Meanwhile here is the poem I wrote about him.

THE BLACK CHAIR

The hills of Wales are green and gold,

But the men who once walked there

Now wade through trenches in the mud

Of foreign fields where death

Stalks indiscriminate and cold.

These are fields but there will be no grain,

No harvest here but bones and flesh

As the blood mingles with the rain.

In Wales the yellow native poppy

Spangles hedgerows, unaware

Of how on Pilken Ridge the evil thud

Of shells breaks the loveliness

Of Flanders poppies, red as blood,

Crimson petals falling in the mud

With broken, dying men in awful pain,

Poppy petals mingling with their blood

And the blood mingling with the rain

Orders come from somewhere else;

Men who hold no hate for fellow men

Are herded like uncomprehending flocks

To keep a grisly rendezvous with death

Far from their native fields and fells.

Poets plead their pity and their pain,

The pen crawls on, and a slow silver vein

Of poetry seeps through Flanders mud

And flows with the blood and with the rain

Quiet and cold Arianrhod shines,

Silvering the slates of distant Wales.

But her poet is a soldier now,

Gone with the men who marched away

To a world of weary plodding boots,

bayonets and all that war entails.

Half the youth of Europe slain

In an incomprehensible war,

Where blood mingles, wasted, with the rain.

Far from the fear, the lice, the groans,

Men too old for war have read the words

Of those who face their Armageddon

In those distant, hellish zones.

And, ‘Is there peace?’ the bard intones,

Ceremonial sword raised above

The black chair under the black cloth.

The poet now is past his pain;

Black crows fly over Flanders fields

And the blood mingles with the rain.

But then back came the snow and all froze again. Neither I nor my friend, with whom I was going to spend Christmas Day, could get out at all. Emma returned to her three mile daily round trip and I tried to make use of the time by doing jobs that I’d been avoiding. One of these that I made a lot of progress with was putting my Russian, French and Welsh video films onto DVD to save space. Threw away a lot that I decided were not a lot of good to anyone and gave the Russian and Welsh ones to learners of the respective languages.

I also started catching up on my accounts, but that being my most hated job, is still an ongoing project. That’s what I should be doing now.

Between the necessary work I did very litle writing except in my head but I did fins an interesting diversion. One of my very good friends has Alzheimers and now cannot concentrate on anything that requires extended thinking. The other two of the trio who all live together have a hard time keeping her happy and occupied. Her one occupation that she still loves is taking her beloved dog outside for a game. So I made carefully sized photos of him and all their previous dogs and pasted them onto children’s large piece jig saws. Fortunately she loves these and Mary, to whose lot it often falls to keep her amused, loves both jig saws and dogs si I am quite pleased with my new skill. It drove me mad at first, partly because concurrently I tried painting over a real size adult jigsaw with acrylics copying a favourite photo of theirs for Mary’s birthday, which is Christmas Day. problem! I never realized how tough and stretchy dried acrylic was and so spent hours cutting it apart. I also did a dog one for Emma but, as I am better at dogs than people, that had fewer layers and so was not quite so infuriating. [see picture]

Now I’d better really get back to the accounts.

So, this year has been a mixed bag. Most of it has involved struggling with a very arthritic knee and chasing appointments at various hospitals in order, I hope, eventually, to get a knee replacement.

The latest was this account, which I posted along with my Christmas cards to explain why there was not the usual individual newsy letter.

Sorry there are no individual newsy letters this Christmas but events have overtaken me. I was quite happily awaiting an op for a new knee and the surgeon had promised me I would be in his six spots before Christmas.. Then I went for a pre-op appointment and my heart, which had been behaving impeccably since having a change of tablets, decided to go wonky and start missing beats again. So I got sent for an ECG and the anaesthetist decided he wasn’t happy and I got given extra pills and removed from the list as ‘unsuitable for operation. The pills put the heart right but while I was waiting for them to relent the knee swelled up enormously and I couldn’t put my foot to the ground to get to bed. Fortunately I have an emercency button and was rescued two very kind paramedics who gave me morphine and carted me off to hospital. It turned out that it had been bleeding into the joint and I spent a couple of days packed round with ice and two more evenings on morphine as it did a replay each time. My dear friend Emma, thank heavens, moved in while I was away and has beem coming daily to feed ducks and sheep , walk dogs and post my amazon books [that is what in the absence of any teaching keeps the wolf from the door]. I’ve more or less recovered from it all now and am back on the list but I simply dare not set foot on the sheets of ice outside my door and my poor car is sitting under the snow. The big freeze started the first day of my week in hospital so I wouldn’t dare try to start it till it thaws as it is diesel and I expect that had frozen to a jelly.

One day Emma and her step-daughter, Penny, took the dogs up the mountain. 

Apart from all that, things are OK. I am going to publish a book of Welsh poetry, not mine but the poems written by my neighbour’s uncle, who was killed in 1917, is famous and out of copyright.. His nephew approves and a friend who is a native Welsh speaker is proof reading for me. I’m also publishing a book of short stories for a friend of a friend, this one, unlike the friend’s books that I publish free as he helps technically, will probably earn me some money.

