Boys will be boys, and Gilbert the Great was no exception. In fact, he often over stepped the mark. You see, Gilbert was a ladies’ man and all the ladies loved Gilbert. Well almost all!

     The posh girls, with their plumped up feathers, loved Gilbert and his amorous ways. The raunchy rooster would strut about the yard with his chest out, trying hard to make himself look twice the size and butch.

     Although he was a great protector, Gilbert the Great was actually surplus to requirements. You see, hens do not need a rooster in order to lay eggs but they need one, if a chick is to be born.

     Gilbert the Great would sit on a fence at our home for waifs and strays and threaten anyone that came near his girls, especially those that were sitting on his fertilised eggs. I’m sure the poor postman dreaded coming anywhere near the place and often left parcels in a house across the road.  As you can imagine, Gilbert the Great didn’t make us very popular!

       Well as I said, all the girls loved Gilbert, but there were one or two exceptions and Sandwich was one of them. At least, she pretended to have no interest in him at all but she did watch him from a safe distance

        When Sandwich first saw Gilbert, she was pitiful looking, having just arrived from the battery farm, and so Gilbert didn’t pay her much attention, however, he did tend to watch her over the shoulders of the posh girls. And when Sandwich’s feathers returned to full shiny glory, she outshone all the others. In fact, she looked amazing.

         Gilbert the Great saw the transformation and would strut across the yard towards her. He would dance the cockerel waltz, with one wing stretched downwards. This amused our many visitors but certainly not Sandwich, at least, not at first. In fact, they almost came to blows, on many occasions. This, it seemed, only fuelled Gilbert the Greats amorous ways.

          As I watched the love affair develop between Sandwich and Gilbert, I often wondered if she knew that this raunchy rooster had the potential to fulfil her dreams. Remember the egg she craved for at the battery farm, the one that almost rolled away? I knew then, that Sandwich would make a great mother one day. But whether Gilbert the Great would win her over, you will have to wait and see.....It’s later than you think now, and the house is quiet once again.

Our home for waifs and strays attracts the most extraordinary creatures and from all walks of life, but what happened this evening was almost unbelievable and certainly a true story. It all began when I went out with some friends for a meal. It was as simple as that! But I should have known that nothing is ever that simple, at least not in my life!  

     Almost everything on the menu had chicken in it and I told the waiter that I didn’t eat chicken.

     ‘You don’t like chicken?’ said the waiter with a Polish accent.

     ‘Oh I love chickens,’ I replied, ‘but preferably alive and running about with their heads still on!’  The waiter looked alarmed but then thoughtful as he proceeded to take my order and serve me a chicken less meal.

      Later, when we paid the bill, the same waiter came to me with a rather large and heavy box. ‘For you,’ he said staring right at me, ‘because you love living hens!’ I looked confused but all was revealed when he took the box outside and opened it. Twelve small black heads peered up at me. ‘I cannot keep them here any longer! Please take!’

      The rest is history as you can imagine. I made a quick phone call to my kind and unassuming husband and made my way home....the box of living hens in the seat beside me!

       I guess my friends will talk about this evening for a long time to come. I will keep you informed of their progress!

Come and sit down in my kitchen and I'll make us a cup of tea! There's some homemade bread and jam, just help yourself! Oh, you can hang your coat up on the hook beside the fire.

...............

     I’m not quite sure what it is about tea (a cup of tea especially) but it appears to bring such comfort to the human kind. My dear and unassuming husband is the exception as he has never drank a cup of tea in his life...very strange!

     At our home for waifs and strays, the kettle rarely gets cold. There is always someone popping in for something or another, or just for a chat. I always switch the kettle on even before they are seated. And if I am busy, then the visitor will usually carry out the task automatically. It seems that this is a very welsh thing to do.

     It is almost as if everything dissolves in the steam that evaporates into you face. No worries, no stress, all washed away in a moments connection with the tea. If only it were that simple!

