Sponsored fasts

Well. So many memories have been brought up in the last few days.

I remember two sponsored fasts with youth group, these fasts would have been when I was 20 and 21, or thereabouts, the first one was when I was in a sheltered flat, and the second one was when I was living and working 14 miles away and came back for the weekend.

The sponsored fast was a great event, because it wasn’t just a fast, it was a sleepover, in the church room.

It was a 24 hour fast, starting on Saturday? and finishing on Sunday?

We were raising money for Africa, one of a number of fundraisers we did.

I was unique in that most of the youth group were still school age, but I was childlike, and I was also pretty much a helper as well as part of the group.

I had been told at some point by my sister that most of the family had a genetic problem with blood sugar, and it wasn’t until the sponsored fast that I really found out how it affected me.

Just as village show days get confused in my memory, the two sponsored fasts get mixed too.

I think the first one, when I was in sheltered housing, I was allowed to go home for a light meal in the evening because I was on medicine, but we slept in the church room on the floor, mainly under the tables, and most of us didn’t sleep much.

It was not comfortable on the floor, and everyone was too hyper and too hungry.

We prepared presentations on our fast as we were to stand up and tell the congregation in church on Sunday morning about our fast and what we were raising money for in Africa.

I was a little horrified by the pictures of a naked starving child that some of the group drew for the presentation.

We also did craft and played games and did Bible study and worship to pass the time during the 24 hours, it was a lovely time of fellowship, and as I may have said to you before, these kind of things helped to make up for everything I missed out on in my childhood, it also helped me to socialize and be with other young people, and learn that they had vulnerabilities and fears too, even though this lot really were the sons and daughters of the rich and successful, they were lovely young people.

The second sponsored fast I did not have a light meal in the evening, and I got very sick indeed, and was sick even of the water and and orange squash that we were allowed to drink, I was shaky and dizzy and sick, I worried the youth leader a bit.

At least from then on, I knew I had to keep an eye on my blood sugar, because it no doubt had made me sick at college when I skipped meals.

It was a relief, both times, when we broke the fast with a meal after the 24 hours, and I think all of us learned how lucky we were to be able to choose to fast, whereas, those in Africa that we were raising money for, couldn’t always afford to eat.

I am glad we were able to raise money that way and in other ways, and that those young people were willing to do that and had that experience, because I think it will stay with them. It has stayed with me.

The Car, learning to Drive

Well the motorbike was a very useful part of life, and did many miles, too many really, I was very restless and keen to explore the four counties, and I did, I also made my way back to my old community for weekends of looking after friends’ gardens, including JM’s, and volunteer and church work and time with friends.

I did want to have a car and drive, it would be better in bad weather, but there was no rush once I was on the road on the bike, and on the bike I learned road skills, which would help with my driving.
I had had trouble learning to drive because I was too nervous, not of the road or the car, but of the instuctors, this again was probably the result of years of childhood where I was taught by beatings.

Anyway, one day, when I had had the bike for some time, my landlord asked if I would be interested in his old car £200, he said, well yes, it was the car I dreamed of, a Peugeot 205, which shows how small my dreams were! But I liked the shape of those cars and knew they were reliable.

So, when he got his new car a Peugeot 406 Estate, ideal for carrying wood, he not only sold me the old car and helped me with the paperwork, but he also taught me to drive it, and I wasn’t scared of him, I had lived with him for nearly two years and knew he was harmless, he had adult daughters of his own, and treated us women with respect and bemusement.
He would sit in the passenger seat as I drove this car round and round the ring roads and roundabouts, and did three point turns and reverse parks all over the new and deserted housing estate, sometimes he would tell me stories of his past and his wife, who had died a few years previously, and sometimes he would reassuringly doze as I drove, the thing was, this was great, because this was my car and I knew it and was in control of it, it is different from driving an instructor’s care and them being in control.

Anyway, JM came out with me in the car one time, she said that me and the car were like a team, we knew each other. She paid for me to have two lessons before my test, so that an instructor could pick up on any faults, and I did that, and then passed my test.
My old landlord grinned when we got back to the test centre where he was waiting and he said
‘I’ll drive us home so you can stay on cloud 9’.

I didn’t care what cloud 9 was because I was tired.

JM and FM hugged and congratulated me when I went to see them, and I amused JM’s niece and nephew when I went to do my work for them, I did a day a week for them at the time, but I phoned and left a message to say I would be in, and typical autistic, forgot to say I had passed my test, because I had no idea it was supposed to matter, so when I got there in my car, they congratulated me, and the niece said ‘you didn’t tell us in the call, I was hanging on the phone waiting to hear about the test!’, but her partner looked at the ‘P’ plates I had put on the car as the 272 was such a fast and dangerous road, and he said ‘someone has ‘P’d on your car!’.

