The Lemon Tree

Aunty Doris had a lemon tree.
She didn’t live in on , where the lemons grow in abundance in the rich fertile soil. Nor did she live in where the ’s grow to the size of a small bowling ball. None of those places where the sun shines in perfectly blue cloudless skies for most of the year and the old people are wrinkled from years of working outside under intense sunlight.
She lived in , a small densely populated mill town in the valley of the River Beal, at the foot of the Pennines. Famous for its forty eight dark satanic cotton mills — large rectangular brick built buildings that once dominated the panorama, making the area the powerhouse of textile manufacture during the industrial revolution. A town where the cold damp air caresses you, welcomes you, makes you feel like you belong, before its dark angry clouds dump their rain on you before they rise over the Pennines. A place of poor sterile soils and rugged terrain. A place described by as having produced ‘a race of hardy and laborious men’.
She lived in a Edwardian mid-terrace opposite the Ideal Bakery. A two-up-two-down house that stood proud flush on the pavement, branded with years of smoke that bellowed from imposing factory chimneys and rows and rows of chimney stacks servicing cosy but functional coal fires.
The house had a back garden, nothing more than a small yard that separated it from the cobbled alleys the interwove between the surrounded houses. Large slabs of stone – not the perfectly formed concrete paving stones of modern, but rough, nobbled, and discoloured slabs that might have been pulled from the local quarries — made a path between the neighbours yard wall and the small perfectly preened patch of grass, toward the back of the yard.
There at the back, nestled between a low wooden fence and the outside privy-cum-coal shed, standing slightly lower than the outbuilding, and surrounded by misplaced homing pigeons, stood the tree she once bought as a small little sapling at The Tree Center. It didn’t grow those gnarly, fragrant, and fresh lemons that you find in the market stalls of , nor the perfectly dull and symmetrical more common to british supermarkets.
The tree wasn’t covered in long dark green elliptical leaves, finely toothed. It didn’t have small perfect red buds or white purplish flowers with yellow anthers. It wasn’t a tall majestic well nursed tree with light yellow fruit shown beautifully against blue skies. It was nondescript, fitting of its place — in the corner of yard in a small cold town. It was old, woody, and ever so slightly out of control.
But on it, at the end of every branch, sat the most elegant lemons; perfectly formed by years of love and care. Tended for in a way that only a little old lady could.
Every when I was still so small that I could barely reach the fruit on the low hanging branches, we would cross the yard, propelled by excitement and expectations, to harvest a precious lemon to squeeze on our pancakes.
I would lift my hand up and caress one of the many perfectly identical plastic fruits hanging from every branch by the thinnest of cotton. No matter which one I took it was always full of the most wonderful juice, the taste of which would always remind me of this special place, this special moment. We would take off the lid and check, just to make sure, before returning to the house to continue with our feast.
Aunty Doris’s Jif Lemon Tree — a work of wonder and beauty.

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Wikipedia Limone, Lake Garda, Sorento, Ponderosa, Shaw, Samuel Lewis, Portobello Road, Lancashire, Shrove Tuesday

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New Year – New Contract

Well it didn’t take long into the New Year to get a new contract – which is nice! I decided not to spend any time looking after finishing at IBM; figured I’d have a christmas/new year holiday and then start again in the New Year. Which I did and it was quite refreshing to have a bit of a holiday.

Anyway, the new year started and contracting hunting ensued – and I picked one up within a couple of days. I start with Stannah Stair Lifts on Jan 26th – for 3 months.

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Doris

My Aunty Doris died on Friday. Before you go into the usual mode of “I’m sorry” etc… please don’t. I’m not sad that she has left us. I’m not sad that there is no place for her to move on to. (Yes I know those of you who have your beliefs will disagree with me, as will Doris no doubt. She was regular visitor to the church after all. More for fancying the vicar I’m sure!.) And I’m not sad for me. I don’t have an single ounce of feeling of how my life will be that little bit worse for not having her around. The truth is, my life is so much better for her having been apart of it, and for that, I can only be happy.

She was at least 92. And, to quote the proverbial cliche, she had a good innings. Although I’m sure, and forgive me for continuing the cricket metaphor, that last few overs were probably not so great.

Aunty Doris was a friend of my grandmothers sister Phyllis. She moved from London to Manchester during the war and they lived together until about 20 years ago when Phyllis died. I never knew if they were anything more than best friends, but to be honest, I don’t think it matters. They lived together for at least 40 years – a stronger bond of friendship I can’t imagine.

As a child I spent most of my primary school lunch breaks at their house. And I have many a fond memory of those times. They were both more like a grandmother to me than my grandmother ever was. At their time, a nicer, more caring, couple of people I could not have had the good fortune to spend time with.

Lots of love Doris – thank you.

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20 Years of giving it a go…

Victoria and I have been together for 20 years today, and married for 12!

A lovestruck romeo sings a streetsuss serenade
Laying everybody low with a lovesong that he made
finds a convenient streetlight steps out of the shade
Says something like you and me babe how about it?

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The Year Gone…

I know it’s a little early to be doing end of the year retrospectives, but I noticed myself in the mirror this morning and it appears that the hamster cheeks have come back! Now I don’t even need to think about weighing myself because I know that that means that I’ve put all the weight back on that I lost over the first 2 thirds of the year! So, all that hard work ( exercise ) for nothing….!

I was feeling a little introspective as it was, now I’m thinking that most of this year was for nowt!

On a not entirely unrelated note; The Krispy Kreme doughnut store has just opened near work… there are currently 3 boxes of 12 doughnuts that a colleague of mine has brought in, sat on the desk behind me!

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