Wednesday, 1 April 2015

Cynthia Lennon - and Time

The old saying - that if March comes in "like a lamb" it will go out "like a lion" - is proving true. It came in with Spring-like sunshine, and it went out on a stormy note.  The Channel was roaring away outside the window all yesterday.

I would possibly have chickened out of the door to door work if it hadn't been for not wanting to let Cathy down. And also because I did not want to waste my remaining invitations.

As it was we did an hour and a quarter, which involved a lot more walking as I left the car parked by the Hall, and walked to and from the territory.  I placed all my invites, and Cathy was left with enough for today.

This morning I was at Malcolm's for a shearing.  "What would you like?" he asked me.  "To see where I am going",  I said hopefully. That is about all that can be done for me nowadays.  Then I shopped, at Waitrose, of course; talked to Bea and Jackie on the phone; and made a soup and am now making a chicken curry. Captain Butterfly is having a very complicated and busy day today and I am not sure if I will have more than 5 minutes to get him something to eat before he hurtles off again.

I was just about to post this blog when I  read that Cynthia Lennon has died today.  So I thought I would change the heading in her memory.

Because that is another part of the past gone.

She came across as a lovely lady, and a valiant mother to the young Julian.   She did not have an easy time, caught up in the Beatles madness, but she and John both look happy in their young courtship and marriage photographs.    I hope she is sleeping safe in "the everlasting arms", and has a wonderful awakening ahead of her when the time comes. And my sympathies to Julian.  I am so glad he was able to be with her at the end.

Time...  how quickly it goes.   I think I will have to blog a poem from my childhood, which of course I could not really understand then, for all its simplicity.

Time, You Old Gipsy Man
by Ralph Hodgson

Time, you old gipsy man.
Will you not stay,
Put up your caravan
   Just for one day?

All things I'll give you
Will you be my guest,
Bells for your jennet,
Of silver the best,
Goldsmiths shall beat you
A great golden ring,
Peacocks shall bow to you
Little boys sing,
Oh, and sweet girls will
Festoon you with may,
Time, you old gipsy,
Why hasten away?

Last week in Babylon,
Last night in Rome,
Morning, and in the crush
Under Paul's dome;
Under Paul's dial
You tighten your rein-
Only a moment,
And off once again;
Off to some city
Now blind in the womb,
Off to another
Ere that's in the tomb.

Time, you old gipsy man,
   Will you not stay,
Put up your caravan
  Just for one day?

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