Saturday 17 October 2015

One and a Half Hands


 

Who remembers the London Paraolympics 2012?  The ridiculously amazing things that people with a less than 100%  functional body could do, whilst the rest of us were sat on our fat asses? Yeh, well, as of the 30th of August I had the chance to experience life with a (relatively mild) disability. After over 6 weeks with my right hand bound and under instruction to never use it, I can safely say it's been a life changing experience. One I would not wish to repeat.

 

As many of you will know, at the end of August I severed a tendon in my right hand. This lead to surgery (read all about it in my September post), after which my hand was bound, before being put in a cast by my physiotherapist.

 



 

This resulted in two problems:

I was down to only 1 tool wielding fore limb

Said limb was not my predominant fore limb

 

Thus I had a 6 week challenge trying life as both disabled and left handed. It's not easy. I generally try to be a relatively independent person. I was brought up to be able to get on with whatever needed doing, even if there was no one to help. I was also taught the trait of taking pride in that which you have achieved. However, the benefits of helping and being helped are not lost on me and I have been grateful of offers of help when I've needed them. This has lead me to working hard at trying to get jobs done (usually lacking my natural speed and efficiency, but done) by myself, relenting to ask favours of others only when need be.

 

There have been a lot of activities that turn out to be really hard with just 1 left hand, but here's a short list of the most annoying/challenging/impossible  from the 6 week challenge- but also some positives I've found too!

Although it's mostly a miserable list of #firstworldproblems

 

Let's take a stroll through a typical day…

 

I wake most mornings at 7am. My sleep isn't great - the splint means that if I want to turn in my sleep I wake myself up during manoeuvres. Haven't hit myself in the face with it yet though :)

 

I put on my "dressing gown" hoodie. This, like putting on anything with long sleeves isn't simple as I have to pass the splint through the sleeve. But also one has to manage to get the functioning arm through its sleeve! I hadn't thought about this one. At first I held the sleeve with my teeth to get the hand through the last bit, but later I held it between my thumb and cast.

 

After that it's breakfast time! One learns, though it takes a little longer- getting one thing out of the cupboard at a time, opening packets and milk with one hand, turning on the tap, then holding the kettle underneath to fill it, rather than being able to do both at once.

 

What 3 minor things do you think annoy me most at breakfast time.

    3.     Not being able to tilt the cereal bowl  to get that last bit- I've learnt to sit it on the edge of the place mat though to get it on an angle.

    2.     Not being able to hover the tea mug over the bin whilst I extract the tea bag, thankfully the fridge is next to the bin so my mug sits up there whilst I try to remove the tea bag with the least amount of drippage possible.

    1.    Being unable to move more than one thing at once! Now instead of making one            or two trips between the kitchen counter and the table I'm forced to take three or four! Such a tiny thing, but it's very annoying at 7.30am. It gets worse though- I then have to take everything to the sink! In 6 weeks I must have clocked up to half a kilometre's worth of additional pottering about.

 

Brushing teeth.

Have you ever thought about how you brush your teeth? As in REALLY thought about it? Scrutinised every muscle movement my arm and head to get every tooth clean. I had to when I suddenly had to go from 24 years of right handed brushing to left handed brushing overnight .

Surely it's not that hard? Well no, it's not, once you develop the hand-brush coordination. Before then it's a battle to think about each stroke without ramming the brush in to a gum or cheek. Done that. Don't do it. Hurts.

6 weeks later, couldn't imagine using my right hand for the job.

 

Getting dressed

 

Mostly this is timing and retraining. Buttons are all like cuff links now- no biggie one handed. Trouser flies need a little help from the legs such that I'm not just pulling my trousers round on a metal tab.

Socks are an interesting one.

It's a bit like trying to put something in to a limp plastic bag. For this job you usually have one hand for the "thing" and one for the bag. Same idea- one fore limb for the sock, one hind limb controlling the foot (the other one is off generating stability). However, the "thing" is now as big as, if not bigger than, the entrance to the "bag". There is a little elastic give in the sock, which sort of helps.

It all became much easier as I got used to it. Especially after I cut my toenails-a farce in itself with my left hand

One additional problem I haven't thought about until today is my belt. I pull the strap on my belt to the right. Always have done. Never changed, never thought to change. Even when using my left hand. Now I realise I should have switched to my left. You live and learn.

 

Going to work

 

Finally something that get better! (Mostly)

Normally I have access to my work ute for going between work and home. It's only a kilometre, but in bad weather, and when carrying my laptop, and so I can have 10 extra minutes to get ready in the morning and… I've been making too many excuses for too long.

Truth is its 1 kilometre. 15 minutes. On flat tarmac pavements. The weather isn't always great, but it's much better than Scotland, where I used to walk everywhere. I do own a decent coat. I don't need my laptop at home- I'm presently writing this on my iPad sat in the living room. And I can use the extra 10 minutes travel time to get some light exercise whilst reading. I've been reading whilst walking for years. It's pretty easy so long as you're familiar with the route.