Sadly because of what the Diocese did that caused me to lose my car and leave Jersey, I have neither car nor licence, the licence was either stolen on the streets or taken by police, and being a channel islands licence by then, it could not be replaced by the DVLA if it was missing, especially not as I have been homeless so long and not willing to put myself at risk by giving Jersey authorities details, and my name having changed, basically I lost my licence without having done anything to merit it.
So all that wonderful memory but nothing to show for it.
Public transport remains difficult for me, but I have no choice.

The motorbike, the party

I had moved away from my community and friends in order to be closer to work, as I having to travel a long way each day to and from work, and my employers used to have to pick me up at the bus station every day as there wasn’t a reliable bus link.

So I took a bedsit, the one that I kept for two years and loved, a cozy bedsit with everything I needed. 

But I was isolated from my old friends and community, and my friends said I should get a motorbike.

I was quite scared, didn’t think I could, but I looked into the idea, and I could do a CBT course for a small motorbike on my licence, I didn’t know how to afford it, my salary was quite low.

JM was increasingly enthusiastic about me getting a motorbike so that I could still come back and see her and walk the dog and do her garden and be with my friends and help in church and community, so one day she took me to the motorbike shop.

We had already decided that the safest thing for me was a scooter-type bike.

So we went in, looking for something second-hand, but it was recommended to us that I got a new bike on finance.

The salesman was very persuasive, and he persuaded JM, who seemed easy to persuade, so she acted as guarruntor for the finance for the bike, it was a little dark red peugeuot scooter, 100cc, and it came with a free basic helmet and gloves and a free CBT training course, and they arranged the insurance and I got a year’s tax too.

JM paid some money in deposit and said that this was my 21st Birthday present, I was very grateful, we had a rocky relationship in a way since I told her about her husband abusing me, but we loved each other, we were close.

I was allowed to choose from several registration plates for my scooter, as it was new.

One of the things I liked about the scooter was it had a top box so I could carry shopping and work stuff.

Anyway, the CBT day was a Saturday, which was also my 21st Birthday Party day at my friends’ house back in my old community, so I was going to really hope for the best with the CBT and then go straight over to my friends house 14 miles away if I passed the test.

I was nervous, as I am, always nervous of instruction and training, and the trainer was a gruff biker, the only other trainee was a loud confident man who went on about ‘the readies he had in the bank’ over and over again.

I was so nervous, didn’t think I could balance on the scooter, but I could, and I did.

I was fine, my problem was hearing the radio to hear what the instructor said, and forgetting to cancel the indicator, which did not always cancel automatically, I passed, but he warned me about the indicator and always to check it had cancelled.

So, already very tired, I set off to my friends’ house 14 miles away. Or more, because I didn’t know the short route yet.

On the way, just at a bend in the road, a policewoman stepped out and stopped me, argh! I had only just got on the road and the police had got me! No, there had been an accident up ahead and she was warning motorists to be careful of the glass. That made me nervous, but I passed the glass and was on my way.

I arrived on my little motorbike, and everyone cheered.

It was a wonderful party.

I had never had a party outside of my family, and the parties with the family had always been a bit closed, we hadn’t many friends, so it was usually us and the other family.

But this was all my friends from church and youth group.

It always remains with me and makes me smile that ‘The Clergy were running the bar’, Peter and Tim, mainly, making sure everyone had a drink And Tim’s present to me was a bottle of bucks fizz, which baffled me as I wasn’t a drinker and wasn’t sure what bucks fizz was! 🙂

I was overwhelmed with everything and everyone, people were giving me presents and the presents were piling up on the lounge floor. 

We were mainly in the garden and on the patio as it was a BBQ party, so we were lucky with the weather.

I joined my youth group for a paperchase round the large and beautiful garden, a garden that had helped to inspire my horticultural career, and we had great fun.

The BBQ went well and people were taking photos – and again these photos are now sadly lost.

There was a cake, and they all said three cheers and I cut the cake, very nervous because I had never cut a cake, and my co-ordination can be so poor.

JM was so busy that she came in only briefly, and sad to say I got upset with her and my insecurity and worries came out, but we sorted it, and no-one else heard the conversation. 

I was simply overwhelmed at the time, I didn’t really know back then how I overloaded myself with things that my system couldn’t cope with very well, and she was half-killing herself with overwork and so we were both stressed.

Anyway, when all the party guests had gone, I sat with my friends and opened the presents and cards, and my ever efficient friend wrote a list of who gave me what, so that I could make the thank you cards personal.