My own writing is going on all right and I have several children’s animal books out there and plans for further ones. In particular I need to do a whole lot more illustrations. That takes a lot more time than the writing.

Assuming the ice thaws, I am going to spend Christmas with a friend who will welcome the dogs. That way Emma won’t have to deal with them and can have Christmas in peace with her family.

That was Nov 28th. Meanwhile it has thawed and I’v actually been able to drive the van, exercise the dogs [with van] and feed my own ducks and sheep. I ran out of hay but Oli  managed to bring me another bale and if it doesn’t snow before tomorrow afternoon, I shall buy the wherewithal for sheep muesli. Can’t get it till tomorrow as my weekly odd jobs helper can’t come till then. Also if it doesn’t snow I shall actually attempt to get to market. So far I have missed all the Christmas trade [if there has been any].

As for the knee. I’ve just been summoned for yet another pre-op appointment on 28th January. This in spite of the fact that the cardiac specialist declared me OK for anaesthetic some time ago. And I was told I would not be put further back.

This means it is no longer available as print on demand. However I still have 44 copies and can supply it until these run out. I had planned and advertised a promotion event for this book here in Wales, but have now been forced to re-arrange matters. The event will still take place on 12th March at Ceridwen in Carmarthenshire but I shall be launching a book of my own, Letters From My Mill, being my translation of Alphonse Daudet’s Lettres d eMon Moulin.

Full details here

This is the front cover

And once more I’m back to this

Dyfi is here in possession of the ball and Silver contemplating how to steal it while Jess investigates nice smells under the snow.

When the weather finally let up the whole family came and laid the carpet in the sitting room, which is now luxurious. My feet hardly know themselves. The dogs like it too, especially as I spent a good part of Christmas making nice soft covers for their beds. The carpet is a plain light salmon colour, not suited to 12 muddy paws, but fortunately the dogs usually head for the other end of the house where they expect to find me, so they mostly don’t go in there with muddy paws.

There was a lot left over and at first I thought of the dining room but then I thought that, since the layout of this house is such that the dining room is the main thoroughfare for humans and dogs, that seems asking a bit much of such a nice clean carpet. So Emma and Phil came up the other day and laid it in my study and I now have warm feet while I work.

In the picture below, Dyfi has been awoken from his post-field nap and is wondering why I suddenly need to take a photo. It is to show a bit of the carpet but doesn’t really do it justice.

Dyfi in possession of the settee. They are allowed on that one as long as it has a cover. Sometimes two of them share it but mostly take it in turns.

At Christmas the situation was borderline, partly because the council actually gritted our lane on Christmas Eve. I’d missed my last appontment with the doctore because of snow just prior to that so gradually ran out of assorted medication so had to brave the lane on the 5th for another appointment and long wait at chemists while they filled a big bag for me. I sat there wondering fearfully if I would get back up the lane as it was now snowing hard. In the event I did get back by the skin of my teeth. And that was it; no more going out.

When I was asked to publish this book I was really pleased as I had read it in manuscript and enjoyed it. Well, perhaps enjoyed is not quite the right word for a story that hold so much unhappiness. Let’s say I was really impressed. Below is a review I wrote for it.

This is really two books in one. On the one hand it is a story about a child brought up by a hard, antagonistic mother and abused in many ways. Starting from that mother figure’s funeral the now adult Rachel Sarai goes there in the hope of answers. Via flash backs we follow her life up to then. It is anything but a cheerful story but it grips you so that the reader also wants the answers.Then there is the second book, or the background to the story. This is wartime and then occupied Holland and Rachel has no easy time in that either. Her father is involved with the resistance and Rachel Sarai, from the age of about five years, carries messages for the resistance, inserted by her father in the soles of her shoes. Being fair-haired and Arian looking the German soldiers tend to pat her on the head and let her pass but all the time there is fear. She also escorts Jews across the moors to a safe house whence they can then escape from Holland. I certainly learnt a lot I didn’t know about events at that time.

View all my reviews >>

dyfi sunbathing

The sunny spell did not materialise; we returned to continual rain. The grass in the front harden grew longer and longer and a friend gave me a load of horse manure which is still sitting [half of it] on the lawn. Phill valiently worked in the rain to move the other half to back garden beds. Then for two Wednesdays it was far too wet for gardening. But this week we have sun and the lawn got cut. And I even have the umberella over the table. Until now there was no sun to shelter from.

Yesterday friends came to lunch and we actually sat outside in the sun for quite some time.

This year I bought some chrisanthemum plants as now that the green house is up [courtesy of Oli and Julian and family] I can put them in there if the autumn suddenly goes wet — which has always happened to previous chrisanthemums just as they flowered. This year the flowered in spite of the rain and now I hope the sun will encourage them to flower again. I’ve picked the first lot to stand in my hall as I love the smell of them — the real garden ones, not those in pots that are sold in the supermarket and have no scent.

I took some photos at this point and was about to upload them when my electricity failed. It’s back now but I can’t find the camera. When I do, I’ll post some more pictures.

Silver