Thus I've managed to get some sun and fresh air, walking 4km a day (to and from work, plus same at lunch time). More if it's a really nice day and I go the long way round. :)

 

But why did I have to start walking? Where's the vehicle gone?

I have 1 actively, fully functional hand. In order to do a legal emergency stop in a normal car one must have 2 actively, fully functional hands. Hence, I'm not legally allowed to drive. :(

This is even more annoying as the weeks go on. I here are a few shops in Bulls, but it's basically a large petrol station, and the prices are those of a petrol station. What's more I can't simply leave town- I can't wander off into the forests and mountains for a weekend (and would be very unwise to do so solo with 1 hand down) .

Thankfully there are buses that come through Bulls. I had done it once prior to the injury, but have done it several times since- taking the bus down to the capital. Here I walk amongst a different back drop, catching up with mates, and buying a few groceries.

Where there's a Will, there's a way!

 

 

Work & Writing as a Leftie

 

Lets be brief. I can't vet well with one hand. The animals have 4 legs, fast, heavy, or both, plus usually claws, or a vicious teeth, or horns. Not to mention the majority of the equipment we use requires two hands.

That leaves me with office work. It's taken me a long time to get used to being in an office all day. Typing on a normal keyboard with 1 hand isn't great. Trying to answer the phone with one hand in such a way as to take notes… Yeh…

 

I think if I was in Britain the typical conversation would go something like this:

Brit: What the fuck happened to you?

Me: oh, I cut a tendon in my hand. Got this cast on for 6 or more weeks.

Brit: That sucks. I bet you're right handed too!

Me: Yeh, I was

Brit: well that's you fucked for a while then.

 

The Kiwis are a bit more optimistic  though

Kiwi: what happened to your hand, bro?

Me:  oh, I cut a tendon in my hand. Got this cast on for 6 or more weeks.

Kiwi: That sucks. You left handed?

Me: I am now!

Baddum Tsh!

 

I've had this same conversation (and told this "joke") more times than I can remember. Always the same, always positively hoping I've still got my best hand at full health.

 

As it is, I am now, after 6 weeks practice, able to write with my left hand!

It's childish writing, messy and takes time, but I've improved from when I began.

Just working out how to hold and coordinate a pen in my other hand was odd. Then came getting my head around being left handed. You know all that messing about lefties do with a weird hand and/or paper position? They're not idiots- that's really helpful! Without it one ends up running one's hand over, and so smudging, what has just been written. Plus it enables one to see what has already been written as one writes. Quite frankly I can entirely understand why Victorian teachers beat lefties into submission. "It's for your own good! Use your  RIGHT hand for WRITING!". Must have been a nightmare in the days of expensive paper and slow drying ink.

 

 

Cooking!

 

Much time, much energy, much accomplishment

You pick the battles you can win. And make a challenge of the ones you potentially can't.

Buttering bread-quite frankly any spreading on bread- is a right pain. It's possible. It's not clean, nor tidy, nor aesthetically pleasing, but it combines bread, butter, and jam in a manner which is ergonomic for my face. I don't ask for much.

Tin openers. Ever noticed they're all designed for right handed people? And for two hands? Time to bend the rules. I have to do the set up with the left, getting the arms closed tightly, before passing the duty onto the thumb and my splint. Then I have to cross over my left hand to turn the wings. It's a lot of planning to get my baked beans and tomatoes.

I've nearly given up on beer bottles. I'm a social drinker anyway. It's emasculating to ask but beer beats pride. Who's free to open my Tui?

What else is there? Stir frys, my one fairly successful attempt to cut up onions… Oh, my favourite trick!

 

I was probably about 15 and it was a quiet Saturday morning. I was watching TV and had some how got onto a cooking show. The pro was showing them how to break an egg open on the side of a pan with one hand. The contestants tried it, becoming proficient after a few attempts.

I didn't cook with eggs much at the time. I tried it whenever I cooked with eggs at uni. I tried it more once I started regularly having an egg at lunchtime. I was ready.

Now it's easy!

Well, unless I want pancakes, or Yorkshire Puddings. Thank goodness my flat mate has a hand powered whisk. I can just about hold it with the thumb of the right, and operate the whisk handle with my left. Why do I need such a contraption to whisk for me? All my life I've been whisking batter for Yorkshire puds with my right hand. Tried it with my left. Failed. My puds have standards. Not having substandard puds.

 

Scissors are great too! At uni I learnt to cut up pizza with scissors- it's like someone re invented the pizza wheel. Turns out same trick works for so much more. Best of all, Steak.

With one hand using both a knife and fork is out of the question choices include becoming American and cutting it all into manageable pieces before swapping to the fork to shovel it in, or alternatively becoming Oriental and learning to use chopsticks in my left hand. I've done both. I learnt to use chopsticks in my right hand at uni. Like holding a pen for writing I first had to get my head around holding something that was normally so instinctive. Took a while, then I got it, and could sit in Wellington eating sushi and Thai like a pro.

 

 

What else is there? So much more, ever increasingly minor problems.