I stayed over with my friends, I always felt very safe and peaceful in the soft bed in their spare room, with the teddies and bolsters and books 🙂 

And in the morning we went to church as normal.

Lovely memories.

Show Day! :)

I will try and distinguish one show day from a number of happy and busy show days. And just add in case I need to, that this was the village and area horticultural show, not the village fete that I also helped with.

I will try to focus on one particular show day but strands of memories from all show days may intrude, and memories are blurred.in places.

Show day was not one day for me, and others, it was three days and more, because we started work on Thursday, setting up, for the pet show on Friday, the main show on Saturday and the Show Service on Sunday. There was also usually a barn dance in the marquee, I think that was Saturday night, but might have been Sunday.

We had to set up the smaller marquees, the markings and boundaries for stalls and cars, the ‘roads’ for car parking, the signs, the stalls, the arenas, the show tables, the hall, we had to prepare everything.

So we would start in the week before the show.
Everyone tended to know each other, and I often worked with an old chap who was reputed to be a chauvenist but never really came accross as one.
As he and I set up boundary posts with, hammering them in, he would always say to me (about the post) ‘right, I nod my head and you hit it!’ which is a funny joke like the Chuckle brothers used to do.

So we would all be very busy and happy, working and talking and the excitement was always building, one year the Parish also got me to do a bit of gardening by the hall to make it look neat for show day.

One time, I can’t remember what happened exactly, but it started as a joke, someone was told to make sure they could drive through one of the small marquees but didn’t realise it was a joke, and tried to, and knocked the marquee down.

Anyway, once the basic preparation was done, then the pet show was held on the Friday, and then we cleared away after that and continued to set up for the show, and again from early Saturday morning, while some of my friends would be putting the finishing touches on their show entries, my entries had to be finished and ready so that I could be at the showground and working.

The show didn’t start until 1pm, but all morning, from early, stallholders and exhibitors were in, setting up, arranging their exhibits, and I would be helping any stallholder who needed help, to set up, as well as being on shout for any of the other workers if they needed help, it was tricky getting my own exhibits to the show and set up, and usually they ended up being minded by friends.

My first real show, a show such as described above, but the second show I had attended, I did my first exhibit, a floral art exhebition. It was my first entry, and I only did one that year, it won, and my friends got some stunning photos of it, and to me, this was like becoming real, being part of real life after the bleakness of my background, and as the years went by, the show entries increased and did well, just luck and chance you understand.

But my greatest and last show, I will describe.

I had been doing all the busy things as described above, and this was a year when I was competing with my friend, who was also my head gardener, my ‘boss’ if either of us thought that way, my mentor was a better description. I was busy at the showground from very early and so he was bringing both our lots of exhibits, in his car.

He had become friends with other friends of mine, through me introducing them, and so when he arrived with the exhibits, my friend shouted me, and I went to help him.
I think I was on car parking that year too.

Anyway, we were carefully moving the exhibits when between us, he and I managed to bump my glorious Coleus plant and knock a shoot off it, which was sad because it was a really perfect and beautiful plant.
Nonetheless, we tidied the damage and took the plant into the marquee, where we set up our exhibits.
Competing with my head gardener friend was to teach me better plantsmanship and how to show plants properly, he was a veteran of decades of award winning show entries, but he was a humble man and saw it all as enjoyment rather than competition, it was his hobby.

So, we set the exhibits up, and I left him chatting with my other friend and went back to my work, as the field got busier and everything got more stressful.

Here is a funny memory, one of my other friends was on car parking duty, as he usually was, he was a gruff man, but with a sense of humour, and when this shiny Bentley pulled up and a posh voice enquired ‘Do OAP’s get a discount?’  He shouted out ‘No! They have to pay more!’ 🙂

Anyway, the judges came in to judge the exhibits, and several of them were my horticulture tutors from college, but they didn’t know which exhibits were mine, obviously.

But by the time I was taking trays of tea round to the stallholders, which was a tedious job, someone came running for me, apparently everyone was looking for me and I was wanted in the show tent.

‘But what about the tea?’

Someone else took over the tea, and I went to the tent with everyone very excited and making a fuss.

When I got in the tent, I was told by very excited people, that my Coleus had won best in show, and what’s more, my exhibits had got 100% first prizes.
There was a Hampshire Chronicle photographer there and so I was in the Hampshire Chrincle with my prize winning coleus and my cup, which to this day must still have my name inscribed on it, folled in the next two years, maybe more, by my head gardener friend’s name.

I don’t  remember much more after that, I was in a daze.
I went to collect my prize money and my friend’s prize money, I went back with my other friends and had tee and a meal with them, at the end of the day when the show ground was clearing.

