The Space In Between

I had intended to write a regular blog on my experiences of moving to Orkney from Somerset, to record on a weekly or fortnightly basis the excitement and frustrations such a move would present to us and how as a family we would cope and settle into our new lives. However, it has been five months since I last posted a blog. In many respects the time has flown, certainly moving and starting a new job has meant that I have had little time to sit and write, but the reality is, I haven't wanted to write.

My last blog was published on 20th April, and I spoke about Lucia and my friends and how leaving was going to be a challenge, but not as challenging as fighting cancer. Four days after I published that blog, Lucia was told her cancer was terminal.

Lucia was only given a short time left to live and spent those last few weeks surrounded by her family in the most amazing place - Children's Hospice South West at Charlton Farm near Bristol.  This oasis of peace and love became a home and a sanctuary to her and her family over the remaining weeks, nothing was too much trouble, the staff were just amazing.  Over those seven weeks we did what we could to help and support Lucia and Melina, but the idea of writing about what was happening felt like an intrusion, something that was not mine to share.

I felt guilty about moving my life forward when Melina's life was about to shatter. How very English! You know the feeling, that guilty feeling, where you feel responsible for something that isn't your fault or for something that is not happening to you, and how you think you should be punished in some way for it! I detested the idea of writing anything, it felt wrong to be talking about something positive that was happening in my life when this devastating event was happening to my friend. And how dare I even think about expressing the grief and sadness I felt, when it could never, ever be anything like that which I saw every day in the eyes of Melina and Lucia's family. So I made the decision to put the blog on hold.

So, despite the prognosis, our plans to move continued, this wasn't without much heartache and soul searching. We discussed postponing the move, but both Lucia and Melina generously said we must go. The memory of Melina leaping out of the door of the hospice, the day before we moved, Superman like in her onesie, yelling "follow your dream" whilst punching the air, still makes me laugh and cry.

Lucia passed away on 3rd June, 10 days after we moved.

Lucia with Charlie Simpson from Busted

Living on an island means that everyone knows and everyone understands. Unless you are able to get a direct flight from Kirkwall, that isn't delayed, and doesn't cost the earth, then you can't get anywhere fast. So having time off to fly back to Somerset via Inverness for her funeral was not a problem for work, everyone knew and everyone understood. Those three days were probably the most emotional of my life and sharing it with you, again, feels like an intrusion on Melina and the family's grief. However, I will say, having an escort of Storm Troopers out of the church is one of the most awesome things I have seen and I cannot thank the volunteers who did this enough.

Leading up to the funeral, my friend Mel recited a poem by Linda Ellis called The Dash, it is copyright so I can't post it here. The poem refers to the dash, that little line that is written between your birth date and your death date, and asks the question, how have you lived your dash? What have you achieved to fill the space in between those two dates? Have you lived a reactive or a proactive life? Is life something that just happens to you? Or do you make life happen?

Sixteen years is not a long life, but Lucia made it a full life. And I am in awe of her because of it.

She moved from Bolivia to the UK, learned a foreign language and spoke it not just beautifully, but fluently. She was an amazing artist, she travelled, she studied hard (and partied hard!) - sat her mock GCSEs despite having her treatment. She set up a charity, raised thousands of pounds and raised awareness of teenage cancers. She was also the catalyst that brought people together from all over the world, forming friendships that will last a lifetime. Any one of us would be proud to be able to say we had achieved just one of those things, she lived her dash, filled that space.

Golden Sunset over Hoy, Orkney

And so moving to Orkney is a dream come true, and I am living that dream and all the highs and lows that come with it. I am now determined to keep this blog updated regularly so that when my time comes, I can look back and know I gave it a go and I made it happen. I may not get an escort of Storm Troopers when I leave the church for the last time, but at least I will know that I have lived my dash, that I have filled that space in between.

Lucia Robinson 19/05/99 - 03/06/15

Please see www.linda-ellis.com  - The Dash 1996.