Ah, washing up. Yeh, nah, that was a no go. Sort of possible, but the risk of breakage vs having flat mates who were adept and risk free, better to let them sort it out. Thanks guys!

 

Also, thank you to the practice who've been helping me get to physio and hospital appointments.

 

So, what have I learnt?


Don’t wish for a third hand, be grateful for the two you've got.

A lot is possible with one and a half hands, yet it takes a little more thought, time, and energy. Also, gizmos help out.


Being "disabled" doesn't leave you disabled. It makes one "Occasionally Less Optimised". Some tasks get done differently, some talks are made possible only with help- but that's true for a lot of people. What makes it different is numbers and rarity- there's a lot of left handed people in the world- hence there's Leftie scissors, Leftie computer mouse software, Leftie tin openers. But there's been little development of equipment for the one handed individual since the grim days of the post-war period, when there were a lot more one armed heroes around. It's generally not economical- the numbers are too smaller. I hope someone is working on gadgets for people with one hand. I'm sure they are. (Lateral thought: we should be overall glad the numbers are small. There are places and have been times when this has not been true)


I'm still glad I've challenged myself to do new and different things. It's been an education.


Perhaps, if you're feeling brave, you could try a few activities with out one hand. I'd be interested to know how you get on!


I'd be interested to hear from anyone who is actually effected by this issue.  I've only gone through my problems from a relatively tiny problem and hope I haven't offended anyone

Thursday 8 October 2015

A Beautiful Summer's Day For A Wedding


Hello! This is my longest blog post ever, and the most worked upon. As it deserves to be, for this is dedicated to my sister, Miss Mrs Victoria Ingham Hudson, and her husband Mr Michael Hudson. Love you both!!! 

I know a many of you access my blog via various phones and the like (I get the stats). For this, DON'T DO IT.
Go find a comfy chair, a cup of tea, some biscuits, maybe cake. Or a little wine.

Relax and Enjoy!

All comments are much appreciated.

Introduction

On the 10th of February 1989 Dorothy and Nicholas Ingham finally entered parenthood with the birth of their beautiful baby daughter Victoria Ingham.  This was the first challenge they had faced as a family and met success through willpower and determination, both traits bred into this young Yorkshire lass, traits that would make her a troublesome toddler, a tremendous teenager, and see her triumphant in her twenties.


My mother will occasionally, wistfully, talk about my sister’s younger days –stories of her getting all the pots and pans out of the cupboards and onto the floor; stories of her hidden away in some backroom looking at books; stories of her determined to take personal responsibility of her own pony.  But the two stories that have finally found a happy ending in the past two British summers were dreams than my sister has had ever since these young days.  The dream of becoming a vet, so that she could treat her dad’s cows, and so save him money, and the dream of a beautiful wedding. Being married at Ledsham church before being driven in a vintage tractor down to a glorious reception at home on the farm surrounded by friends and family.


Her dream of becoming a vet was achieved in July 2014 when, in a grand hall paid for by a local brewery owner, she was hit over their head with a cushion by the country’s, perhaps even the world’s, foremost veterinary oncologist, Dr. David Argyle, head of the RDSVS.  A success brought about by both her willpower and determination, a success she well deserved, having paid for it in blood, sweat, and tears.


However, there’s only so far that willpower and determination will take you towards the perfect wedding.  Loving family, loving friends, and just a little luck are needed to complete the journey.  And perhaps the right partner too, I guess that helps.

Our Little Bit of Beautiful Yorkshire

My sister and I grew up in the small village of Ledston, just outside the humble town of Castleford.  The village runs along the base of a small shallow valley, with our farm one field outside the village, towards the head of the valley.  The farm itself is built into slightly the base of the hill and runs along, parallel to the road that runs along the bottom of the valley.  The farm is surrounded by a few small hills topped with luscious green woodland.  On the farm side of the road the fields are all pasture used the sheep in spring, hay in summer, and cows in autumn.  Across from the farm the closest fields are also luscious green grass fit for a boisterous horse and his tup friends, then beyond them and over the hill stretches out our arable land.
The farm itself is of an unknowable age, having first been recorded in the doomsday book nearly 1000 years ago.  Thankfully someone has remembered to update it since this time.  Nearest to the village stands the old stone house which, prior to the introduction of electricity and running water, went through its most recent regeneration project in the year 1769.  The house is still attached to what has relatively recently become stables, and was previously the cattle briar as well as milking unit for the farm.  Running further along the farm, following the contour of the hillside and running parallel to the road we find a cow shed, more old stone cattle briars now converted to chicken sheds, and a small set of stairs.  Up those stairs we enter into the great ancient barn, now used as a combined meal shed and mechanical workshop.  Following our route along the hillside we go out of the great double doors and out onto a concrete yard that is distinctly not flat.  Surrounding it are sheds for grain, sheds for cattle, and sheds for machinery.  All of this has been in place since long before my birth, and would be relatively useless for a reception when compared to the new build further along the hillside.  Beyond the yard the concrete drops even further down as a ramp to the roadside.  It is on the other side of this ramp that somebody eventually managed to create some flat land for the farm.  Through a wide gateway the space opens up onto a large flat concrete yard.  To the left, on the side closest the road, partially hidden from passersby behind a large hedgerow, stands the grand shed we use each spring for lambing in.  The shed has three sides, the fourth side opening out onto the concrete beyond.  This all gave enough room to put up a marquee half inside the shed and half outside, ready and prepared to shield is all from the British weather.