I do not remember if I went to the barn dance that year, but I probably helped with the show service the next day.

And then it was all over, for another year, maybe for me it was over forever, but the memories live on, and this is the real me, not the one-sided terrible image of me that has been created to protect wrongdoers.

Can we go round again, do it all one more time? Do it all one more time? All my friends there, not taken from me, and life full of joy and usefulness, wasnt it amazing? yes, it was amazing.

cruising down to St. Malo

There were a number of these cruises down to St. Malo, with different people on board, mainly with my group, but I think my competent crew course started with a sail down to St. Malo.

The first cruise was definitely the one where we ‘went ahead of the race.

This race was a yacht race to commemorate the St. Helier yacht club boats going down to rescue the Jersey engineers from the ranche dam/barrage when the Germans invaded France in the Second World War, the St. Helier boats rescued the engineers and as a result, the St Helier yacht club get to fly a ‘defaced ensign’.
Well this above is what I seem to recall being told, but I am unsure if I have recounted it correctly.

Anyway, we were not racing, our big heavy old wooden-build ketch might not be a match for those light modern boats, but we went down ahead of the race in the morning, and they were overtaking us into St. Malo, but one boat lost power and we had to tow him into the harbour at St. Malo.

We moored overnight there, we got the shower unit codes so we could shower.
We had supper in a restaurant and I remember the very fishy fish soup, which was enough of a meal for me.
I remember being fascinated by the massive harbout and all the boats.

I get confused about what happened on which trip after that, but I remember one of the massive ferries which docked near the harbour, nearly causing mishaps as we left St. malo, I remember a cruise ship with a very naughty looking face painted on the bow, and I remember my disaster with doing the sheets as we left St. Malo one time, thankfully I did not let go of the sheet but could not secure it well and the skipper got a bit impatient with me.
However, all went well.

Another St. Malo thing I remember was one time, it was evening and I think the others went to a bar, the skipper decided on an early night and I said I would go for a short walk.
The skipper said he would listen out for me as he slept lightly and I told him not to worry, I would stay close to the harbour-side, I was obviously norty by then because I added as an afterthought ‘How do you say drug-dealer in French?’
He grinned at that.

Anyway, those days are gone now, those St. Malo days, and that is a pity, but at least I lived it.

On my competent crew course we did moor overnight in St. Malo, and the others went out to a bar, and one of them left me her Ipod to play with, I was not into bars, nor did I have much money, and I needed space, being on a boat and having to interact all the time was really hard for me.

well I don’t know what I did to that Ipod but it keeled over and died! 😦
She said it was old and didn’t work very well, but it took one look at me and breathed it’s last!

Well, maybe she got it working again.

The next day we went up through the barrage and onto La Ranche, and on La Ranche we practiced ‘man overboard’ which went well.

wow, what experiences, what an awesome life! 🙂

Guernsey :)

I have two Guernsey stories, the first one is a sailing one and the second one is a shorter post.

Guernsey cruise:

There were three of us on this cruise, me, another lady a bit older than me, and our skipper, who was a sage and experienced sailor, both the other lady and I were quite inexperienced at yacht cruising.

We set out on a Saturday morning, and the skipper put the report over the radio and told us what had to be said and done on a report as you left the harbour, you say your destination, boat name and who is on board etc.

we set out, and us girls learned from the skipper about how the tides in the Bay of St. Malo were strong and swift and if you didn’t know what you were doing, you could spend a whole day sailing and get nowhere.
As it was, on the tides, it was going to take us until late afternoon to reach Guernsey.
The sea was not too choppy but not calm, there was enough wind, and we had a long but peaceful sail over to Guernsey.
The skipper taught us to be observing all of the sea all of the time, and I naturally became a helm, because that job always seemed to suit me, whereas my co-ordination was never spot on for doing the sheets.

Anyway, we arrived in Guernsey and were met by someone that the skipper called ‘an officious man in a dorey’.
We were told where to moor, and presumably paid our fees. We were moored on a floating pontoon in one of the harbours, the one closest to the ferry, I think.
We had to wait a long time for any water taxi, and in the meantime, those photos that I treasured, of me folding the mainsail and sitting on the foredeck, were taken.

Eventually we got the water taxi or a lift from a passing dinghy, I can’t remember.
We went for an evening meal at a restaurant in St. Peter Port, and I recall that it was good.

After that, we headed back by water taxi, and bedded down for the night. I didn’t sleep deeply, because I wasn’t used to sleeping on a boat, but I felt safe.

We woke to a glorious early morning, sunshine and clear blue sky, we had an early start due to the tides, and we also hoped to go over towards Sark just quickly, to see the puffins, before hurrying to beat the tide.