Go Blue For Love

CANCER…

Probably the scariest word in the world. A word to be feared, a word we don’t say, something we don’t talk about. It is indiscriminate, doesn’t fight fair and just when you think it is gone… Wham! It comes back again! Both my Granddads and my Nan died of cancer; it was as terrible as you’d imagine it to be. But somehow, you can console yourself with the fact there were 70, 80 and had lived good, full lives. But how do you console yourself when it is a child that is diagnosed with it? A child of just 15?

I remember when I first properly met Melina – mi querida amiga. I was drunk. I kept going on to her about eating Guinea Pigs, something that I thought all Bolivians should do, at all times, obviously. I don’t think I spoke to her much after that, not for a while anyway. Over time we got chatting in the playground at pick up and drop off and a friendship developed. I mentioned to her that I wanted to write a book, a Victorian melodrama and she invited me to come along to her writing group. So Thursday nights became my writing group night, there alongside, Peter, my neighbour, who I already knew and loved, I met John, the South African biker who wrote Steampunk and the very elegant Nikki, an already published crime writer, I am not sure what I would do without them now.

In time we joined the Frome Writers Collective and all attended the inaugural meeting in the library one Sunday in June. Melina wore a dress… an amazing dress, which gave her a fantastic cleavage, a blue dress. I remember everything about that afternoon, the dress, the speakers, sitting under the Velux window - the afternoon sunlight streaming in and boiling my head. I remember chatting to Judy, an extra for Holby City who lives 10 doors away from me, who I hadn’t really spoken to before and of course Melina’s amazing boobies. I remember every single second of that afternoon, because that Sunday was our last day of normality, everything changed, and nothing would ever be the same again.

That night, my mother in law had a stroke. But that was nothing to what was to come. 

Lucia is beautiful, not just on the outside, but on the inside too. Tall, dark, stunning glossy black hair, chocolate eyes and she has that amazing Latin American mocha latte skin tone, she is 15. She cares for her family, looks after her two younger brothers and is studying for her GCSEs. At around Easter last year Lucia started having problems with the movement in her arms, stiff neck and a loss of sensation in her arms and feet. The doctors said it was a trapped nerve, stress related, psychosomatic etc., but we all knew there was more to it and after pushing Melina to get another opinion, Lucia was booked in for some Neurological tests on the Monday, the day after the event at the library. By Friday the world had turned upside down, by Friday Lucia was lucky to still be alive, by Friday Lucia had endured an emergency five hour operation and by Friday we all learnt a new word, a scary word – Astrocytoma.

Astrocytoma is cancer. In Lucia’s case, cancer in the spine. Spiderlike, it had wound its spindly legs through her vertebrae and wrapped itself around her spinal nerve, amazingly the doctors managed to get most of it out. But now radiotherapy and chemotherapy loomed with all their ghastly side effects, Lucia wasn’t out of the woods by any stretch.

“It was the best of times… It was the worst of times”, so starts the Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens. However, I find myself now writing that it is the worst of times, it is the best of times. When a tragedy strikes, we can either let it break us, or make us. It made us; it made us stronger, it made us fighters and it made us laugh and cry and it kept the vine yards in business… And by us I mean Lucia, Melina, the beautiful, if somewhat inappropriately funny Mel, kind and generous Anna and elegantly stylish Victoria, oh and me!

Cancer may be scary, but it is not half as scary as five mothers on a mission to kick its arse. And kick it we are!

 But not only that, with Lucia’s amazing selflessness and thoughtfulness we made life a little better for others too. It started by getting a few boxes of tea and coffee together for the Parents Room on Ward 38 at the Bristol Children’s Hospital, and snow balled into raising thousands of pounds for the ward, Teenage Cancer Trust, Clic Sargent and the Rainbows Trust. Go Blue For Lucia hit the local papers as Lucia became an inspiration. At Christmas she insisted we all go visit the children on the Ward, with presents for all of them, and tea, coffee, chocolates etc. for the parents and staff, because “no one should be in hospital over Christmas” she said. Nominated and awarded Young Person of the Year by the Somerset Guardian, and now Lucia has received the Pride of Bath award for her charity work. 

