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From a new life in spain, to an old life in britain, 'roaming brit' documents uncertain times!

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On 31st January 2016, my partner and I left Southampton to start a new life as Expats in Gran Alacant, on the Costa Blanca. This blog will document our journey, as we navigate the Spanish system, travelling a path untried and untested. With Brexit looming, political turmoil in Europe and an unpredictable future, harsh decisions have to be made. Illness, family bonds and a Change of heart all make for challenging times in a life of a 'Roaming Brit!'

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9/11 - Reflections, twenty years on!

11/9/2021

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Today, I republished a blog entry detailing my recollection of 9/11, twenty years after that fateful day. Watching this horrendous terrorist attack unfold on television has stayed with me for two decades, and it still shocks me to the core. All of us witnessed death and destruction on a level not seen since the Second World War. Rolling news programmes brought home the horror of what was evolving in America, in a way never seen before. No one will never forget what happened, it has left an indelible mark on all our hearts.

On the twentieth anniversary, all of us should reflect on a day of infamy, that saw the deaths of 2977 people, from every corner of the globe. The attacks on the World Trade Centre, Pentagon and the downing of flight 93 in Shanksville, Pennsylvania, defined the World we live in today; a generation later, it still remains the biggest terrorist attack in modern history. This was the moment all our lives changed, and our planet became a much darker place; this was the day I finally realised what evil was.

On that day in 2001, I was carried along on a sea of emotion, unlike anything I have ever experienced. I cried more than I had ever cried before, not for a family member or loved one, but for people I had never met. I shed tears of distress and disbelief at what I was witnessing, as the sheer scale of this atrocity became clear. It seemed that minute by minute, we were all bombarded with intensely terrifying news, exploding into all our homes. I just remember sitting motionless, unable to comprehend the enormity of the situation unfolding across America. The emotions I experienced on 9/11, were for the end of innocence and a natural belief that the World was coming to an end.

In many ways September 11th 2001 did signal an ending — this tragedy was just the beginning of a change in the way we all live our lives. It was a turning point that ended my fear of death and dying. I had become desensitized to the fragility of life  and almost accepted all future events as part of the course, no matter how dreadful the circumstances. When you witness murder on such a massive scale, even as an onlooker, you do become numb, almost unaware of anything else around you. You have seen the worst people can do, nothing else really compares.

As we remember those who died twenty years ago, we keep their memories alive. Recalling people no longer with us, is a reminder of what they did during their lifetime, who they loved and the families they left behind. Their deaths detail just how terrifying events can be, an incalculable loss, an aide-mémoire to unimaginable cruelty. No normal, sane person will ever understand why 9/11 occurred, but we all recognise the consequences of this terrorist attack. The dust will never settle, families will never forget; they will always remember the unthinkable, inconceivable wickedness that left us all bereft  — 9/11, the day the World held its breath!

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Clandestine Words and Jumbled Machinations - The Time Before I 'Came Out!'

17/2/2021

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It has always amazed me, that gay people have to ‘come out’ and announce their sexual orientation to the rest of the World. A gathering of noteworthy individuals, nibbling canapés, sipping Bellinis offering a well deserved pat on the back, sympathy and a patronising ear. A party of drunken guests, drinking beer, chatting loudly over a booming stereo, voices barely audible over the ever-increasing discordance. Christmas with Mother and Father on a rather festive Saturday evening, whilst watching Larry Grayson's Generation Game on TV - All possible scenarios, for that intimate chat over a cup of tea or something stronger, but none, which apply in my case. A persons sexual preference should not be the subject of gossip, commented on by others, or scrutinised by friends and family, in the hope they can understand what essentially for me was a personal struggle. Every gay man has a ‘coming out’ story to tell, some more dramatic than others - a tragedy in the making, a relief, confirming ones parents worst fears or simply an acknowledgement that maybe, just maybe, they were right all along.