But it is in a different valley, in a different village, where the great event of the day was due to happen.  Ledsham is a beautiful quaint little Yorkshire village, nestled between ancient hunting grounds, farmland, and it’s cricket pitch.  Two beautiful important buildings sit at opposite ends and opposite sides of the main road running through Ledsham.  At one end is the Chequers pub, renowned for its beautiful meals.  It is a pub which retains much of Britain’s old world charm.  At the other end of the village, on the other side of the road, atop a small hill surrounded by a grave stones and memorials stands the church where my sister got married.


The church is built from a variety of different stones.  If one looks closely one can see carvings which do not match to the decoration of the church.  Like so many of Britain’s great buildings it has, in part, been built from the recycling of stone from much older the buildings.  Some of the inscriptions are potentially in a form of saxon, some may even date back to roman times.  It is a fair size building that has seen it many lives, at their beginning and at their end, as well as many points in between.

The pews of the church are arranged around two parallel aisles.  The central block of pews is disturbed at certain points by the positioning of a large stone pillars, which can obstruct the views of the congregation.  However, I do believe they are there to hold up the roof, which is a good reason to keep them, in my humble opinion.
The aisle closest to the road is the main site for nearly everything in the church.  At the far end is the belfry, separated from the rest a church by a large archway and great heavy red curtain.  Within the belfry is a small door made of wood and studded with iron, just large enough for a bride to sneak through.  Half way along the aisle, as we continue through the church, to the right, is the main doorway, a set of double doors, also made of wood and studded with iron.  This doorway opens out into a porch guarded at his entrance by wooden gate carved in the Victorian floral style.  Back inside the church the aisle continues up to the small step where the ceremony would take place.  To the left of here is the pulpit rising above the pews so that everybody might be able to hear the speaker.  To the right stands the impressive organ, its pipes reaching high up towards the roof, the coordinator of its majesty sitting hidden away from the congregation behind it.  Further beyond this area are the choir stalls and the altar which, like the font and the grave-statues of the church’s patrons, were present for the day, though not an active part of it.
It is true to say that on this great day we were lucky to be surrounded by such great majesty, such beautiful ancient buildings, in such a wonderful part of Yorkshire.  But it must also be said that the drab of the grey stonework and a deep hue of the woodwork, even with the bright sunshine and a summer’s day streaming through the stained glass windows, would have made the event a solemn affair were it not for the efforts of many local women who manage to fill this space and the farm with breath taking floral decorations.  Thus the colors of pink, peach, and orange, interspersed with occasional white and a little green foliage, helped to set the scene and also to tie in all components of the event, from the church, to the reception, and even down to the buttonholes of the groomsmen.

The Big Day

On the 10th of February 2010 I rolled out of my single bed in Edinburgh, reaching out to grab the screaming phone that was on my desk.  The time was 7:45 AM, far too early for a first year student.  Groggily, I answered the phone, only to be met by a confusing barrage of tears, giggles, and high pitched squealing.
“He’s asked me to marry him! We’re engaged!!!”, my sister sobbed through tears of joy.
Sometime earlier Mike Hudson had, at the end of a hard day’s work on my parents’ farm, asked my dad for my sister’s hand in marriage.  He had then made excuses to my sister as to why he would not be able to be with her on a 21st birthday.  And thus was finely was able to follow through with his genius plan, driving overnight from Yorkshire to London, to surprise my sister first thing in the morning with a ring and his heartfelt love.


