BH is down again, felled like his favourite tree, the hornbeam. Down, yes, but not out.
We should probably refer to Sister Mary David as Mother Prioress of St Cecilia’s Abbey on the Isle of Wight. To us she was always Michele.
Would you rather be Tweeted, Snapchattered, emailed, or Facebooked? Or would you prefer to receive a picture postcard? Remember them?
When our eldest grand-daughter was born in Tokyo and not expected to live, I remember one mother on the ward spent many hours making tiny delicate paper birds which she hung on a string beside her baby’s cot.
“I don’t know why Ginny gives us Invergarry Crab Cakes every time we go to dinner; it’s not as if they were particularly nice.”
“Glorious Queen of Heaven…”
Handsome is as handsome does, and magpies do not.
The Nurse handed me a pamphlet called something like “The Benefits to Seniors of Losing Weight, and How to Go About it.” It was brightly coloured with a logo of a fat person with a dismal Smiley face, and a thin person with a cheerful one.
If you happened to watch the live relay of the centenary Commemoration from the Menin Gate on the BBC last night, you could not have failed to be moved by the 54,000 names inscribed there.
It is difficult to put individual faces to these brave young men. They seem to have been swallowed up in the great maw that was World War I.