I didn't ‘came out’ in the traditional sense of the phrase; those closest knew I was gay from early childhood – the small boy who from the age of five, preferred deliberating with dolls to a cap gun, holster and Stetson, unless it was appropriately attired with whatever outfit I was wearing at the time. I was always looking in at the rest of the World from the sidelines, muttering to myself, ‘how come I just don’t fit in, why am I so different to my peers?’ My outward happy disposition, hid a dark reality of anxiety and depression that consumed my every waking moment. As I wrestled with my demons and tried to understand the person I really was, I became self-absorbed, diffident and withdrawn

Introspection, self-analysis, a disliking of oneself and a negative outlook on life, dominated those early years as I turned inwards, living the life I always wanted through dreams. An imagination running wild and a veneer of semblance, offered the pretence of a better World. When you live your life in a constant caliginous, suffocating twilight, riotous, rip-roaring distraction, offers the chance to carry on, a raison d'être to wake up each morning and the motivation to thrive and grow! The confusion, self loathing and lack of understanding, was so difficult to quantify, at a time when I should have been relishing my childhood; those testing teenage years. Instead of developing, burgeoning into a rounded, well-adjusted young man, I was becoming a prisoner of my own conscience, unable or unwilling to break free.

Intentionally, I had very few friends at school and did everything to hide my true self, Classmates only saw a small percentage of me, the tiny ten percent, I wanted them to see. I became good at creating distraction, offering an illusion of normality, when there was none. Living more than one life,  I exhibited a mirage of convenience, a smokescreen of conventionality; with the weight of the World on my shoulders, I became old beyond my years.

Alone with my thoughts, I would often retreat into the shadows, learning to meditate for hours on end. Clearing my mind of despondency I would write continuously, with ever-increasing fervour - clandestine words and jumbled machinations, offloading my anger, frustrations and during happier times, my hopes, thoughts and aspirations for the future. Yes I did have constructive days, periods of hope and belief in myself. They may well have been few and far between, but they are the lucky days, those that resonate with my sense of purpose, a reminder that the bad times will eventually pass and light will inevitably overcome the dark. Testing times offer an opportunity to once again explore the trauma of my childhood and remind me, of the contentions I have survived before and will do so again! The journey of life takes many twists and turns, but keeps on advancing, even as we jump off.

My early years, growing up gay have played a pivotal role in the direction I have taken ever since. If I am honest, the period just before I 'came out' is a bit of an enigma; I was so confused and at odds with traditional society, that I was unable to favourably comprehend the feelings I had then. Rather than celebrating my homosexuality, using it as a platform to prosper and mature as an individual, I used it as an excuse to cause unrecoverable damage to myself, especially my mental health and psychological resilience. By the time I reached adulthood, I was so broken and fatigued, consumed with my own troubled life, that I had forgotten who I really was. My sexuality had become a millstone around my neck and I still couldn't see past the stigma, often laid firmly at my door. I understand I'm not the only gay man in the World, but without support and direction, I was left rudderless in a sea full of hate!

Tracing one's footsteps back to my adolescence, I can clearly see where the rot set in. Even as I approach my 50th Birthday, I am still very much a product of that time. Like then, I am able to sit melodiously alone and write my innermost feelings down, only this time for positive reasons. Of course today I am happy with myself, have all the approbation I  need and have finally accepted the mistakes of the past. Unlike thirty, forty years ago, I can reflect honestly about the circumstances of my being and make the best of what I managed to salvage from that period. I may well not have my whole life ahead of me any more, but I can at least try and repair the damage, I carry around with me, even today. My life certainly didn't turn out the way I expected, but it has afforded me the opportunities to reflect, contemplate and ruminate, even if it is a little too much!


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1998 - Brush With Technology!

30/1/2021

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The office, at the top of our crumbling three-story town house in Edelvale Road, which always reminded me of the television programme 'Crapston Villas,' was missing something. There was a fax machine, which worked intermittently, the preferred method of contact in the mid to late nineties, an old rusty imperial 1950s typewriter, that I had acquired from one of the many car boot sales, I used to frequent on a Sunday morning and a 'Canon Starwriter' word processor, my pride and joy. It was slow cumbersome, difficult to navigate, with the smallest screen, but it was perfect for putting thoughts to paper and storing a lifetime of memories. With a pink floral winged back armchair, a huge, bulky wooden cased television and antique leaded glass fronted mahogany bookcase, squeezed next to a rather large overbearing exercise strider, all the rage back then, it was the perfect retreat to escape from the World. Alone with my thoughts I was able to relax and unwind, away from the rest of the house; It was the beginning of my love/hate relationship with technology that still exists today!

