THE HARVEST FESTIVAL THE FRIDAY BLOG PAGE

THE HARVEST FESTIVAL

Our new home in Richmond Hill was very different, as the bottom part of the house that we rented was very small indeed, Just two rooms and a long narrow kitchen. It also meant a new school and I started at St Matthew’s in High Town in the late spring.

I loved the walk to school through the wooded area of Peoples Park along a wide path then onto the very large sports field. I did my best to settle into school life.

There was great excitement as October got closer and plans were being made for the Harvest Festival celebrations. The service would be held at St Matthews Church on the corner across the street from our school. The whole school would be involved would be going to the service.

The church looked very grand from the outside It was built with red bricks Sometime in the mid eighteen eighties It seemed very tall with three sets of windows on the side that faced the school. It was to be the only time that I went inside St Matthews church and the very first time I had been in a church.

The other children in my class were busy talking about what they would be bringing for the harvest festival service. I hurried home with all the details and was very excited about what I would take. My heart gave a sigh of disappointment when my father said I could take a bag of potatoes. When I asked for other vegetables instead, he said we would need those ourselves. He put on his jacket and went to get some potatoes from the garden shed. He set to work brushing any mud left on them and put them into a large brown paper bag. Next day at school there was no assembly. We put all the fruit and Vegetables in the hall and the older children and most of the teachers and other church staff took everything across the street to the church.

At last, we got into our class groups and very quietly we walked to the church. There was no talking as we filled inside and were shown where to sit. The grandeur and splendour of the inside of the wonderful church were breathtaking for me. The coloured glass telling stories from the bible was something I had never seen before. They were a great many windows. The colours making magic patterns everywhere. I had seen an organ before at the Saturday morning film show at the cinema. But this organ had tall pipes going up towards the roof and the sound was amazing to a small child. The produce was a sight that I have never forgotten. The altar was covered with different sized boxes of all kind of fruit and vegetables, there were large displays of Autumn branches and even some bunches of my favourite golden chrysanthemum and deep blue Asters. Large loaves of bread in the shape of Wheat sheaves and smaller loaves of homemade bread. There were also other bags of potatoes open at the top so you could see what was inside. We sang with all our hearts, favourite songs that we knew from church or the school’s morning assembly, All Things Bright And Wonderful and Bringing In The Sheaves. The minister said prayers thanking everyone for bringing such wonderful bounty from the gardens and homes. Some of the older children were asked to help take the produce to the almshouses and to families who were finding it hard to make ends meet. I wonder who got the potatoes my father grew?

THE LONELY ROSE GARDEN THE FRIDAY BLOG PAGE

THE LONELY ROSE GARDEN
I’m still walking past a lovely 1920s house with Jasper a good few times a week, but things have changed of late. The family have gone and the house has a “no one at home” look about it. But it is the front garden that looks so forlorn. What a wonderful show of roses there has been over the years, and this last summer was glorious for most roses. This garden more than any other that we walk past has become the most loved.
At the side leaning on the garage is the large sort of blousy Just Joey with its salmon coloured petals. And close by is a tall bright scarlet rose, nice but not on my favourite list. At the end of the garage is that yummy sounding rose Strawberry Ice. I’ve always thought she would do better in a full rose garden instead of so close to a wall. Along the white picket fence are two lovely old English roses. One a soft pink, the other a creamy pale apricot named Tess and this one is my very favourite, its perfume is rather intoxicating. I love to stop and smell this wonderfully pretty rose as I pass. Just close my eyes and take a deep breath in. I have been known to stop in the pouring rain for a moment or two. There are two other roses further along the fence; the deep purple Rose Blackberry nip with its heady fragrance, and glorious colour. On the other side of the gate is a deep golden coloured smaller rose whose name I don’t know and she has no perfume at all, but my goodness she flowers throughout the warmer months in gay abundance.
When I got the new job with a twenty-five-minute walk there and back, It didn’t take me long to find the best way to get there and home again. This garden was such a drawcard. As we got nearer to Christmas that first year, as I got closer to the house I saw one of the owners in the garden, She shouted “wait a moment”, then she dived inside and came out with a bunch of roses to wish me a happy Christmas. She told how she and her husband watched me stopping to look at the roses and it was always the same rose that I would daydream over. On another summers day, she was waiting at the gate as I came home and asked if I had time to have a look at the garden at the back. What a delightful little garden. Almost a square of lawn with borders filled with different coloured carpet roses. To one side the tall soft pink rose Queen Elizabeth. That always looks so regal in a plain vase or jug. The weather has been more than kind this Autumn, those roses have just kept on flowering, Now with the heavy rain as we get a little closer to the winter months the roses have gone and the leaves have changed colour and more fall every day; the weeds are slowly taking over. The garden looks rather sad as I pass and there is a feeling that I have lost a special place. I wonder if I will stop and sigh with delight come next summer?

THE GARDEN AT RICHMOND HILL THE FRIDAY BLOG PAGE

THE GARDEN AT RICHMOND HILL

I must have been nine years old when we moved to Richmond Hill. Ration books were still a big part of everyone’s life. But we were getting a little more variety so not all the garden was for growing vegetables as it had been at our garden in Warren road. There was a long narrow border along one side of the path as you walked through the gate and there were flowers. Pink thrift, smiling pansies in deep blues, and sweet violets. A few small shrubs were dotted here and there. The following spring there was a mass of snowdrops and bright gold crocus. It was rather shady being very close to a tallish wooden fence. That must have been the reason they had not been pulled out to make room for growing vegetables before we had arrived to live in the bottom half of the house that Mr and Mrs Pepper owned. In my mind’s eye, I can still see that delightful border that was to bring so many smiles into my life. This flower border went half the length of the house and ended at the edge of a metal frame made from an old double bed attached to the fence at one end. Along this framework grew the tiny pink rose Dorothy Perkins. At the other end close to the path that went down the middle of our part of the garden was a circle of largish round white stones. Growing in the circle were the ever charming pale blue forget-me-nots. As I write I smile at the memory of the pinks and blues of that pretty patch.

