As a child, my mother often took me to the village jumble sale. I remember the stampede of people that crowded into the small church hall seeking a bargain. It was a frightening experience and I often hid beneath the tables which were piled high with clothes, books and bric-a-brac.

     It was beneath the tables, that I discovered my love of books. There were endless amounts to choose from but Enid Blyton’s famous five were my favourite. And although I was very young, I could read them quite well. By the time I was eight, I was writing adventures stories and reading them to the hoards of rabbits that lived in our barn. Those old books are still with me and sit on the shelves at our home for waifs and strays.

     Jumble sales were once a big part of village life and still are where I live in Wales. It is a great way to raise money for charities and one can have hours of fun picking up amazing bargains.

     When people come to visit our home for waifs and strays, there is always a story to tell about many of the items that I bought at a charity shop or a jumble sale.

Even when no boat floats upon it and no fish can be seen, and even if the water is as smooth as a millpond, it still has the power to draw one to it.

     The original name for the Pacific Ocean was ‘peaceful sea’ and although at times this isn’t the case, there is a certain aura of both peacefulness and power about it. It has the power to give and the power to take away.

      Below this surface that we often stare at with little thought, are thousands of islands, volcanoes, valleys and the longest mountain range on Earth, known as The Mid-Atlantic Ridge. Indeed, another world full of mystery. Another world full of life we have yet to discover.

      But we do know that the largest animal ever to have lived on this planet, lives beneath this water we love to stare at. The Blue whale, (Balaenoptera musculus) is around 30 metres in length and weighs 170 tonnes or more.  Her voice is louder than a jet and her heart is about the size of a Volkswagen beetle, how amazing is that?  

      So it is no wonder we stare at this magnitude of water that covers 70% of our planet. The sheer size of it is enough to make anyone feel in awe of its vastness. From its gentle ripples to its tsunamis, this part of our planet will always be something to watch, to listen to, to be mindful of.  

      For me, standing at the water’s edge, drinking in the fresh salty air, allows me to think or to meditate and not think at all. If I’m sad, its endless murmur soothes and restores my soul. 

‘We are tied to the ocean. And when we go back to the sea, whether it is to sail or to watch-we are going back from whence we came.’

John F Kennedy

It’s late again and all I want to do is to sit by the fire with a cup of sweet tea. The foxing hours are upon us and the polecat is still on the loose but the hens are safely tucked up in their beds, safe for another night at least. And you are more than welcome to sit in the chair opposite me. It’s old but comfortable and when the embers die down please use the blanket that’s folded on the side. I think tonight, I shall play my guitar and sing a wee song my father taught me a long time ago. It’s called Streets of London. But before that, I shall tell you why I chose this song.

      This evening I saw an old woman, lying lifeless on the cold, wet road. She had just been hit by a car. I quickly reassured her that help was on the way. She was thin and poorly dressed. Someone nearby said she roams the streets day and night and is always alone. I was heartbroken! Staring down at this woman, some mothers child, I wondered who she was and where she’d come from. Her name she could not tell me. And now, in the comfort of my home, I remembered the song that tells a story about loneliness and people, just like the woman who now lies on a hospital bed, alone!

       Close your eyes and listen to the lyrics. Picture the old lady and pray for her if you will.....

Have you seen the old man 
In the closed-down market 
Kicking up the paper, 
with his worn out shoes? 
In his eyes you see no pride 
Hand held loosely at his side
Yesterday's paper telling yesterday's news 

So how can you tell me you're lonely, 
And say for you that the sun don't shine? 
Let me take you by the hand and lead you through the streets of London 
I'll show you something to make you change your mind 

Have you seen the old girl 
Who walks the streets of London 
Dirt in her hair and her clothes in rags? 
She's no time for talking, 
She just keeps right on walking 
Carrying her home in two carrier bags. 