The World was moving on, the internet was just beginning to bloom and most people I knew had a computer, not something I was particularly interested in, it has to be said. I had heard so many horror stories and after being given a ZX Spectrum 48k for Christmas in the early 1980s, I always said I would 'never go there again.' The screeching of the tape recorder for hours on end, as Daley Thompsons Decathlon loaded, was just too much to bear. I wasn't ready then, and I wasn't sure I was ready now, for that leap into the dark and the purchase of a new desk top computer. Nevertheless, it was time to embrace the new World and bow to modernity, after all this was the way of the future.

In the corner of the office sat a large Argos Catalogue, placed on top of the even larger telephone directory and a bigger still yellow pages. Perched between them all, was a notepad, where each of us would write down the telephone calls we made; all very forward thinking and  organised; the reality was, it didn't last long, as the three of us who lived there soon got bored with writing each conversation down. The Argos 'Bible' was an obligatory accessory in the 90s home, and we would often sit down of an evening, flicking through the pages, dreaming of things to buy for the house. There seemed to be an explosion of new technology at the time - the new MP3 player, Sony Discman, portable CD player, mobile phones, the first widescreen televisions and most importantly, affordable desk top PC's.

After a lot of umming and ahing, we finally decided to drive down to Argos and purchase a shiny new computer. This was a task easier said than done. The box was huge and weighed a tonne. In fact, it was so big, we decided to open the contents, so it would fit neatly inside our burgundy Ford escort. Immediately I began to regret my purchase, as I decanted a monitor, CPU, Keyboard and more software than I had ever seen, packaged individually on Compact Disc after bloody Compact Disc. Then there were leads, so many wires, I just couldn't imagine how we would ever connect them all. Bemused, we just shut the boot and drove home, sitting quietly, wondering what on earth we had got ourselves into.

Dragging the heavy contents up  three flights of stairs to the study, suitably knackered, sweating profusely, angry and tired, which is never a good start, I sat there, head in my hands, not knowing where to begin. Temper at boiling point, as usual I left Darrell to do the donkey work, I was never any good at technology, it just wasn't part of my psyche and I certainly didn't have the patience; I was more of a paper and pen kind of man, as I probably still am today. With the carpet covered in hardware, software, peripherals, computer manuals and even a plastic cover for the PC, just like the one you used to put on a budgie cage at night, I left the room. We had already had two arguments getting to this point and I didn't want any more!

It must have been the early hours of the following morning when Darrell finally finished putting everything together. It looked presentable enough against the back wall, although the myriad of unseemly wires and extension cables trailing across the floor, were already beginning to irritate my innate sense of order. That was just the beginning of my hatred for this new piece of modern technology, before it was even switched on. The 'dial up' connection, rather like the screeching Spectrum cassette tape loading in 1983, was so disturbing and frustrating in nature, I had to leave the room; there was no turning down the volume; it was just one long squawk fest, from sunrise to sunset!

The internet in 1998 was very different; less of a learning tool, it was more directed towards recreation and risqué material. Loading a picture could take minutes, not milliseconds as it does today. There was no joy sat in front of a screen for hours on end, doing nothing productive. The waiting, queuing, restarting, reloading, dropping of  connection, when someone was using the phone and constant annoyance at not being able to finish a task, was just too much to cope with. Within a few short days, I had had enough, phoning Argos demanding a refund. Unsurprisingly, they weren't having any of it, advising me to follow due process and ring the helpline in the literature provided.

By now my mood had turned distinctly sour; indignant, irate with rage, I packed up everything in the oversized box provided and told Darrell to drive me to Argos, where I unloaded the monstrosity in the middle of the shop, refusing to leave until I was reimbursed in full. After an hour of tense exchanges, they finally relented, and we were refunded on the spot. I vowed never to get a computer again, believing they were useless, purposeless and unusable.