Lucia has finished her chemo and radiotherapy, but still has a fight on her hands, spending this Easter, a year on since the first symptoms, in and out of hospital. But against all the odds she is still fighting and kicking cancer’s butt. Over the last year, old friendships have become stronger, new ones formed. We have witnessed the generosity of so many people who donated their money or their time (too many to mention, but you know who you are). We saw random people who came off the street to run 5k just because they were in the park whilst we happened to be doing a charity fun run at that moment, and they wanted to show their support! We had donations, pictures and messages of support from people in America, Bolivia, Germany and the UK. People dyed their hair blue, wore blue clothes and made blue cakes. Why blue? Lucia’s favourite colour!

How often over the last year have the five of us cried together, laughed together and got ourselves into trouble? Come on, who else would I sneak bottles of wine into a Children’s hospital for?

“Stupid Orkney”… “Stupid you” says Melina kicking the For Sale sign outside my house.

 She doesn’t want me to leave, and if I think too much about it, it breaks my heart a little and I feel I might not go, perhaps I should stay… 

So Orkney… Here’s your challenge... I am going to be leaving all these amazing people behind, geographically speaking, for you. I am investing so much in you and potentially giving up even more. You’d better be good and you better live up to all my hopes, otherwise I am coming right back down to Somerset again.  You hear me?

No pressure then…

To find out more about Go Blue For Lucia, visit: www.goblueforlucia.com

Don't panic!

Easter.

Traditionally a time of new new beginnings, the weather gets better with warmer days and  longer nights, and we start to plan our future, well the next few months anyway. A holiday maybe, redecorating the house, a new summer wardrobe... Yet this week I am increasingly finding myself thinking about the past and the present, and avoiding thinking too much about the future.  This is in part due to something that is happening to my lovely friend Melina and her family, the blog I had prepared for this week was about her and our friends. I have had to put that blog on hold for the moment for reasons that will become obvious when I publish it, I think that is also adding to my current mood..

I am taking part in the 365 challenge, you pick a challenge, in my case to walk a minimum of 1k every day. Some people are doing 10k runs, most 5k, some crazies are doing a daily triathlon! The important element is not the distance, but the fact you do something, some form of exercise, everyday, 365 days. For me I have found the experience so far, more of an opportunity to take some time to think and reflect, to motivate myself to leave the house every day, to take the dog for a walk and explore more of the countryside around my home. I average about 3k a day, sometimes more, sometimes less and since I started on 1st January, I have really seen and felt the seasons change. Hedge rows I walk past on my usual 2k route are now blossoming with spring flowers and the vibrant greens of new shoots and leaves.

But today, instead of feeling energised by this new growth, happy and hopeful in the sunshine,  I feel sad and a bit melancholic. It is now only six weeks until we move and whilst I am excited about our new beginnings, I am also sad at everything we are leaving behind. I am sure tomorrow I will feel different again. We are at the stage where we are awaiting confirmation from everyone - the estate agent, the leasing company, my new employer, the removal company...so we are planning and packing on the assumption that everything will be sorted and go ahead as planned. As a result everything feels a little up in the air.

Sean went up to Orkney last week to speak to the leasing company and view some houses and has returned home with a renewed enthusiasm for the people and places on Orkney, and is more convinced than ever that we are doing the right thing. In fact he can't wait to go. This was how I felt in February, but since Easter I am beginning to miss people and places, and we haven't gone yet! I am not saying I have changed my mind about moving, far from it! We have wanted to move there for the last 8 or 9 years and I am sure this is the right thing to do for us as a family, I think I am up just realising how important these people are to me and how they have had such a positive impact on my life and us as a family.

 Our new house!

We all have dreams, some attainable, some not. But that is the thing about dreams, when times are tough we think about them and we feel better, we plan what we would do and imagine ourselves there and how life would be different. Suddenly we are about to live our dream and I think I am probably scared. There is nothing like packing boxes to bring reality crashing down around you. What we are doing is HUGE and our decision doesn't just affect us, it affects the kids, our families, our friends, even the dog! I can feel panic creeping slowly over me and I am questioning everything. Yet all my friends and family, even random people I chat to about our impending adventure, all say we are doing the right thing, an amazing opportunity not to give up and deep down in ,my heart I know they are right.