We hit problems.
Over towards the rocks off Sark, my fellow crew member managed to let go of the mainsheet as we went about, and the sheet managed to totally dislodge from it’s track and go out over the water, with the mainsail, we were close to the rock, the boat was not under control now, and she couldn’t grab the sheet, I grabbed the helm and helmed us off the rocks, while our poor skipper managed to grab the sheet.
We were all a bit shocked, but sailing often brings the unexpected, so once we were under control, we headed back towards Jersey.

We had an uneventful voyage back and were moored in time for evensong.

Guernsey photography:

I was a keen photographer, and spent many hours taking landscape pictures on Jersey.
One Day I decided to have a day out to Guernsey for some pictures.

I went over on the ‘fag packet’ Aurigney plane, sat up front, lovely views.

I had my swimsuit with me, and I had a swim in one of the tidal pools before making my way round the Island, getting pictures, pictures of gorse and Lihou Island, boats and harbours.

Eventually it was time to go back.
I lost my way and had to run to get my plane. Ha, at least I escaped.

Sark photography:

This was a lovely day out, my day on Sark, I went to do photography, but also to learn more about Sark and it’s history and way of life.

I went over on the small ferry that runs between Jersey, Sark and Cartaret. A little green and white creature.
I think the Ferry may have been the Jacques Chartier 🙂
The windows were all misty with spray, so the views on the way were not too clear.

We arrived on Sark, and some people got the tractor ride up the hill, I think I walked. The Tractor pulls a pedestrian trailer called the ‘toast rack’.

Anyway, I enjoyed exploring Sark to the full, I must have had a map or guide book, and I went through the woods down to ‘the window in the rock’, which is an amazing tunnel through the granite on the cliff, you have to see it to understand it, but I got some great pictures.
And on I went, Sark is quite wooded in places, where the window is and down to the harbour as well, very peaceful too.

The Gorse was in full bloom, and the cliffs blooming with gorse against the awesome green-blue mineral sea made some great pictures.

The centre of Sark was so old-fashioned, like time standing still, with a teeny little NatWest Bank, and a few shops, there was also a church, and I went to a service there while I was there, but the people were not welcoming really, it surprised me, maybe they thought I was a grockle.

I learned a bit about the Sark tin mines and about how Sarkees spoke French until tin miners from Cornwall had to come over to the Sark Tin Mines, and then English had to be learned.
I learned about the Sark ambulance, and I looked in the window of the little Estate agent in the centre of Sark, and dreamed of living there, in such a quiet place, where everyone was presumably safe.

Anyway, I went over La Coupee, to ‘Little Sark, and while I was on La Coupee, which is the awesome bridge cut in between Big Sark and Little Sark, I got a lot of great pictures, the sheer sides down to the sea.

On little Sark, I had a cup of tea at the cafe, and got more photos, I got some photos of Brecqhou and Herm-Jethou across the water, all shining and beautiful.
I gather that the Barclay brothers are not too keen on their island being photographed, but I figured they wouldn’t mind an innocent hobby photographer.

I headed back eventually, a quiet walk through the silent, traffic-free lanes, past horses and carts and bicycles, signs offering boat trips and ice cream, and I walked down through the woods to the harbour.
I had had a lovely day on my own, away from the stress of Jersey, and I had hundreds of good photographs, I got more photos down at the harbour as I waited for the ferry, only a few people were waiting for the Jersey ferry, which had to come over from Carteret to collect us.

It was a lovely day out from Jersey, and I sent the Lihous a card of Sark with the Heather or Gorse in bloom, because they loved to play one-upmanship about the channel islands, so I thought they would like that.
Jill said they did like that, I was still in contact with them at that time.

The Ecrehous

The Chausey Nights post seemed to go down well, so I will do a few  more in that vein.

This is a shorter post, about the BBQ on the Ecrehous.

As a sailing club, we had a trip to the Ecrehous planned, including a BBQ.
And it went ahead as planned.

we set off out there on the RIB from St. Catherines, and landed.

The BBQ was soon going, and I was curiously exploring the reef we were on.
Some of us walked down to the beach on the North side of the reef, facing France.
I can’t remember if we paddled in the water or not.
We also climbed up on the rocks and looked down, we saw a seal in the water!

A lady came out to greet us from the huts. There are a number of huts on the Ecrehous, they are used by fishermen and for holidays, these huts have no electricity or running water.

Anyway, this woman and her brother owned a hut, and they had grown up in Jersey but she now lived in the UK and came back for holidays, so she was on holiday in their hut on her own, having some peace and quiet.
She showed us round the hut, and told us about it and her and her brother’s history of staying there, and how the hut had been in their family. It was fascinating.