This tentative foray into the coincidental world of the future was a step too far, and one I wouldn't repeat for many years, until advancements in technology finally allowed this fully fledged technophobe, the opportunity to embrace destiny and become the amateur computer expert I am contemporarily. Looking back, I should have persevered, but life in 1998 was very different and times didn't reflect my desire to get things done quickly. Computers back then were not for the faint-hearted, they were an uneven stepping stone towards the advancements we enjoy in 2021; they were the ancestors of smartphones and tablets and the forerunner of innovation, development and creativity. As grandparents of the freedoms we enjoy today; the humble Argos computer was the commencement of my journey, as I endeavoured to navigate a World I didn't recognise. This was the first chapter in the life of a blogger, who finally fell in love with the progressive, cutting edge, pioneering present day. This was the end of innocence and the beginning of accomplishment!



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We Really Haven't Learnt Anything!

24/1/2021

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I've had three days off work with plenty of things to do, but have actually done very little if I am honest. I started watching the five part Channel 4 drama 'It's a Sin' on Friday, and it has kind of taken over my thoughts. On Saturday, I did manage to get out and go for a seven-mile walk, but even then, I just couldn't stop thinking about this programme. Walking around Portsmouth, I felt lucky to be alive, enjoying the sea air, beautiful scenery and timeless coastline, that I have visited many times before. Nevertheless, as I sat on South Parade Pier, looking out across the water, I remembered a time, not so long ago, when my life wasn't so simple, a period not unlike today, full of fear and anxiety.

'It's a Sin' took me back to the 1980s, growing up gay during the AIDS epidemic and at a time of great social change, trying to discover who I really was, surrounded by hate, disapproval and trepidation. When I look back to my teenage years, I am reminded of the pain and difficulties I went through, trying to 'come out' in a World that just didn't care. There was no understanding or acceptance from those I regarded as close, because they never knew I was gay. There was no shoulder to cry on, when my feelings for someone else, weren't reciprocated, because they didn't see me as I really was. Above all there was no support when I needed it most, because I wasn't allowed to ask the right questions, seek the correct answers, or talk to somebody, anybody who could help me figure out the feelings I wrestled with every day. I was alone, unhappy, frightened and scared, during a period when gay men were hidden from society, afraid to admit their sexuality.

Towards the end of the 1980s I was fully aware 'people like me' were falling ill, dying alone, rejected by family and friends and unable to be close to partners. Thrown to the sidelines, by bitter, vindictive parents, who only saw them as the catalyst for their sons 'perverted' lifestyle, they were left to pick up the pieces, often without recognition of a lifetime spent with the person they loved. This was an undemonstrative time, where most people only thought about themselves, greed was the religion of the day and gay men like me were left abandoned and alone, by the very people who should have been there for us; this was the saddest time of my life!

During the early 1980s, I was just a small child, trying to find my feet and had no understanding of the AIDS epidemic beginning to sweep the World. It is still a shock to me now, that gay men refused to accept this virus could kill them, and it was all made up in the minds of those at the top, to stop them having sex with each other. The links to the COVID pandemic today are stark and clear. Coronavirus deniers, like those who rejected the existence of AIDS, are as vocal today as they ever were. In the 1980s HIV/AIDS was an imaginary illness, propagated to eradicate homosexuality. Here in 2021, COVID is a hoax and a ploy to control the masses. For those of us who lived through the worst of the AIDS crisis, this is a repeat of the same idiocy, indistinguishable stupidity and identical misrepresentation touted forty years ago, a dangerous repudiation of the facts in the face of disaster. We are indeed repeating the mistakes of the past.

Although I enjoyed watching 'It's a Sin' over the last few days, I have been left feeling rather melancholy and downhearted. This series was poignant, moving, wonderfully acted and full of memories from my past. However, it was also extremely painful to watch, triggering some significantly upsetting and uncomfortable evocations, I thought I had laid to rest years ago. It is clear that no matter how traumatic the 1980s were, they will never leave my consciousness. The pandemic we are living through today, will equally remain a tragic reminder of, the mistakes made by people who understood  nothing from history and the failings we never seem to redress. Once again a generation will pay for the miscalculations of the few and the irresponsibility of the ignorant!
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1997 - Hope For A New Life!