Over five years later, on the 11th of July 2015, I rolled out of my luxurious double bed, as the sun rose over the manor house that sits atop the hill to the east of our farm.  As I woke the mantra ran through my head:
“Buttonholes buttonholes buttonholes. Oh, and drive Rachel”
I might not have had many jobs for the morning, but I was gonna do my best not to mess them up!
As I left the house for the florists the first of the bridesmaids began to arrive, soon to be followed by the various staff required so that’s the process of beatification and preparation would only take the entire morning, rather than the entire day.
I left the farm and drove to Kippax, a place that, by English law is classed as a village, but in New Zealand would fall into category of township –a much better classification given its size.  Here I parked at the local supermarket and walked into the florists wearing my “I have no idea what I’m doing” lost boy’s face.
“Erm…  I’ve come to the buttonholes…  for the wedding”, I asked, looking around at all the bright colours and loose foliage in this small shop. I didn’t really know what I was looking for. It took a florist a moment to realize what I was talking about, before putting down her clippers and the rose she had been working on.
“That’s for Victoria and Michael’s wedding isn’t it?  They got a beautiful day for it, just glorious”, she commented as she handed me a large box with individually handcrafted miniature arrangements for each of the groomsmen, as well as an intricate wrist arrangement for the mother of the groom, Jennifer Hudson.
We chatted for a moment longer about the arrangements for the wedding and the luck we had with the weather, which we could never have planned for.  Next up I headed for the chemist, and hunted down a fine collection of pain killers, rehydration solutions, and antacid tablets.  I informed the chemist of the plan to have these ready for the hangovers due to occur the next morning, as today it was to be my sister’s wedding day.  We chatted for a moment longer about the arrangements for the wedding and the luck we had with the weather, which we could never have planned for.
I drove home with the sun in my face and not a cloud in the sky.
As I arrived back at the house I found the house’s yard, as well as the space across the road, to be filled by the cars of the bridal party.  As I took the box of buttonholes out of the boot of the car two nosey old women from the village came to ask what was going on.  I told them of our plans for the day and all that had been done to prepare for it.
“Well, I hope it all goes well for you, and she has a wonderful day.  And you’ve been very lucky with the weather, you can’t plan for that.”, with that they were off up the road to enjoy this fine day.

Inside the house I was met by the hustle and bustle of the bridal party.  Amongst it all one person stood out.  Perhaps it was because he was male.  Perhaps it was because he was holding the camera.  Or perhaps it was because of the look of shock on his face.  John was the cameraman for the day recording all the special events, yet somehow he was not prepared for my family.  After a firm handshake and a quick introduction he had one little query about what constituted “normal” for our lives. 
“Does your mother often walk around naked?”, he quietly asked
“Only when she’s in a good mood”, I answered.  It turned out that poor John had inadvertently looked the wrong way at the wrong time and see my mother walking around in her underwear.  Lesson learned he instead made friends with the dog, Alfie.
We spent the next quarter of an hour trying to get some decent photos of Alfie.  He joked about putting Alfie in a little suit with a little bow tie so he could be part of the day.  This got me to thinking and I suddenly had an epiphany.  I rummaged through the back of my wardrobe and found an old bow tie.
Alfie had spent much of the day wandering around trying to work out what was going on and who all these people were.  He just wanted to join in with the fun of whatever was going on.  Thus he was overjoyed, he was beside himself, he was over the moon, when I took his old knackered collar off him and replaced it with these own little bow tie.  His tail began to wag, his body shook, and he grabbed hold of the collar.  He ran off through the house and into the garden, quickly digging a shallow grave for these unwanted garment before bounding back up the stairs to show off to the girls his fancy new attire.  For the rest of the day he would strut around the farm showing off to anyone who would look at him.



Ledsham


By 11:00 AM I had matched Alfie with my own fine attire (well, not my own, rented.  Who owns a morning suit these days?).
The groom’s party had organised to meet at the Chequers pub- an excellent plan. On the way I gave a lift to our well known and talented baker and cake decorator, Dr. Rachel Simmons.  Once there it was time for a few morning drinks before the big day kicked off.  At the bar a few locals and tourists are asked me what the special occasion was.
“That sounds excellent!”, they exclaimed, “and it’s such a beautiful day, you’ve been so lucky with the weather.”
We sat outside, enjoying the sun, taking it be relaxing breath before we started.
1200 hours: William Ingham, Nick Bowkett, and Richard Butler, ushers to the stars, arrive on set to welcome guests and organize the seating.
1210 hours: I fail as an usher, original seating plan abandoned, as more people arrive than were invited.  This leads to mixing of family and friends.  Everyone has a good chat and thoroughly enjoys themselves.  Happiness ensues.
1300 hours: “The Trumpet Shall Sound” from “Messiah” by Handel, played by John Morgan, announcing kick off.

The wedding



I was sat with my fellow ushers by the door as the trumpets played out across the church.  Ahead of me, stood on the step, between the organ and the pulpit, stood Mike Hudson, along with his two best mates, his Brother James Hudson and long-time friend Adam Hogg, his Best Men.  On the pews in front of me sat the rest of the Hudson family, proud mother and father of the groom, Jennifer and Peter Hudson at the head.  Across the aisle from us sat the rest of my clan, mother of the bride Dorothy Ingham sat patiently next to a space soon to be occupied by father of the bride Nicholas Ingham.

At the back of the church, by the archway that led from the belfry, a great and noble farming neighbour Alan Stone got the signal to use all of the power and strength that comes from honourable Yorkshire Mining heritage to heave the vast heavy curtain out of the way and so let a bright pearl into our midst.  She looked phenomenal, stunning.  There was a sobbing noise from the pews as Victoria Elizabeth Ingham walked hand in hand with her father down the aisle followed by her three bridesmaids, Harriett Watson, Charlotte Hudson, and Rosy Budden.  A tear rolled down my cheek.  Alan began to cry.  Tears of joy were to be the order of the day for us all.  But there was much laughter to be had too.




