The new under-gardener.

The boys and their mum joined us for fish and chips yesterday evening. ’Tis the season of mellow wotsits and of course Rugby. The elder lad is into full size pitches, eight man scrums, the whole whizz bang. Grandpa, being Grandpa is thrilled as the younger is following the line and enjoying training and full contact. Sunday mornings loom, sausage baps, 100s of girls and lads hurtling around the pitches enjoying each other’s company and sport. The first match is in two weeks, against Penryn. Can I wait? Not a chance. 

Here we see the new under-gardener, I’ve been watching too much Downton. Introducing him to the bees has been marvellous fun, overcoming his fear of being stung. We aren’t all the way there yet but he is doing well. 

I have written many years ago of a friend, a former Naval officer of the Far East Fleet. Grumpy, caustic, and a dry sense of humour, that was his dog, he was worse. When he died his widow, Pat, was heartbroken, lost and finding her life difficult to bear. I met her in the woods, the dogs did what dogs do and I hugged her as she cried. When she put me down I admitted I had good news for her. Curiosity made her ask what I knew.
“You are a Royal Marines dream, a rich widow.”
There was a moment of confusion then peals of laughter. I had made her laugh, we continued our walk and a new Pat emerged out of her chrysalis of grief. There is always a brighter side to life, we just have to be shown it sometimes.