     But for awhile, tea does seem to comfort people.  It feels easier to talk perhaps, with ones hands wrapped around a hot cup or mug. Tea shops are becoming quite popular. I often meet up with friends and family in a tea shop by the sea...just the thought of it makes me feel warm inside. No matter how far I roam, I will always look forward to a cup of tea at the other end.

     There are so many types of teas today, far too many to mention here but I’m sure many of you would have tried at least one or two or even more. Just writing about it makes me want to put the kettle on...just wait a moment please!

     Watching the steam come from the kettle, even before I fill the teapot (we still use a teapot at our home for waifs and strays)makes me feel trapped in its spell....not a bad feeling, even if only for awhile!

     Below is a poem I discovered and written by a woman called Naomi Shihab Nye...enjoy!

The Tray by Naomi Shihab Nye
Even on a sorrowing day
the little white cups without handles
would appear
filled with steaming hot tea
in a circle on the tray,
and whatever we were able
to say or not say,
the tray would be passed,
we would sip
in silence,
it was another way
lips could be speaking together,

opening on the hot rim,

swallowing in unison.

Not so long ago I found a box of wooden toys hidden away in the attic. They began their lives as a block of ordinary wood, carved out by my father’s clever hands. As I touched the wooded shapes, the memories came flooding back.

    ‘This is perfect for making toys as it doesn’t break easily and doesn’t contain harsh chemicals,’ he once told me. ‘The great thing is they will still be around long after you have finished playing with them.’ And they have!

      I can still smell the oak and pine my father took hours and even days to chisel and shape. He would sit at his bench and smooth the wood like I would smooth the cat. All the while, he chewed on his old pipe, probably one he made himself. Sometimes he would let me have a go and sometimes it would end in tears.

      ‘You’re too heavy handed,’ he used to tell me and he would spend hours talking about when it was once a tree. He would sit there and smooth the wood almost as if he was sorry it had been cut down, which wouldn’t surprise me!

      At the age of ten I knew the names of all the trees in the woods around us and I was taught how to respect them. I remember the story of the Wishing Tree, where people hung ribbons and rags from the branches in the hope that good luck would follow. And the World tree, with its roots in the earth and its branches stretching up to the sky, uniting them together.

       I would sit and listen, my hands tucked in my lap, as my father talked about trees. He talked about folklore and religion and how, in Burma, the Talien will pray to the tree before cutting it down and in Africa, a woodman will place a fresh sprig on the tree before raising his axe.

      These stories were told in the perfect setting of my father’s workshop, tucked away on the edge of a forest. Watching him make me a whistle or a doll from wood was like watching him perform magic!    

Almost always, when I stroll across the beach on an early morning I recite bits of ‘Desiderata’ the prose poem by the largely unknown American writer Max Ehrmann. The Latin meaning ‘desired things’ always makes me wonder of the simpler things in life, the things we take for granted. Those that have followed my tales will know that the way I live is largely due to my father’s simplistic expectations of his own life.

      ‘Remember what peace there is in silence!’ My father could have written those words himself. Although a colourful and eccentric character, he often retreated into his own world where he sought comfort from silence. I do the same thing but usually through writing or whilst walking through the valley towards the sea.

      In 1927, Mr Ehrmann wrote ‘Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are a vexation to the spirit.’ I smile at these words as I stroll across the beach and hear the wild and aggressive waves and loud and aggressive gulls. But somehow this kind of aggression is different. It is part of nature and has the potential to calm the stressful mind. But, I can see where he is coming from; I guess most of you can!

      ‘But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.’ Again, these words were written by Mr Ehrmann in 1927, many years later, my father said them to me.

      ‘Don’t worry so much,’ he said frowning down at me as I carried the world upon my shoulders. ‘Be gentle with yourself and let the world unfold the way it’s meant to.’ I can hear him now!

      So many wise words are in this poem, which hangs in the bathroom of our home for waifs and strays. So many people have asked me for a copy, to do the very same thing.  Perhaps you would like a copy also....  

‘Desiderata’

“Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons.

Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even the dull and the ignorant; they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexations to the spirit. If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.

Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs; for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals; and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself. Especially, do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth.

Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be, and whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul. With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.”