Once every one was in their place, the bride and groom sat on chairs at the feet of the organ, the vicar began his welcoming address.  As he spoke, rambling on about marriage, I looked to my sister and thought about all of this which she thoroughly deserved.  A perfect wedding.  For this to go smoothly, cleanly, tidily.  A perfect wedding.  A perfect wedding.  No, she didn’t deserve A perfect wedding, she deserved THE perfect wedding.  The wedding she would always remember, because it would be memorable.  A wedding not made special by planning and good timing, but a wedding that could not be stopped by any small fault as every participant willed it on.  A wedding full of stories, of little moments, a wedding of character.  Anybody can have the wedding they planned for but you still need to have a little luck to provide you with what you cannot plan for.  It was a beautiful summer’s day.

We attempted to begin with the hymn “All things bright and beautiful”.  I say attempted, the organist, Calvin Allison, began to play the tune of the refrain, as the introduction.  Half way through this introduction many of us started up with the first two lines of the refrain only realizing I will mistake as he began the actual start of the song.  Words were crossed, there was some mumbling and some tittering, as we started again to do it properly.




The night before I had met up with the Hudson party for a few last minute drinks.  By 11:00 PM I was in a casino with the groom and his brother, having made winnings from the last 10 spins of the roulette wheel.  Eventually they would drag me out of there, and I would notice the text on my phone.  Lucy Follos enquiring as to the time of the service the next day.  With my excellence, practical advice, I told her to get to Ledsham an hour early and I would meet her that the pub.  However I had told her that the service was due to start at 2:00 PM.  This was a mistake which led to an embarrassment that she would later repeatedly berate me for.
Half way through the hymn I hear rattle from the iron bolts of the church doors.  In comes Lucy, trailed by her boyfriend, and fixes me with an angry glare.  She gave a bright, happy, apologetic smile and nod to my sister, before going to find a seat.


Having finally got into the rhythm and pace we finish the hymn all together, and sit back down on our pews.  The introduction to the event is given, followed by the request for declarations of why these two should not legally marry.  Next to me sits Richard Butler, dressed in the full regalia befitting of one of Her Majesty’s finest officers, a uniform which includes his sword.  He quietly draws it from the scabbard and we look around for anyone who would dare to stop this marriage.  This was a manoeuvre that may gone unnoticed by anyone, where it not for the snickering coming from Nick and I.


In our role as ushers we had made sure that anyone with a reading was sat next to the aisle so that they could quickly reach the pulpit.  Mike Menzies had arrived even earlier than us so that he might have a good spot, practice his reading, and speak with the vicar to ensure he had time for a couple of extra little pieces he wished to say to the couple, as well as the congregation.
With no declarations forthcoming we turns to the readings.  First up was Mike Menzies.  He stood up from his pew, papers in hand, ready to do his part.  Then suddenly, out of nowhere the vicar appears in the pulpit and begins to read.  Mike stops and sits back down, allowing the vicar to go on.  This was not all bad, as Mike would find another opportunity at the reception with more time and less formality such that he could read his other pieces as well as an excellent short speech to us all.




Next up was Kate Cooper.  As I’ve mentioned earlier the order of the day was tears of joy. Yet Kate’s reading of “So God Made A Farmer” by Paul Harvey truly ensured that whilst the sun shined outside within the church it rained.

I don’t know if Kate Cooper will ever manage to make that many people cry ever again.  Great burly man and strong stoic housewives alike shed tears heavy with sympathy, memories, and hope.  They were joined by the mixture of students, vets, and locals, all of whom have their own memories and sympathies, whether it be from lambing seasons, calvings, or from late nights trying to get in harvest before the rain.





Thanks be to God that he sent us such a funny man to do the sermon.  In a manner of awkward shock at a level that only the English can achieve we fell into stunned silence as the vicar ventured into a topic that would bind ever one at the reception by giving one great conversation we could all break the ice with.  Neither my sister nor Mike had spoken to the vicar before hand about the sermon.  Virtually all else about their wedding they had organised, but this was the vicar’s chance to speak as he wished.  Whilst no one had spoken to him prior to the service about this topic it’s got considerable mention after service.  This included a jovial and well appreciated remark with which Martin Watson officially opened the reception after the wedding.
What righteous cause had the vicar chosen to speak to is all about?

The Evils of Gay Marriage!

Afterwards I, personally, found it inspiring and uplifting that friends and relatives from a farming community (which is so often viewed as backwards by the townies) made remarks that such views were akin to racism.  That it was backward and bigoted and did not belong in our modern world.  Even more so on such a special day.  It was a viewpoint that none of the congregation shared nor were any of us swayed by his arguments.  In the end though, this sermon, with all its ills, could be seen as a blessing with all of us having a good laugh afterwards, and something we could all joke about.