10/2/2020

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We lived on the edge of the bush, the last suburb in Western Australia before the wilderness took hold. Ellenbrook was newly built in 1997 and was a shiny, new example of ambition and aspiration in the fast growing city of Perth. I had been living in Australia for four long months and if I am honest, not having a great time. The heat, arrogance of those who lived there and difficulties getting a job, in a city of few opportunities for British Ex-Pats like me, were all taking their toll on my rash decision to move to the other side of the World with my partner of just two years. However, with circumstances the way they were back home in the UK, it was likely I would be living down under for a while yet. Darrell’s Australian nationality was a stumbling block to our relationship. The Conservative Government at the time refused to acknowledge our commitment to one another and made it clear Darrell wasn’t welcome in Britain. This was the second time we had journeyed away from Britain, a place we both called home and tried to make the best of our precarious situation!

The election of 2nd May 1997 was our only hope of a future together away from Australia. As the day approached I became ever more anxious, believing the then Prime Minister John Major, would win another term in office, putting pay to our desire to return, firmly in its tracks. This was the first time Darrell and I really began to argue, as once again our life seemed uncertain. I was living in a Country I couldn’t stand, missing home and looking for a way out. If Tony Blair won, he had already indicated his wish to change the law, legitimising de-facto relationships like ours in law, allowing us both to live happily ever after, well as near as damn it anyway!

It was 10pm in Britain, 5am in Perth, and I was up, waiting to follow the General Election to its conclusion. There was no live coverage from the BBC, but we did have access to a rather antiquarian computer and the wonders of Telstra Dial Up internet. Needless to say the service was intermittent at best, non-existent at worst. I did my best to catch the results as they came in, as I had done during every election before. I was a bit of a political animal, having studied politics and social policy at University and always supported my Father standing in local elections in the past; as a staunch supporter of New Labour, politics ran through my veins and despite my fears, I always remained positive for the future. This election was the most important one in my lifetime and it would decide mine and Darrell’s future for many years to come!

As the results came in, it was clear Tony Blair and New Labour were heading for power in a landslide victory; finally I began to relax and immediately make plans in my head for a future back home, living legally as a couple, in a country that had turned a corner and become part of the modern World. The relief I felt on Friday 3rd May 1997 was like nothing else I have felt before. Maybe, just maybe this could be the beginning of a new chapter together, settled and happy, secure and content in a life we so craved, at a time of change and upheaval in Britain itself.

Within a few months we had left Australia to start a new life back home. It would be another four years before we would both be able to relax, as Darrell received his indefinite leave to remain. We became the second same sex couple in the country to be granted permission to stay together, after years of fighting to be the partnership we are today. There were many more battles along the way, we were mentioned in Parliament, received deportation orders and campaigned tirelessly for others like us, to be accorded the same rights as our heterosexual friends. The election of Tony Blair in 1997 signalled our Australian departure and ushered in the next twenty-three years of our life together, a turning point that marked the end of an antipodean dream!

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Mary Light - Celebration of a Life!

31/10/2019

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On Sunday my relatives from Liverpool arrived in Portsmouth, to attend Mum's funeral. Aunty Margaret, 91 year old Aunty Mary and my Cousin Angela. This was the first time I had seen them, since 2012 at my Nan's funeral and it was lovely to see them again, after so long! It does seem, that the only time I really get to see extended family is on such upsetting occasions, but nevertheless it was important they attended, to see Mother on her final passage.

In the evening we chatted and reminisced about the 'old days,' talking about Nan and Grandad, long since gone and happier times, when our scouse relatives came to visit. Of course this may well be the last time I see my Aunts. Like all our family, I lead a busy life and have no idea what the future holds. Making the most of the time I had with my kin folk from the north was amazing and brought back so many memories of my childhood. This was a special Sunday evening, perfect before we said goodbye to Mum!

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We got to my Fathers house early Monday morning, where my Brother and his wife had already arrived. The atmosphere was somber as one would expect, but Dad was holding up well, under the most difficult of situations. He seemed pleased to see his Liverpool family, who sat chatting about Mum. Aunty Mary presented Dad with two folders, detailing prayers said in church for her. These two Aunts are deeply spiritual and were both brought up Catholics, so it was comforting to know, that Mother had been in their thoughts and those of the Church.