Then we had the BBQ, I think she was invited and I cannot remember if she joined us.
The burgers were excellent, very good quality, thick and tasty, nothing cheap.
But, although the alcohol had been brought, the soft drinks had been forgotten! Oops!

I think I had to drink some wine.
But it was lovely out there enjoying our meal and the view, just lovely, and I know that it is not something that all Jersey people get to do.

Eventually it was getting cold and dark and we headed back to St. Catherines, tired and happy.

Anything and Everything, happy memories, and a few notes on my historic posts yesterday

I posted two posts about my early adulthood yesterday, and have been thinking about those.
I don’t think I got as far as the part where I had to quit college yet.
But I think there are bits missed out of that story, it was not such an unqualified disaster, my struggles and being misunderstood, because I did end up better understanding myself and becoming part of a community as a result of leaving college when I did, halfway through the National Diploma.

I am pre-empting the rest of the story which I wrote in 2011, and will continue to repost on here, but on the them of happier memories, which my online supporters seem to like, I will add this information.

Within a year of leaving the full-time National Diploma, I had returned part-time to the agricultural college to study advanced horticulture, which was a drag, but followed that with NVQ horticulture, which was a riot! 🙂

I know people like happy memories, so I will share my memory of the beginning of the NVQ course.
The tutor, Mark, a groundskeeper, was quite tense and uptight at the beginning of the course, and to our surprise he burst into a rage when one of a pair of twins on the course was larking about at the back of class, Mark dragged him outside and threatened to take him to the vice-principle, I think he nearly lost half the class at that point, because that twin was part of a little group who worked together and were very much a group.
But anyway, after that incident and it’s resolution, Mark relaxed, and not only did the class become a chattering, laughing, joking class, but we all could get a bit silly, and Mark joined in, I think it did him good, he taught with humour and we responded with humour, this, I think was when I started developing mild nortiness as part of my character! 🙂 yes, I am sure of it. After years of grim struggle, I discovered joy and fun, albeit in small doses. Further developed by my lovely team mates when I became a delivery driver in the evenings, they were also a riot! 🙂
I think Mark left after teaching us, but I doubt that was because of us.

Anyway, I had returned to the college to study horticulture, with vociferous backing from my village community where I carried out whatever voluntary tasks I could, whilst also working in a local horticultural nursery and and doing light gardening as therapeutic work, because even though it was not known exactly what was wrong with me, I was classified unfit for work and allowed only to do therapeutic work, and my community and horticultural work was very therapeutic! 🙂 I loved it!

Before I had even applied to return to college or thought about it, I had apologized to any agriculture tutors who I felt had struggled to understand me or had difficulties with me, and although I was undiagnozed, I was getting an idea that autism and trauma were contributors to my problems, so I did my best to explain that I had never deliberately played up.
Then, after a hearing test at this time, it was explained to me that my difficulty understanding speech was dysphasia and was classified as a learning difficulty, and that I should see an educational psychologist (this never happened), at least I was on the way to better understanding now, and also being able to explain myself to other people better, if people know what causes you to do something, it helps them to understand and be more understanding!
(This is why the church should have interviewed me properly about what has happened to me instead of going on other people’s stories).

Anyway, the day I was interviewed and accepted to study horticulture, less than a year after I quit the agriculture course, the old college counsellor drove past me on the college driveway, he stopped his car and said hello and asked what I was doing there, and I told him I was returning part-time, he seemed delighted, and offered me a lift home, he gave me a lift down to JM’s house as I was supposed to be walking her dog for her that evening (I lived in sheltered housing nearby), and we shook hands and parted on good terms, JM had recommended that he had more training, which is funny considering her breach of counselling ethics, but anyway, he resigned from the college not long after that, and so did my old tutor, and the safety officer who used to mentor me apparently did a ‘moonlight flit’, and vanished from college and his college house.
I gather that this is because the college was reputed to not look after it’s staff very well in those days, and they had a high staff turnover. No-one resigned because of me, I wasn’t that bad! 🙂 No, it ended on good terms with them.
By the time I left that college, pretty much no member of staff who was there when I was a young student was still there, and the locals said the college were not good to their staff.
How can staff look after students needs if the staff themselves are not looked after?
But, the college was in transition, from traditional agriculture and countryside, to animal care and horses.
I eventually went to college in Dorset and got an equivelant level agriculture qualification to the one I had had to give up, with distinctions, and I was course rep there too. By then I was diagnosed as AS, but not properly diagnosed as PTSD or maladjusted.
Lovely little college that one in Dorset.