Thankfully that was all soon over and we could get on with THE most important moment, the vows and the giving of the rings.  This was the one part that actually went as it should.  No funny stories, no messing it up, know that disregard for tradition.  Simply a truthful and honest vow of love.
Well, except for the tiny Family Guy Peter Griffin who lives in Mike’s head and offered the line, “Kiss her? I’m going to destroy her!”
The rest of us just heard “you may now kiss the bride”, followed by a cavalcade of woops, whistles, clapping, and cheering. 
Mr. and Mrs. Hudson suddenly appeared in the church.
Mrs. Victoria Elizabeth Hudson now stood there in all her beauty married to Mr. Michael George Hudson.
And may they be happily ever after.



The CofE blessing of the marriage was due to be followed by the Apache Wedding Blessing, in accordance with the Order of Service.  Yet somehow this was missed by the vicar who decided we should simply dive into the next hymn, “I vow to thee”




Having had the time to look at his own Order of Service the vicar returned to the schedule and offered up the Apache Wedding Blessing


We follow this with prayers including the lord’s prayer. (Someone with a lot of foresight had long ago written this on the wall above the pulpit, just in case anyone forgot it.) Finally we smoothly rode on into the Final blessing.

How last hymn was “How Great Thou Art”.  It was almost over.  We had had a laugh, we had had a cry, and now we drew in breath for our last active part.  We managed something similar to an acceptable tempo and pitch through the first verse and refrain.





Only a matter of a few weeks before the community had suffered a heavy loss.  The long serving and well liked church warden have passed away.  At his funeral the church had been packed.  Barry Bennett was a great man and I am honoured to have known him all my life.  He left some very big shoes to fill.
This was the first big event for our new church warden.  With this in mind she had done her best to ensure every one was sat in the right place and had been given a copy of the Order of Service.  She had put us ushers to shame.
As we marched on through the final hymn there came a slight noise from the back of the church.  The ringing grew louder and more insistent.  We all looked about at one another. Who had left their phone on?  Slowly it dawned on her.  The new church warden.  In her first official service.  It was her phone.  It was quietly switched off.

As was the organ.  Just as my sister was complaining to her new husband about the length of the hymn the church fell into silence.  The congregation pulled on their vocal hand brakes, momentarily went into neutral, as the organ was quickly restarted, and we all carried on as if nothing had happened.


Having become married in the eyes of the Lord they now had to be married in the eyes of the Law.  As is ever the case with governmental systems this required paperwork.  Thus the pair accompanied by a selection of witnesses make their way around the church in order to sign the register.  As this went on our organist Calvert Allison manage to play an unbroken intermission.



I never really knew what I wanted to grow up to be as a child.  I enjoyed studying maths and science at school, then came home to help with the animals on the farm.  It was my sister who was determined to become a vet and as such had undertaken work experience from a young age.  With no excuses eventually I was pushed out of the house to follow in her footsteps.  Two years after my sister I, just as she had, went to help lamb for the Keeley family.  I was a nervous young teenager but was welcomed in and supplied with bounteous, beautiful food and a cozy bed in exchange for a little hard work.  This was my first step into the working world away from our family farm, and my first step towards becoming a veterinary student.
Mr. and Mrs. Keeley had been invited to my sister’s wedding and gotten a pew right in front the register.
As the paperwork was being organized my sister placed her bouquet on the table.  The bouquet did not like the table and attempted to fall off.  It was replaced on the table, but continued in its dislike of the flat surface and once more made a bid for freedom.  Accepting that the flowers needed someone who was able to adequately manage them my sister past them into the keeping of Mr. Robert Keeley.  He sat there happily on the end of the pew with a bouquet in his hands smiling like a schoolboy.  It took a nudge from Mrs. Sue Keeley to tell him how he looked.  A bright happy older gentleman in suit and tie clasping a bouquet of flowers in both of his farmer’s hands.  A shade of red crept up his cheeks and across his face.


By this point I was outside the church with a team of gullible friends.  I am not entirely certain of how old the tradition is, nor how far it is spread throughout Britain’s rural communities, or if it is a Yorkshire tradition.  The four pitchforks had been decorated with peach coloured ribbons and I had been given the task of finding four of the couple’s friends to form their honour guard.
Inside the church the “Hallelujah Chorus” from ‘Messiah’ by Handel was being played as I arranged the four into a double arch outside the porch.  Having organized this I ran back inside to find the two small wicker baskets which contains the little boxes of confetti neatly stacked just inside the door.
The sun shone bright on the guests as they left the church. As they passed through the porch each was offered a small box of biodegradable confetti, the small wicker baskets, decorated with pink ribbons held by myself on their right and on their left Richard Butler in his military regalia, sword in his other hand, a cheeky grin on his face.
The last to leave were the lovely, smiling, happy couple.










The cherry on the cake was provided by Kurtis Evans and the Ledston Estate.
Kurtis works on my parents’ farm and is a vintage tractor enthusiast in his spare time. He was therefore able to fulfil my sister’s childhood dream of having a vintage tractor at her wedding. Three times over.
The Ledston Estate gave us permission to go up to the manor house where the official wedding photos would be taken of the couple, their families, and closest friends.




Whilst we were up there, quaffing champagne (my father hammering it from the bottle), the VIPs (Very Important Plebs) had been allowed onto the farm for Pimms & nibbles, entertainment provided by discussion about the sermon, and a large, fat, (apparently) desperately starving Jack Russell dressed in a bow tie.



