Other family guests arrived over the next hour. My Cousins Chris and Maria, Mum's sisters and Brother and her two nephews, all mourning her passing and celebrating the life of a Lady, who will always remain in all out hearts.

The funeral cortege left Dads bungalow at 12pm, followed by the family in two limousines and others attending the funeral. As I sat there, looking out at my old stomping ground passing by, many pictures popped into my head - Time spent with Mum, Dad and my Brother, growing up in an idyllic part of the World. Playing in fields, long lazy summers, walking towards the woods at the end of our road and being cradled tightly, securely by Mum, at times of trouble. This was Mum's final journey, taking a route she had travelled many times before, but it was also the last trip I would take, following in her footsteps, in the place I used to call home.

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We arrived slightly late for the funeral, after trying to navigate through a rather long traffic jam. The next funeral was already waiting to one side as we pulled up. It was strange that the other funeral was for the Mother of a young lady who I work with. As selfish as it may seem. I did feel comforted by that fact, knowing I wasn't the only one grieving a loved one that day. As I've discovered, it is always best to grieve as a group, comforting each other and helping one another through the difficult concept of death.

There were a lot of people at Mum's funeral, far more than we could have expected and that made the day even more poignant. Although Mum and Dad rarely had visitors in their latter years, due to Mum's ill health, there were still many who took the time to pay tribute to someone they had known. I was amazed to see the hairdresser who did Mum's hair before her Wedding, friends and neighbours from our time living in Thorni Avenue and to finally meet Dad's Best Man at their Wedding. All of these people, made Mum and Dad who they were and all of them cared enough to remember the life of someone who touched their heart.

Along with my Brother, Uncle Paul and John and Mum's nephews Lloyd and Kye, we carried the coffin into Portchester Crematorium, where a priest from Holy Trinity Church, where Mum and Dad got married, conducted a beautiful service of remembrance. My Uncle Paul read a Eulogy I wrote for Mum, unable to speak the words myself and Mothers favourite songs and hymn, Amazing Grace was played. It was a deeply emotional occasion for all of us who attended and and event I shall always remember.

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Eulogy - Mary Elizabeth Light 1949-2019

As Mary’s Brother it is my honour to read a tribute to her, on behalf of her husband David and children Luke and Kevin. The following Eulogy include the thoughts and feelings of my sisters grieving family at this difficult time!

Mary was born on the 11th February 1949, to Poppy and John Frampton, in the small market town of Fareham. She was one of five siblings and leaves behind sisters Susan, Diane, Helen and Brother Paul! All of us will miss her deeply, a bond that can never be broken. A local girl at heart, she rarely travelled far; her priority in life very much centred around her family. As a small child she was diagnosed with type 1 Diabetes, an illness that would change her life forever, as she began the process of coming to terms with her condition.

In 1962 Mary met her then future husband David, whilst at school. David ‘thought he would like a date, with this lovely looking girl’ and a year later in 1963, they began a courtship that would see their eventual engagement in 1965. David would bring along his friends and gather in Poppy and John’s breakfast room, playing darts, chatting and getting to know one another. On one memorable occasion, David missed the dart board, piercing a water pipe, leaving damage in its wake, but that didn’t dampen their spirit and they eventually married at Holy Trinity Church in Fareham in 1967.

On the way to their honeymoon in St Ives, Mary and David travelled by coach. David had placed their case in the rack above, as they sat enjoying the journey ahead. When the time came to get off this old ‘bone shaker’ David jumped up and started to pull down the luggage. Losing his grip, he dropped in square on Mary’s head. Just the first of many bumps in the road and a time they still laughed about until recently. The beginning of their journey together and a lifetime of memories that flowed!

Mary worked at Suttons the Bookshop and Keast’s in Fareham, which sold Prams and baby equipment, finally training to become a hairdresser like David in the late 1960s. She followed a full time hairdressing career into the 1970s, when she finally gave up full time work to look after their first child Luke, who was born prematurely in 1971. Still working when she could, she relished her new role as a Mum and housewife. In 1975, David and Mary’s second child Kevin was born and their family was complete. Doting over her children, Mary would never waver in her devotion to her husband and sons, even during testing times; all the while dealing with the spectre of diabetes, that was never too far away.