Oh, that brings back another memory, back to the Hampshire college, from when I was a first diploma student onwards, I used to go and help with the horses, I was not an equine student but I just liked occupation and variation and helping out, so I would trot down to the stables and clean tack, groom horses and pick out their hooves, skip out stables and get in the way. I loved it.
Again the staff changed completely during the years I used to do that.

I never rode at the college, but I loved horses, but after leaving the agriculture course and while studying horticulture, I used to ride with someone from church, she had a horse, and we used to borrow an old pony called Humbug for me to amble about on, dear little Humbug, he was very steady and calm, and we used to just wander about, Humbug was old, I don’t think he would still be alive now. But sadly the owners of the fields decided to build on them, so the horses were moved away and it was harder to go out for a ride then.
I remember a funny episode, we were riding up the hill and a bus or lorry came, and my friend’s horse didn’t like that, so we moved into the driveway of another friend, and she looked out the window and waved, we waved back.
Later I went to have a pot of tea with the friend who’s driveway we had borrowed and she said ‘There I was, looking out my window, and the driveway was full of horses, so I waved, and everyone but the horses waved back!’
🙂

Those Chausey Nights

I doubt I have said much about sailing on these blogs?

Sailing started with the churchwarden but when I sailed with him he could get carried away with sexual talk.
I only sailed with him for a few months and very quickly transferred to doing sailing courses run by the States as well as sailing socially with a group in St. Helier.

The St. Helier Group were quite inclusive and welcoming, and I learned a lot from them, we raced dinghys and also sailed yachts.
We would go for weekend sails to the other islands and France, and my all-time favourite destination was Chausey, Iles Chausey were the French Channel Islands, a group of Islands mainly Bird sanctuaries off the coast near St. Malo, but the larges Island was home to a number of holiday cottages and a nice restaurant.

I remember several stays over at Chausey, one was when I was doing my competent crew certificate with the sailing school.
We moored at Chausey and I got in a muddle rowing the dinghy and nearly got carried away on the current that runs swiftly down Chausey Sound.

Chausey was a lovely sandy Island, I remember walking on it in bare feet along the dandy paths among the tall grasses, a bit muddy trying to get to the dinghy at low tide though, someone forgot to bring the dinghy in properly! Not Me!

We had dolphins playing round the boat near Chausey, and I always remember the French yacht on the same route as us, they were fishing, and grilling the fish on a BBQ on the back of their boat, how’s that for decedance?

I remember another Chausey trip with my sailing group, several boats went, and we moored in the Sound,  one of the boats was piloted by inexperienced new owners and we had to help them with the lines to moor.
When we were all moored, we took the dinghys over, and we had our evening meal at the restaurant.

It was late and most of the group were merry as we returned to the boats in the pitch black night, with the stars shining bright but no other lights except the ghostly beams of the light-house sweeping over us, the sweeping beams on the cold pitch black water, and the shouting from one boat to another, reminded me of that rescue scene in titanic.

We all got back safely despite the alcohol, and settled to sleep, tired by the day’s sailing and the evening’s party.
Waking in the beautiful sunny morning on Chausey sound, the water calm and still and the birds crying, it was so deserted, so quiet, so beautiful.

My other great memory from my competent crew course, one of my all-time best memories, was sailing back overnight from Granville to Jersey, it was another clear night, the sea was a little bit choppy, I was told I had passed my competent crew certificate, and I was helming some of the time, and sitting out on the foredeck in my harness the rest of the time, watching for lobster pots, of which there were plenty in French waters, and also looking up at the sky, at the clear dark sky and bright stars, it was heavenly, no wonder people spend their life out there! I have always looked enviously at the commercial ships, if it wasn’t so risky I would love a life out there on the sea.

Anyway, we had a course plotted, but really we just followed the lights on Jersey’s telecom tower, which can be seen almost from France.

We arrived back into Jersey at about 5am, very tired, and went home to sleep.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chausey

Anything and everything and happy memories

Just to comment on the last three posts.
I was not abused at college, not sexually, not by the staff.
I do not make abuse up, if abuse happens, I say so, if it doesn’t I do not.
I didn’t have any sexual relationships at college, I had innuendos and sexist comments from students, but that is almost normal from young males, especially when they are bored.
I was the only female on the first diploma in forestry and countryside, and one of only three females on the national diploma.
I saw the staff at college, who were all mainly male due t othe type of college it was, as the adults who knew all the answers and reassurance.
I did not, and still do not really, know how to relate to people as adults or be an adult in relationships, I tend to see the other person as the adult in friendships, and my friends tend to be older than me.
The college has changed, it was once an agriculture and countryside college, male dominated, now it specializes in animal care and equestrianism, and is much more female populated.
Things did get better eventually, in my life, although I was never well off or successful, but, lets return to happy memories, by popular request.