In the next six weeks I know there will be tears and tantrums, panic and perspiration, arguments and angst! I need to make sure I remember the dream we had: sitting by the fire, drinking whisky in our house by the sea, because our dream will soon be a reality and how many people are lucky enough to get that opportunity?

Facebook Friends

This week's blog was meant to be about my trip up to Orkney, the interview, the lovely B and B I stayed in (the Hildeval by the way) and my feelings of being up there, looking at houses and planning our new life. However, today I actually want to talk about friendships.

Marcus Aurelis is quoted as saying

“accept the things to which fate binds you, and love the people with whom fate brings you together, but do so with all your heart”. 

I know I hark on a lot about fate, but it is something I am genuinely interested in. Why do we meet the people we do, when we do? Think about how you met your partner or your best mate? Think of the circumstances that led to that encounter. I had almost known my husband for about 15 years before we actually met. We had mutual friends, but neither of us was aware of the other, I even have a photo of a group of friends taken years before we met, and he is in it! We shouldn't have even met on the day we did, as neither of us were going to go to the event, but for some reason we both changed our minds and have now been married for almost 13 years!

It is the same with  friendships, some develop gradually over time, some are instant! That spark between two people who don't know each other, when you think "oh my goodness, we are going to have so much fun together". Some people walk into our lives just when we need them and we wonder how we ever managed without them - now that has to be fate. doesn't it? We make our minds up about liking or disliking someone instantly and unconsciously, whether face to face or on the phone. If asked we probably wouldn't actually be able to explain why we felt the way we did about the person.

And so, once random people are now our friends, people who we love and care for, and they us. Some friends we see every day, we see each other at our best and at our worst and yet somehow we manage not to kill each other. Then we have the friends who we don't see for months or years, yet when we do we pick things up immediately where we left off, as if no time had passed at all. If you think about it, friendships are really quite amazing. Friends: the family we choose for ourselves.

Like many people, I have different circles of friends, like Sarah, who has been my school friend since we were 11- partners in crime for the last 30 years. My university friends Chantelle and Graham, who I still see regularly, generally to retrieve my stolen laundry! My antenatal friends Pat, Becky, Andrea and Heather who I met at antenatal classes pregnant with our first babies, and now 11 years on we still meet every six weeks for a meal. "We are a bit like Sex and the City, but without the sex, and in the countryside" says Pat! Then there are my Frome friends, but I will talk about these guys in my next blog. I also have my SK friends.



I re enact English Civil War battles, a member of Sir George Lisle's regiment of Foote, in fact. Over the years I have meet some weird and wonderful people, in some cases, wonderfully weird people, in the Sealed Knot! We are all scattered across the UK and come from very different backgrounds, we may not see each other for months, years even, yet we are all friends. Friends who educate others about history, raise money for charity, wear odd clothes and have the occasional (!) drink. 

When the chips are down, however, it doesn't matter where in the world you are, or how long ago you saw them, your friends are all there to help. This was brought home to me recently when my friend Shelley's house was severely damaged by a fire. Thankfully neither she nor her son were injured, but her friends, her Lisle's family and complete strangers, who saw her plight on Facebook, sprung into action. All these people helped in some way by offering to clean up the fire damage, moving her to temporary accommodation, donating household items or donated money to replace Christmas presents lost in the fire.

Why though? Why should people give their time or money for someone else, if there is no personal gain to be had? This is the thing about friendship, it is not about "What do I get if I do this for you?" or "What's in it for me?" but "How can I help?" and " I am here for you!"

Like Shelley, I too, am very lucky to have some amazing friends, and as you will see, one of the difficulties I will face when we move to Orkney is leaving these wonderful, bonkers, generous, daft people, in geographic terms, behind. I feel really quite sad about this at times and wonder if we are doing the right thing.

But, back to fate... Or as I shall call it today... Facebook.

Facebook! It is as brilliant as it is terrifying. It puts you in touch with friends old and new, relationships destroyed and rekindle at the press of the "enter" key. It brings out the best and the worst of people, but truth be told, I am a bit of a Facebook fiend and on it most days.  So it seemed to me an obvious tool to use in gathering more information about Orkney and as a way of getting in touch with people, and this is what has made me change my theme for today...