Sat on a chair in the kitchen as Mum cut his hair, Luke was never one to sit still, fidgeting throughout and objecting to having to suffer the indignity of having his hair cut by Mum, Luke slipped further and further downwards, at which point, his Mother turned round, grabbed the kitchen bowl and placed it firmly on his head, threatening to give him a cut he’d remember if he didn’t sit still. It was the 1970s, a time of weird and wonderful hair, but even Luke sat up straight at the thought of a bowl cut, to go with his flared trousers and wide collared shirt!

Mary became a carer for David in 1998, when her husband suffered a brain hemorrhage. Her priorities as a wife and Mother had changed and turned full circle as David began a process of rehabilitation, aided by Mary and her belief in the man she married and the words ‘in sickness and health,’ ringing in her ears.

As a ‘protector’ Mary championed the needs of others, above her own. In the words of her son Kevin, she would have made a great ‘Health and Safety Officer;’ she always saw danger in everything. Over cautious, thinking of the worst case scenario, the bathroom door would remain unlocked, when anyone was having a bath – Just in case they fell asleep and slipped under the water. This ombudsman and campaigner of safeguarding always set her clocks ten minutes fast ‘just in case,’ a tradition carried on by her youngest son. There was always an emergency toilet roll to hand and she never trusted anyone with a key to the house. In her medical bag, an emergency kit-kat, packet of Mini Cheddars and neatly folded kitchen roll; prepared for every eventuality!

Mary was also a battler and grafter, working two jobs, at the Highlands Co-Op and as a cleaner at the local school for many years and of course caring for her growing family. This was a happy and productive time, until she retired in 2007. In 2008 Mary suffered the loss of her left leg, after years of injecting insulin took its toll. She remained determined to keep walking on her new prosthetic limb, right up until 2013, when she sadly lost her right leg and was confined to a wheel chair.

Despite all the heartache Mary was delighted at the birth of her grandchildren Meghan in 2010 and Hayley in 2013, two beautiful young girls who she adored and always gave her hope for the future. Mary may have been disabled, but she was now a proud Grandmother and always looked forward to seeing them when she could. Family were the linchpin of her life and without the love of her husband, Mum and Dad, brother and sisters, children and grandchildren, the difficulties she faced would have been so much harder to bear. This local lass from Fareham left an indelible footprint in the heart of all those who knew her and will be a great loss for everyone, especially her husband David, who cared for her during her final years of life.

In life we can’t always choose the battles we fight. Mary’s road was a hard one, but it made her stronger and more determined to beat the struggles she endured. With her customary smile and stoical outlook, she fought bravely, everyday and never faltered in her desire to grasp every second of life she had left! She will always remain in the hearts of those who knew her, a hero in every sense of the word!
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The wake at Cam's Hall Estate concluded a fantastic send off for Mum. I was delighted that many family members attended, many of whom I haven't seen in years. It was great to listen to their stories about her and recall the more propitious circumstances that defined her life.

2019 has been a terrible year for losing loved ones and it is a time I would rather forget, but on the plus side, I have been able to see many friends and relatives I have missed, reconnecting with a family I was estranged from for over twenty five years. The wake, made me realise the significance of my ancestry and I am finally aware of just how important these people are.

Mum's passing is a milestone that can not be matched. I know we should have been closer, especially during the 'lost' years, but as time moves on and our lives continue on this journey called life, I am happy to have had the best, most loving, dedicated and strong minded Mother in the World - A World, that was all the better for having her in it!

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9/11 - The Day We Left Innocence Behind!

11/9/2019

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The sun was streaming through the café window, as I finished making the last of the sandwiches for the afternoon rush. I walked over to the tables at the front, overlooking the forecourt and straightened the plastic chequered tablecloths, wiping down the surfaces with a damp tea towel and clearing the last of the breakfast plates. I looked out of the large expanse of glass; the petrol pumps at the garage were beginning to fill, with busy customers heading into Salisbury. Monika, the lady who lived in the bungalow next door, walked sternly past, waving briefly as she saw my face. I smiled, courteously as ever, giving a customary salute, as I always did when I saw her. Tables, finally tip-top and Bristol fashion, I popped into the garage, just to make sure everything was alright. Darrell was on the console, chatting to Mr Green from the village, who was pointing out an article in the Salisbury Journal, which made them both laugh out loud. I caught Darrell's eye, who gave me the thumbs up, all was well, so I headed back into the café!