Wednesday 7 October 2015

Where's Wingham? Episode 1 Where's Wingham Going to Be?

                                      



Good morning and welcome to this edition of “Where’s Wingham?”, brought to you by me, Mini Wingham!


For nearly 14 months now we have been following this young man’s adventures, having moved from Yorkshire in England to the other side the world, living in Bulls New Zealand.  Now, however, he has decided is the time for him to move on.  And yet the adventure does not finish here.  For like any good Yorkshireman Wingham has saved his pennies and chosen to invest them in the best way he can think of.  He will invest in himself!


He will therefore be sadly leaving his job as a vet on the 4th of December, once more leaving behind all of his friends and colleagues, and introducing much more of the world to that which is Wingham.

Out before us stretches over 5 months of travel!  From the forests and mountains of volcanic New Zealand, to the bright lights and sandy beaches of Eastern Australia, then out into the depths of the outback, before venturing onto to the natural wonders of both Tasmania and Kangaroo Island, and finally across the southern states of America and the eastern seaboard before returning to the UK and the 11th of May 2016.

By which point he will be in debt, jobless, and incredibly interesting!  Present calculations cannot estimate whether he will be a well rounded person by this point. (Although, after the USA he'll be a well round person, no doubt)

Further updates will be brought to you over the coming weeks giving details about each tour that is being undertaken in the various countries.  Today’s edition will primarily focused upon the outlined plan to give you some idea of what to expect and where he will be.


Acknowledgment: this series has been enabled with significant help from STA Travel, and was only possible through the kind help of my travel expert, an Australian working in Wellington, Ivory Hattenfels. 



As you are well aware Wingham has been lucky enough to travel around much of the north island of New Zealand.  However there’s much still to be seen.  Much much still to be seen.  With this in mind, and with recommendations from Foxy and Fran, friends who have tried it before, the first part of this not a gap year will be cruising for nearly six weeks with the tour operator Kiwi Experience.

Kiwi Experience offers the chance for one to buy a bus pass that will take you around much of New Zealand, providing you with activities, tours, sites, and experiences along the way.  And if one ever wishes to spend an extra day in a place one can simply leave this bus and join the next one that follows.  In this manner we will see Wingham travel across and around the south island, attempting to see as much as possible before returning to the north island to see all that he has missed including Auckland and Northland.

NEW ZEALAND!!!

His time in New Zealand will end on the 4th of February when he departs from Wellington Airport.  He will arrive on the same day at Sydney Airport and hopes (despite not having asked kept) to stay with Christian Byrne and his benevolent flat mates during that weekend and the following week.  The banter in the flat was so good he just has to return!

On Valentine’s Day Wingham will begin his next trip through Australia. This trip will take him from Sydney, up the east coast, through Brisbane, the Gold Coast, and onto Cairns, but many adventures along the way including learning to surf and spending two days sailing.

Once at Cairns the group will be flown in land and thus travel into the outback.  Out here he will visit Alice Springs, see the great site that is Uluru, commonly known as Ayers Rock, onwards into South Australia down to Adelaide, and then on to Melbourne, his final stop of the tour.

AUSTRALIA!

If the final day of the tour is on the 9th of March, and you’ll fly out again on the 13th of March.  This will give him a few days to rest and recuperate as well as explore the city.



Having taken a deep breath, the next part of the not a gap year will be eight days on Tasmania exploring the forests and beaches and meeting Taz!
TASMANIA!

Having been to one scenic islands off the Australian Coast the jenny then carries on to another scenic natural paradise.  In a place where he will hopefully be able to affect his David Attenborough, 
Wingham will be spending two days seeing the sights and hearing the sounds of Kangaroo Island.
KANGAROO ISLAND TOUR


The final stop in Australia will be a few more days in Melbourne before flying out.

Flying with China Southern Airlines he will transit through Guangzhou in China before landing on the 30th of March at Los Angeles International Airport.

The plan then is to stay for a day in LA before traveling to San Francisco to spend a weekend with relatives of relatives.

 Wingham will be travelling through New Zealand and Australia during their summer months.  Meanwhile in the northern hemisphere it has been winter.  This means that wants in America spring should have sprung, and whilst the northern states will remain cool for a little longer the southern states will be coming warm.

This should result in pleasant temperatures for our noble adventurer as he passes through the deep south (visiting such places as Las Vegas and the Grand Canyon) before seeing the vibrancy of New Orleans, Obama’s Crib, and finally the Big Apple!


32 nights road tripping across the USA finishs with 4 nights in New York City! Apparently there’s some stuff here.

This is nearly the final stop. Nearly.


On the 10th of May Wingham departs from JFK to go to Rayjavik Keflavik Airport, Iceland.

This is merely a stopover though, before carrying on to the last, final, absolutely the last stop, Manchester! Exciting.

Then back home for a slap up meal and a decent sleep.



Probably going to need a bath too.