People of Orkney... You Rock! My poor old phone has been red hot with messages coming in from Orcadians all over the island offering help and support. I have had messages from people offering to help us move or find us houses to rent. The headmaster of the school, it transpires, is from my home town and offered to loan me his house for heavens sake!! I also have a coffee date set up already for June with a lovely lady called Sara! None of these people know me, I am just another name on a Facebook feed, I could be anyone! Yet people have gone out of their way to offer a hand of friendship based on little more than the fact we might just live on the same island together at some point in the future.

Moving anywhere, whether it be to a new job, a new school or a new house, is stressful! One of the worries that leads to this stress is the fact we are starting from scratch all over again. We worry that we might not make friends, that we might be isolated - after all, you can live in the World's most populated city, and still be alone! Perhaps because it is so isolated, being 10 miles across the Pentland Firth  from the Scottish mainland, that Orkney islanders are so friendly, the community depends on everyone working together and helping each other.

Whatever the reason, I am very grateful, and excited about saying "hello" to these new friends. However, I won't be saying "goodbye" to my old friends any time soon, just "see you tomorrow in Facebook Land".

Eight Months of Tears

“Orkney! Isn’t that in Norway or somewhere?”! 

Words to this effect have been screeched at me by family and friends alike over the past few weeks! Yes, Orkney! 

Orkney is a long way away (694 miles from my house to be precise), an island in the North Atlantic, north of the Scottish mainland, south of Shetland, once owned and annexed by Norway before becoming part of Scotland in 1472. But why Orkney? We were talking of Scotland in the last blog: the Highlands, Haggis and tartan, now we are in Viking territory.

 

I first went to Orkney the day after I got engaged. We were staying on the north coast of Scotland near Durness, two days before we were meant to go home we decided  to jump on a ferry to Orkney and visit Skara Brae – the Scottish Pompeii (although no volcanoes were involved in its preservation just sand)! 

And so my love affair with these remote islands began. 

Orkney is made up of about 70 islands, 20 of which are inhabited. The north islands and north Mainland are wild and windy. Jagged cliffs plummet to the sea, home to sheltering puffins and gannets, whilst arctic terns nest on the grassy cliff tops. In the Scapa flow reside seals, whales and dolphins, even a pod of Orca. To the south of the Mainland; coves, harbours and sandy beaches. The people are friendly, their history is rich and diverse, their whisky… gives you a headache if drunk in quantity! We tried to move there 6 years ago, but without success, so why try again now?

In June 2014 my mother in law had a stroke; she was terminally ill and was going to die very soon. We all prepared for her death as best we could, explained, again, as best we could, what was happening to the children and spent the next couple of weeks travelling the 300 mile round trip to visit her in hospital. Suddenly, the weeks had turned to a month, two months... three... then suddenly it was Autumn.  Miraculously she was still with us, but not with us, as she never really regained consciousness. We continued to travel each and every weekend from Somerset to the Midlands to visit her and my father in law, and this was how life was for eight months.

Waiting for someone to die is probably one of the worst things we will ever have to do. We experience the grief of losing someone we love, feelings of helplessness, anger and sadness, but then as time goes by, we feel something else, something taboo, something we shouldn’t admit to… We start to want them to die! We cry at the thought of it, but there comes a point where you feel that the person you love no longer has quality of life, no dignity in their dying and no hope of recovery. Then the pain you feel is not in their dying, but in their living. My mother in law passed away on 6^th February, 34 weeks, 238 days after her stroke. 

 

For eight months I planned my escape. My cottage by the sea. In my mind I would sit by the fire, drinking my whisky, listening to the wind, rushing and roaring, drowning out the silence of our sadness. My husband and I shared in this dream, the thing that was keeping us going over the dark winter months, through the tears… And then we decided to do something about it.

 I started to apply for jobs.

 I applied for a few posts in Scotland and then had an interview, but nothing really felt quite right. But then… A post came up… In Orkney… And then… The offer of an interview! Could this be it? Could our dream actually become a reality? I felt scared, a little frightened, under pressure to make this happen. So I did something I would never, ever consider doing... I did nothing! 