It was time to do the washing up, which was by now piled high on the draining board. After making fifty sandwiches, I was feeling a little tired to say the least. I took a Coke from the fridge behind the counter and gulped down the contents in one, without even stopping. After wiping my mouth clean with some kitchen towel, I filled the sink with hot water; marigolds on, I started to wash the plates!

The television was on in the corner of the diner, just above the comfy couches, used by customers to drink their coffee, relaxing, watching a spot of TV before they continued on their journey. The Pitstop Café was a stopping point for motorists heading to and from Salisbury on the busy A36. We were very much a part of  local village life, a tiny cog in the fabric of Brickworth, a  hamlet on the Hampshire/Wiltshire boarder. A small family enterprise, Darrell and I enjoyed being part of the local community. This was a happy, industrious time for us and we both enjoyed the relative peace and quiet, running a business in a setting we appreciated! Our comfortable existence, was about to be disrupted by events, that neither of us could have foreseen.

It was getting on for 1pm when a news flash interrupted normal viewing on the TV. Hands wet, I heard the announcement on BBC1 and turned around, shaking the soap suds from my rubber gloves as I watched the unfolding drama, playing out before my eyes. A plane had hit one of the World Trade Centre buildings in New York, smoke was bellowing upwards as flames illuminated the gaping chasm on the side of the building. I took my gloves off and walked over to the TV set, sitting down, eyes glued to what was going on. It must have been a plane crash, how awful for everyone involved, what a terrible thing to happen.

Shortly afterwards, a second plane crashed headlong into the other tower, a plume of debris filled the air; this was no ordinary accident, this was clearly an orchestrated attack. I sat there in horror, watching a travesty of monumental proportions develop. Shocked at what was going on in New York, feeling emotional, I walked over to the entrance to the café and cordoned it off. There was just one customer having a cup of tea, and we both watched silently as the minutes passed.

Darrell walked into the Café, asking what was going on; I just pointed to the television! Standing there briefly, transfixed, he turned quietly, heading back into the shop. I could hear the customers discussing events in America, several popped their heads around the door, watching for a few moments, aghast, in disbelief, looking on in horror unable to comprehend the pictures on the screen.  After a brief conversation  the single  customer left; not a regular, but a businessman passing through, lingering a little longer than he would have done. He patted me on the back, 'I'll always remember this day!' he said, waving goodbye as he left. No words crossed my lips as I acknowledged his departure, nodding my head ever so slightly! My mind was elsewhere, as my anxiety increased, realising New York was under attack!

Half an hour later, a plane crashed into The Pentagon and The White House was evacuated. The news was coming in thick and fast, more and more unbelievable each time. Then, just as I got up to use the toilet, the South Tower collapsed live on television; immediately I sat back down. Newscasters, reporters, and cameramen looked shell shocked as the circumstances of these attacks became clear; a few moments later, another hijacked plane crashed into a field on route to Washington. This was a day like no other. As a viewer looking in, I sat there and shed a tear. People trapped in burning skyscrapers waving whatever they could, trying to attract the attention of the emergency services. Others jumping from top floor windows, trying to escape the flames, falling to their deaths and great clouds of smoke engulfing city streets, as both towers finally collapsed.

I must have watched the television for hours, far into the night, as the full gravity of what I had just witnessed hit home. These were events that would shape not only my life but everyone else's, even today in 2019. The ramifications of 9/11 were wide and enduring; war, terrorist attacks, violence, and death became common place, frequently emblazoned across our TV screens, most of us by now immune to the destruction that had become an almost daily occurrence. 9/11 was the beginning of a new World, which left innocence behind. Over three thousand lives were  lost during and after the attacks and like many others I remember that Tuesday with consternation. This was the day I realised just what humans can do to one another, without a care for the lives they expelled. This was the day, I finally woke up and became aware of man's inhumanity to man!


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    51-year-old Author and professional blogger. Expat formerly living in Gran Alacant on the Costa Blanca! Currently, residing in my adopted home of Perth, Western Australia.

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