Trinity Centre Collections:

The Trinity Centre was once a well-hidden building in a side road by the Station Roundabout near where I used to live.
Someone I knew and got on well with in church held a position in the Trinity Centre, and I talked to him about helping out there, but I never got around to actually applying to the centre itself for a role, I had many other volunteering roles at the time.

But this person from church asked me if I would like to help with a street collection for the Trinity Centre in Winchester City Centre one Saturday.
Street Collections are quite demanding for me, because it involves interaction with the public and usually being in a crowd.
But anyway, I did this street collection, standing there in town, holding my tin and smiling.

It went well.

And all the years later, I had to use the Trinity Centre, only to have the Diocese violating me there and at the nightselter, and giving me a bad name.
By then there was no sign of the person from church who used to be involved, the whole thing was like all my old world and good character and usefulness washed away, and I was using the centre I had been so keen to support, and was given a bad name and violated there by the Diocese.
Well, at least I was once able to help them, back when I was human and valid.

North Walls:

This is a great memory, it goes back to those early days in Winchester.
The Winchester Bonfire Carnival and Parade, as it is now called. Run by the Round Table.
We used to just call it ‘North Walls’.

I had never seen anything like it, my Mum and Dad were so against carnivals that when I was young, they wouldn’t even let us look out the Window at one going past.
They said that carnivals were spirit worship.

But I had to break away from some of their beliefs when I left them.

That first November was both amazing and a bit scary for me, the flaming brands scared me. But this became part of my life every year, a lovely part.

The parade starts down by the King Alfred Statue, people start gathering early, and then the vendors come along with the trolleys full of light sticks, light rings, sparklers and of course, fire brands.
The roads are closed and the band starts preparing, people begin to crowd, fire brands are lit, and the fire engine comes through.
Eventually it is very crowded and barriers are in place so that the band and fire engines can line up, the police are there, controlling the crowds.
Then the parade starts, the band, the stilt-walkers and jugglers, the fire engines. they start to move up through the town centre, and people begin to follow, up through the town centre, with a lot of people turning off onto George Street, it is an awesome sight, believe me.
You look back and thousands of people carring flaming brands in the dark are behind you, all the way down to the Guildhall, and more beside you and ahead of you, with crowds coming through off George Street too, you have to keep looking back as you pass the library and head onto North Walls, it is awesome to see!

The cars at the junction have been stopped, and it must be awful for them to have to wait while thousands of people flock past, or maybe it is fun to watch.
Some people head down Hyde Street and through the back roads to the recreation ground, but most go down by the Leisure Centre eaither side of it, down across the River, and onto North Walls Rec, where I used to walk the dog so often.
But no dogs there that night, not with fire and fireworks everywhere.

People spread out across the rec, most fire brands are burning down now, and being discarded.

There are fairground rides, and stalls selling candy floss, popcorn, hot dogs, jacket potatoes, and tea of course!

People wander round the stalls as the crowd continues to arrive, streaming in across the rec.
The round table volunteers shake buckets for donations as they do not (did not) charge anything.

Fireworks are going off in other places nearby, and that adds to the atmosphere.

The field is partially lit by bright white lights, but over behind the barriers, the bonfire is a gigantic dark mound, almost as big as a house, with shadowy mysterious figures working in and around it.

The Radio station presenting the fireworks display is blaring, speaking to members of the public, keeping people entertained, maybe.

The crowds begin to flock to the barriers, it is always a long wait in the cold, first for the bonfire to be lit, and then the fireworks.

Eventually the Radio DJ gets people to count down to the bonfire being lit, and it lights, and is so hot that you can feel the heat from the barriers, and so bright that it lights up the field.

The children are always restless and trying to get a better view, which makes me nervous as I do not like physical contact and being bumped and pushed by children who are trying to get to the front.

Anyway, after a long cold wait, it is time for the fireworks, the DJ makes us count down a few times, which always annoys me, why do we have to do this?
Anyway, the fireworks begin, accompanied by Handel’s Fireworks music, too loud, again, this is another annual annoyance. No-one knows Handel’s fireworks, so it is irrelevant to most people, and it is too loud, not needed.

The Fireworks, though, are the best ever, because they always are. Especially this time.
And afterwards, we walk home through the cold, part of the crowd as we walk up to Hyde and cut through from there to get home as the crowd thins, home to hot tea and a chat about how wonderful that evening has been, it is late now, and we are tired.

Sadly, this part of life is also in the past, even if I could get to Winchester or be there safely, the Round Table now charge for the bonfire and fireworks display entrance, I don’t know if they charge for the carnival.
Years of lovely memories though.
Old Winchester, as it was. It is so lovely to remember.