I made the conscious decision to place myself in the hands of fate and not be scared. Not feel anxious, impatient or excited about the possibility of it all. I would be calm and just “go with the flow”, if it was meant to be, it would happen. I would go to the interview, do the presentation and see what happened next. I was not going to worry about the money, how I was going to get there, the child care etc.  Fate would be my guide… Sounds daft I know! But you know what…

 It worked!

I Was Born In The Wrong County

Many people flock to Wiltshire to experience the countryside and the history, the picturesque villages that film and TV producers salivate over. They picnic on the Salisbury Plain or the Marlborough Downs, sip tea in “Larkrise” or “Candleford”, a weekend break from the hub bub of city life.

 I left Wiltshire at 18 and moved to Hampshire. Again, another beautiful part of Britain, I lived not far from the New Forest, but Hampshire was far too populated for me, so again I moved. This time to Somerset; yet another rural county, yet another setting for the latest period drama. So now I live amongst the famous folk… the drummer from that indie band, the fashion designer for that famous store, even Hollywood stars have second (third, fourth…) homes here. All drawn by the voluptuous rolling Mendip Hills, pretty villages and “hip” towns. But still I am not satisfied.

I have no reason to want to leave. I have a lovely stone cottage that backs onto a river with views over the trees and fields. My cottage is in a pretty village, with wonderful people, many of whom have become very good friends, and of course my amazing friends and family live near by, and they are just the best. Getting to my children’s school is like a trip to Neverland;  down a steep hill, down to twisty roads with high hedges, past a waterfall, then the manor house, that has a helicopter in the garden! There are Guinea fowl and ducks that aimlessly wander, trespassing onto well-manicured lawns, chickens peck and scratch, only disturbed by the collared doves and I am not even exaggerating! As you would expect all the cottages in the village have roses growing around the door in summer and daffodils and snow drops line the road side verges in spring. The school itself is a tiny Victorian building, only 40 pupils, who play in the shade of a huge Hornbeam tree.

Many people dream to have what I have, so why would anyone in their right mind want to leave? This is why I decided to write this blog, to help friends and family understand my reasons for wanting to move. It is not about them, I will miss them It is not about the house, the village, the school, money or employment. It is just simply that, since I was 18 I have wanted to live in Scotland, by the sea. 

It is hard to explain the pull that you get to a place that you have no family connection to. However I will try…

 I have always felt a need to be by the sea, even as a teenager. At weekends my mate and I would drive (well she would drive as I hadn’t passed my test by then) down to Swanage and paddle in the sea, watch the sun go down, eat fish and chips and drive home before the 11pm curfew! When most 17 year olds were drinking Mad Dog 2020 on the street corner or shagging each other, we drove to the coast! Then at 18 she and I went for a week’s holiday in Edinburgh and that is when it all started for me… My love affair with the Scotland and its coastline.

To be honest, it can be any beach, not just a Scottish one, but when I stand on the beach and breathe in the sea air, all my worries and stresses disappear. It doesn’t matter if the sea is summer holiday, ice cream and deckchair calm, or a raging tempest of wild untameable power, the effect of just being there is the same. I think my children feel it too. Occasionally in the midst of winter they will ask to go to the beach. When you ask why, after all it isn’t really “beach weather”, they will say “I just want to go. We can take our wellies and a picnic and wrap up warm”! Quite right to!

The same is true for Scotland itself. When the M6 becomes the M74 I feel myself relax and my mood lightens, I drink in the scenery and imagine what my life would be living in that cottage, or the farm house over there. However, on the return journey at the same point of the motorway, I start to feel quite sad. I find myself twisting round and staring sadly at the Welcome to Scotland sign on the North bound carriage way, whilst trying to avoid looking at the Welcome to England sign – stupid I know!

 Whenever there is a period of upheaval in my life, I plan my escape. My cottage by the sea or on the edge of a sea loch. I will spend my days watching the wildlife through binoculars or shell seeking on the beach with the kids, and my evenings will be spent sat by the fire listening to wind, drinking whisky. A romantic dream, I know! But now this dream is one step closer to happening, and very soon, all being well, our Awfully Big Orkney Adventure will be a reality…