I thought I had no nice paper, and then remember this.
It, it made a satisfying noise on folding. One imagines that it will be used on radio plays.
I am older than you, born on the south coast of England, then relocated to Wales some years ago.
A small family who now lives nearby, to include my grandson.. I do, indeed, live in a cottage, they do say over 500 years old. Can you imagine the history?
It is cold today; some villages have snow, so we are tucked in by the fire, dog in her basket, all big eyes.
The cat has moved down from where she sleeps on tissue paper, has her back to the fire.
Mine is a longer story, some of it unfolding here. I spends days working, playing, some days teaching, and some in other paid dutiful employment. I enjoy what I do.
Enjoyed reading your letter, will dipping into it again, and again.
It is pretty here and quiet. The snowdrops are out already: hope for the spring to come.
For my work I use a keyboard, yet enjoy the act of handwriting, seeing it spread across the page.
I look up, see the storming weather, and pause to throw a log on the fire. Quite enjoying a day at home to work and play.
To have written so many books is such an achievement , your family must be proud. As you will see I write bits and bobs, some gets published here and there. The concept becomes random.
What to tell you, as snow falls, small birds shelter, and I look at the photographs at my table, the clock ticks.
Should I speak of childhood, that will be one book, or of my family, another story, some gone now, while others grow. To write of my interests, my collections.
So at the beginning I guess. They say that I was born at home on a Sunday. There were three brothers, two born before the war, one born after. I am the youngest. There we all lived together until my father left: I think I was four then. As I write this simply, I am aware of that which is remaining unsaid.
I feel I was a quiet thing, bit of a mouse really. I am stronger now.
Since those times I find I have both a half brother and sister, yet do not know them.
I think I was mostly happy, as I was unaware of the undercurrents in life. I had much to learn. I enjoyed playing by myself and still do.
My brothers were mostly kind, although I did not understand some of their behaviours. In hindsight I may.
When I was about six, I went to live in St Ives with a lady who owned a hotel. This changes everything a while. I still love this area of the UK.
Oh gosh I hope this is not boring?
The blog I wrote yesterday is about this time spent in Cornwall.
Life has so many layers, depths, how to write of it. Is there time?
We were a close family in that Mum did not mix much, and with Dad gone relatives withdrew.
I too loved my Grandma, my Grandad died before I came. Much the same for Wilfred now.
I heard stories about other family members, yet without meeting them, it kind of made no sense.
So I guess what I am saying is that internally I have always had a happy disposition, yet there came a bleakness as reality bit in.
I am still happy, content with my lot.
Well, I have gone on a bit, as you know when the pen hits the paper, the fingers the keyboard, words flow.
I look up at the mountain, now white, yet the sun shines, the birds are back at the window feeding. The old clock chimes the wrong hour again.
Afternoon tea. Yes that is a pretty thing, all bread and butter, then cake. Homey as a child, now much forgotten in this house. Work and modern culture sets a different pattern. I do not know about others.
Yet while on holiday, yes a tea shop is very welcome.
Having read through this and made corrections here and there resist the urge to destroy it and start again.
That will never do. So I will quickly stuff in the envelope, and be done.
What have you started. Will you ever know? You will I shall tell you
19 march 2015
It is over a moth since I received your letter.
I have been away visiting my home town of Bournemouth in the south of England, to see my good friends.
The hotel was lovely, very comfortable, on the cliff top. I had been told that much had changed since my last visit about twenty years ago, yet my focus was that which remains the same, the museum, the aviary, much of the skyline and of course, the friendships.
The sea does not change.
On my return I have been helping to clear the garden ready for the new greenhouse.
The birds are nesting, and we await the swallows’ return. We plan a trip to Stokesay Castle in Shropshire, where they fly indoors.
Our crocus have come and gone; now it is all daffodils and primrose. A gentle season; we have survived the winter again.
Your writing is fine, better than most.
I have seen photos of the work you are doing in the house, it all looks exciting.
I am in the garden, at the table, as it is warm this morning. Birds sing while distant sounds confirm that the world still spins.
I find a Lego brick and small items under the table and smile to think of my grandson.
The sun shines in the house highlighting the dust, so I too start spring cleaning. Some rugs were washed early, are drying on the line.
The house has been a haven for the cold weather: deserves cleaning, an airing. The door stands open; the dog lays here on the warmed slate.
Yes, I do love Wilfred very much, and proud of how he is learning to deal with and manage issues. He will be eight this year, I cannot believe it. I receive such hugs and affection.
I enjoy reading of your daily life; it seems we are all much the same, whichever age, whichever country.
I shall remember this morning well. I have sat here many times to write or draw, happy times and sad.
I am still learning to focus on the good, however fleeting it may be, to know that it did happen, that it was happy, and I was a part of it.
Did I tell you that Phillip died some eight years now? I could go inside as I copied my last letter, yet am loathe to leave the sun.
I live alone, and quite enjoy it, am used to it. Of course I still miss him, yet find myself to be happy with my lot.
My daughter works nearby at weekends, so stays here Sunday nights to save travelling, so we now have a pleasant routine.
In fact, most of my life and work is a pleasant routine, I now make sure of that as much as I am able. I have most of what I need, and enjoy the small things that come.
I love to watch progress, how one thing leads to another, all connecting.
To change the subject, yes, the house name is Tynllan.
The house has had a few names, as it was a meeting house, a temperance house.
I too would like to be more remote, so I hide behind hedges. A few neighbours complain, and I do not understand. We all now have a little freedom to live our own way.
I do apologise for not replying sooner, yet I will always write, and we shall grow to know each other and connect.
Before I close I will describe.
The old crow bird has flown into the oak, without the harsh cry of winter. Mountain is in a heat haze, lorries sound distant. My back is warmed …. I hear my neighbour fill his kettle; he is a farmer. A bark sounds from Pentre farm, the cats looks up, birds sing.
Each day comes different, glad there is no major news, no tough decisions pending.
I hope your day echoes this and that all is well with you, and your family. I thank you for your letter, and for being my friend.