Marking Time

I spent the whole of last weekend in Lincoln, where I received the sad news that a dear friend Marjorie had died.

My wife and I first met Marjorie in Wales fifteen years ago, when we were on a holiday organised for the disabled and we had been firm friends since that time. She had suffered from a rare disorder called spinal muscular atrophy for most of her long life and for nearly all of that period she had had to use a wheelchair to get around. But she was always cheerful, full of positive wit and laughter and an inspiration to all those who met her, including Miranda and I. It is so sad now to learn that she is gone.

She lived at Bovey Tracey in South Devon so I’m travelling down there on Monday for the thanksgiving Service on Tuesday afternoon, returning to the ship on Wednesday.

Lincoln is probably the best place to leave ‘Futurest’ for three days and also there is a good railway station there within easy reach of the moorings. I enquired at the local marina for a temporary berth but there was nothing available, so I’ve decided to leave the ship on the visitor moorings, where she should be okay on her own for three days.

But so as not to outstay my welcome at the moorings where I was, I decided to leave the city altogether for a while and return there next Sunday afternoon. With this plan in mind I departed yesterday morning and tootled up here to Saxilby, in the direction of Torksey, where I have spent the night.

After a few days of cloudy to overcast conditions and frequent heavy showers it was a pleasure yesterday to see plenty of blue sky again and to feel the Sun warming everything up. Today has turned out to be the same. Long may it last!

I noted that the year was progressing swiftly and that the seasons had moved on. Gone were the masses of golden Daffodil, which we had all been looking forward to with such anticipation during those long winter months. They had stood so briefly with heads defiant against the stiff cold spring winds and now were looking a brown worn out mess. So too the Lilac blossoms that had hung for just a week so proudly like wet purple sponges in the frequent rain showers, have departed sadly for another year. As we progressed quietly along I could see that now the banks of the Fossedyke were becoming clothed with tall thick Nettles and masses of even loftier Hogweed with their large white plate-like umbellules attracting all the insects. While at their base Water-lily buds are just appearing on their individual green saucers and green spears of yellow Iris cluster closely together.