’t have family running around doing everything for her. Rather, she is from a stoic generation, who just get on with things. She and Uncle Roger helped support me through university, so I have a lot to be grateful to her for, and I fear I am not a very good nephew.  

Brotherly Love

My brother and I have still not seen each other for Christmas. They were meant to come to me this year, though we hadn’t fixed a firm arrangement because of the fluidity necessary for them to respond to children and grandchildren. In the days when they were meant to come, though, they were both stricken with some sort of lurgy, and that has dragged on, first one, then the other being ill. I get occasional email bulletins. I could perfectly well go out to Essex to see them, but I don't want to burden my sister-in-law, who would insist on providing food, but perhaps that would actually be easier for them than coming up to town. With the passage of time this is beginning to feel a bit stupid, but is typical Everett behaviour. When my brother was working in town he would come for coffee or lunch some time in December and we would exchange presents, but now he is finally retired that hasn’t happened, so I still have presents waiting to be handed over to them. It looks as if these may turn into Easter gifts.

A Surprise

At the Parish Eucharist at St Peter’s yesterday morning we had an odd thing in the intercessions: we prayed for the success of Brexit. Now some people in the congregation may not have heard clearly, as the battery in the microphone was failing, but I was close enough to hear very clearly the prayer that “the aspirations of the British people be satisfied”. A good corrective to the Remoaning bias of the Vicar, you may say. Indeed. And of course we all want Brexit to be successful and not a shambles, though I wouldn’t have put it quite that way myself. The surprise was that the prayer came from a sixteen-year old girl of Nigerian descent. Perhaps my surprise just shows how narrow-minded I am.