Chorus

In the all night cafe
At a quarter past eleven, 
Same old man is sitting there on his own 
Looking at the world 
Over the rim of his tea-cup, 
Each tea last an hour 
Then he wanders home alone

Chorus

And have you seen the old man 
Outside the seaman's mission 
Memory fading with 
The medal ribbons that he wears. 
In our winter city, 
The rain cries a little pity 
For one more forgotten hero 
And a world that doesn't care 

Do you know any lonely people? Make one phone call! Write one letter! A few words can make all the difference!

Many years ago when I was a little girl, I used to love watching my father tend to his roses.

     ‘Isn’t it lovely,’ he once said, as he sniped away at the thick green stems, ‘that these beautiful flowers are a symbol of love, sorrow and sympathy?’ I wasn’t quite sure if he was talking to me or to a memory of something or someone special. He often retreated into his own world where flowers blossomed and bloomed under his tender care. I used to wonder if he loved his garden more than he loved me. But I was just a wee child then.

     I remember one particular day when I arrived home from school with my head full of worries, my father looked at my face and asked what was wrong.

     ‘Nothing,’ I said. The truth was, I didn’t know what was wrong, I just worried about everything, homework, friends, school, dying, everything! And so I sat at the table where my grandmother had placed a bowl of beef stew and dumplings. She had obviously ignored my announcement that I was no longer a meat eater, that I didn’t want anything to have to die for me. I looked around for my father but he had already retreated back to his garden.  Was I invisible?

     About an hour later, as I sat at the kitchen table doing my homework, my father came in from the garden. He asked me to stand in front of him and close my eyes. I looked at him suspiciously and knew he was hiding something behind his back. Secretly excited, I did as he asked.  

      ‘There,’ he said with great excitement in his voice and placing something around my neck, ‘this is just for you!’ I opened my eyes and saw the necklace of roses my father had made for me. ‘There’s not a prickle in sight,’ he laughed, ‘so it won’t hurt you!’

      My father then told me the reason why he made me a necklace of roses. ‘The Roman’s used to make the same thing,’ he said, ‘and anything said beneath the rose was deemed a secret.’ He touched my head as I touched the roses on my necklace and he said, ‘if there’s anything bothering you, please talk to me and I promise not to tell a soul. Anything you tell me beneath the rose necklace stays beneath it!’

       Although I was very young at the time, I believed, just like the Romans, that beneath the rose everything was sacred. And although I never did share many secrets with my father, below or above the rose necklace, I did however, share many with my friends, until the day it crumbled and fell apart!

We have been locked up for 61 days. So far, only one of us has died from boredom! She cried when she found her, just like she did when she saved us the first time. Only this time she was the one who locked us up. She's the one who is trying to save us from this terrible avian flu. Twilight died of old age and out of us all, she was the freedom fighter. Twilight was the one that struggled with the restrictions most of all.  

      In fairness to her, she does her best to keep us entertained and spends quite a bit of time hanging vegetables around the greenhouse, singing the same old song that goes something like this....

I’m going to love you for the rest of your lives

I’m going to need you for the rest of your lives

I’m going to want you for the rest of your lives

And I’m gonna make it good for you!

     It’s the same song she sang to us on that long journey home after rescuing us from a fate worse than death.

     We watched her dig a hole, big enough to bury herself, outside our house before placing straw in the bottom. Then ever so gently, she placed Twilight down and covered her with more straw then earth and tears and she sang of course. Then briefly, she looked up at us and sure enough she smiled.

      ‘Hold on my girls,’ she shouted, ‘you will be free again, soon!’

The H5N8 strain of avian influenza has been circulating Europe for a couple of months and due to the spread of this disease by migrating birds, poultry owners, like myself, have been told they must keep their geese, chickens and ducks, away from wild birds. This includes people who have just a few backyard hens.

     However, after being in since the 7^th December 2016, we were all expecting to release our flocks into the fields again, but sadly, this is not about to happen, just yet. The latest news is that all poultry must remain under cover until 28^th February earliest.

     One should also practice good bio security, and disinfect footwear before and after visiting the poultry. We should ensure that every effort is made to prevent spreading this disease and aim for a quick return to freedom. Roll on 28^th February.

Goodnight Twilight, you were such a wee character and brightened up many dull days at our home for waifs and strays.