My father kept a very nice garden and he loved every moment he spent in it. He was no longer as strong as the year before and got rather short of breath very quickly. He had so much patience that the job he would start in the garden would always be finished however long it took. That Summer we had runner beans, peas, broad beans, carrots, beetroot and tomatoes. All these were grown from the seeds he had kept from the year before Mr Pepper had left the fruit bushes in and we had a share of the black currants, gooseberries and my very favourite raspberries. It was a lovely summer. He grew cabbages, broccoli, Brussels sprouts for the cooler months. The other side of the long concrete path he grew and harvested the potatoes which were kept in the shed underneath old sacks for the winter time. He also grew herbs and this was how my love of using herbs started with the thymes, sages, several types of mint and parsley. Be assured once the fresh herbs were finished, there would be plenty of dry herbs that he had carefully hung in small bunches to dry on the hanging clothes dryer in the scullery. When they were really well dried my job was to rub the herbs through a sieve and put them in small glass jars. I loved to watch as he took the onions that had been harvested a good few weeks before and were now ready to be plaited together, they would also hang in the scullery. My father just loved onions and would often slice them so thinly and have with Huntley and Palmer’s cream crackers with a slice of cheese or meat. This was to be the last garden my father would work in, so the memories are of being old enough to help and understand the cycle and seasons of a garden that he taught me are very special in many ways.

BREAKFAST TREATS THE FRIDAY BLOG PAGE

BREAKFAST TREATS
It will be three years this July that I had my first breakfast at what I called the Cathedral cafe, better know these days as the community cafe. A few things have changed. I go for breakfast a little later these mornings and I often go with friends. The furniture has spread out to make room for a few extra tables. We still have the small vases with pretty fresh flowers, sadly the blue and white gingham tablecloths have gone, I loved the extra touch of ambience they gave. The service is always wonderful, with lots of smiles from the whole crew of volunteers. The menu has been trimmed a little. But still a great breakfast selection. I still have the porridge with the stewed apple. It’s so yummy that I can never look past it.
On that first breakfast, a young family sat at the same table. I have watched the children grow over the many months that I go for breakfast. Through the very hot summer morning, they had their breakfast outside in the courtyard, so I hadn’t seen them for ages. The eldest of the boys came and stood at our table waiting to catch my eye, asking are you still having porridge and toast for breakfast? Oh yes, I replied, we chatted for a moment or two before he had to dash off to get to school.
Then to our surprise, the new dean Ross Falconer asked if he could join us for breakfast. He told us a few tidbits about the Cathedral plans for earthquake strengthening and other plans for taking St Mary’s church out more into the community over the next few years. He talked about being brought out of retirement to fill the gap of Dean of Taranaki until the end of this year. His family and how much he was enjoying being in Taranaki again.
He showed great interest in our great adventures of deciding to move to a country twelve thousand miles away from our homes in England. Our meals arrived and I must say the chicken and mushroom crepe that Ross had ordered looked and smelt delicious. As always the food was very good. He thanked us and then moved onto other tables to chat with other breakfast at St Mary’s fans.

Before the Dawn CHRONICLES FROM THE DARKENED PATHWAYS A travel log of the soul

 

Before the Dawn

Descending into the twilight

Walking on through the starless night

While sunlight fades rear of memory

An outer, beyond the rim of consciousness

Truly the coldest point

Meets just before the dawn

Where frozen, fingers the bone

As we now edge from rising twilight

Breaching into dawn’s delivering promise

Of warm radiance, streaming from the soul

Copyright ©

Robbie Grace / Clive Robert Grace

MARCH 2018

ANZAC DAY THE FRIDAY BLOG PAGE

ANZAC DAY

I wasn’t planning to go to the dawn parade. But waking up at five AM and knowing that I wouldn’t go back to sleep, I decided to get up and go. We always listen from the playground across and down the steps from the Cenotaph. The huge crowds of people are just a bit too much for Jasper to handle. We didn’t miss very much although the service had started by the time we got there. It was a lovely morning but still rather dark, Very lovely to watch the sun slowly but surely coming up adding a beautiful light to the service It felt good to be a small part of it all. Home for breakfast on the deck.

Jasper and I were invited to go out to the country garden for part of the day we stopped at the Awanui Cemetery on our way and spent a little time at the returned service men’s area. I was surprised at how many people were there in the bright and very warm sunshine. I noticed him standing talking to a group of his friends. He was wearing the Black Watch tartan and carrying a set of bagpipes I fondly remembered my sister’s first husband who was a piper in the Black Watch. Then to the delight of everyone who could hear, he played, so lovely, so sad, one had great difficulty stopping the tears from falling. I know it will be a moment long remembered by many at the cemetery that day. I wanted to thank him, so walked up to shake his hand and got a hug and he told me he had played at the dawn parade in Wanganui that morning and he was in New Plymouth to visit friends

He also added that he was a drummer and was learning to play the bagpipes. Please meet the wonderful bagpipe player Joseph.

While lunch was being prepared Jasper and I took a wander around the always delightful country garden taking a few more photos to post. So good for the soul to be among the tall palms the large expanse of grass, the wide borders with so many textures and lots of wonderful flowers. We enjoyed a lovely lunch sitting and chatting in the sunshine. I know that this Anzac day will stay with me for a very long time.