Death of a Bluetit

He flittered in the sunshine
And twittered in the trees.
Ate seeds with his little family
And glided on the breeze.
He gave us so much pleasure
Through weeks of winter snow,
But now we’ve found him lying dead
Just how, we do not know.
We’re grateful for that little life
That brought us so much joy,
A short life but a worthy one
That death cannot destroy.

A Gift From the Heart

There are times when nothing seems to go right. Times when it seems you receive nothing but adverse criticism when trying to do your best. When you work for many months on a project only for it to go seemingly nowhere, if not nowhere, then certainly haywire. This is when tiredness swamps your energy levels and you begin to wonder ‘why the hell bother?’ You lose sight of the good things that are also taking place, and of your achievements. To top it all, your baking is not up to scratch — smoke leaves the oven when you open its door (and the vacuum cleaner decides to take up smoking too!) The TV Arial goes on strike. Folk start treating you like you’ve gone non compos mentis. And you wonder why not give up and become a TV and chocolate addict. The problem with that is, since the good programmes are constantly repeated I would simply spend my days sleeping and eating — until my flesh became one with the easy chair, and ‘they’ would have to remove the big picture window to get me outside for a trim.
Guilt (because you feel you SHOULD be happy with so many blessings to be thankful for) builds up and depression appears like a black hole to easily slide into. After all, as doctors will tell us — this is the SAD time of year.
Then something totally unexpected happens. A gift of flowers arrive in the post. A good weep and the sun begins to shine once more.
Thank you, dear friend.

Song of the Nightjar

A man of letters with a priestly calling, a linguist, a wartime intelligence officer, a head of Oriental Studies of a prestigious Institution, a kindly man, a friend when in deed.
Visiting this friend, my tutor of years ago, my champion in a Church Authority dispute — a saviour who was never judgmental in his self-appointed task of rescuing me from the destructive forces cast against me — I was pleased to see he was awake and reasonably alert when spoken to.
The nursing home where he resides is one of the best — if not THE best — in the whole of South Cumbria. At least, that is my opinion from having visited quite a few in our local area.
Standing in its own wooded grounds by the seashore, the home is divided with the more vulnerable in a secure area. It was to this area reached by a long corridor, having walked through the impressive entrance of this beautiful country mansion, that I made my way.
I pulled up a chair, smiled, and gave him a greeting, “Hello, Geoffrey. Nice to see you. Don’t suppose you will remember me though. Years ago, you used to be my tutor.”
I took a photograph from my bag and put it on the table in front of him. I pointed to the figures.
“This is me — Gladys. This is you with me beside you. We were taking a service together at Dendron Church.”
He looked at the photograph. Wrinkling his brow, he said, “That’s me?”
Even while I explained our relationship his mind was wandering.
I thought I heard him say, “I’m a Nightjar.”
Oh dear, how should I answer that?
I didn’t. Partly because I thought I must have misheard him. I smiled and chatted some more about how he had been my tutor, how we had ministered together, and various ways he’d helped me.
But he repeated, “I’m a Nightjar.”
“A Nightjar?”
“A Nightjar. Do you know I’m a Nightjar?”
“No,” I said truthfully. What made him think he was a Nightjar?
“I can sing I’m a Nightjar.”
What a relief. Now I understood. “Really? I’ve never heard that song.”
“Would you like to hear me sing it?”
“Yes please.”
And so he lustily sang a song I had never heard of, nor have I been able to find on the Internet.
He ended with ‘Not going Nightjarring amore’ followed by the chorus.
The rest of the residents barely noticed. I guess it made a change from ‘White Cliffs of Dover’ coming at them from the audio system.
“It really is lovely to see you so cheerful,” I said most sincerely. For indeed, with his wife dying just a month or so earlier, and frustrations he must endure from lack of brainpower, it would be understandable to find him depressed. My own mother, who died twenty years ago, suffered severe depression along with her dementia — to the extent that she would have me constantly in tears because of my inability to bring her relief from her suffering. Of course, Geoffrey didn’t know me any more than my mother did.
He looked at me. “Cheerful? Of course I am. We have to keep cheerful, especially in company. Aren’t you always cheerful?”
“Not always, but I try to be in company.”
He gave me another rendition of the Nightjar song. I loved it. To be truthful I could not stop tears forming in my eyes.
The assistant brought over the mobile phone. Geoffrey gave his caller the pleasure of hearing “I am a Nightjar…” a couple of times over.
Eventually, I put my redundant photograph back in my bag and, after chatting a little more, I said goodbye. He took my hand and, much to my surprise, lifted it to his lips — something he had never done before, at least, not to me, or to anyone else in my presence.
I smiled and said, somewhat coyly, “Oh Geoffrey, I’ll never wash that hand again.”
Then I saw it — that familiar smile that made his countenance glow like that of a mischievous young man.
He half-laughed. “Oh, go on with you!”
And so I left the room, took a wrong turning, walked along several corridors until someone pointed me in the right direction.
But there had been no wrong turning in my visiting. It all went remarkably well. Sad indeed to find such a highly intelligent student of life reduced to sitting sleepily in a nursing home lounge devoid of his tools of learning, but how wonderful that he still retained much of the lighter side of his personality.

Dare to Believe!

Wonderful!
I recently signed a contract with Dare Empire for them to publish my trilogy woldwide as eBooks. Also in print for the Australian market. Things have gone quicker than I imagined possible. The first book Awakening Love is now available in Kindle with other formats being prepared as I write. The whole trilogy will be available from all major on-line stores by the end of January and print versions shortly following.
The whole trilogy is getting a new lift with intriguing covers by a team producing books in Amazon's top ratings.
Could 2011 be a true AWAKENING for my award-winning book?
STOP PRESS! All three are not only available but are presently (early FEB) at 'silly' introductory prices. Visit the Dare Empire Bookstore or Amazon Kindle store.
Go here to see a great video of the latest Dare Empire books, including my trilogy. A Dare Empire Checkmate print book will be available by the end of this month.

A Load Of Hot Air!

If you can’t stand the heat stay out of the kitchen, or in this case don’t read the book!

Hot Air by Geoff Nelder is an action-packed thriller. Its ingredients include adventure, humour, horror, — all in the first few pages — with a good mix of erotic encounters, violence, torture, hair-raising escapades touched with romance, all skillfully mixed to produce a surprising dénouement. With A Geoff Nelder novel you can be sure to get excellent descriptive scenery, and have all your senses enriched. Feel the passion, sense the hate, smell the scents and aromas, taste the sweet and bitter, see all before you — including into the minds of each character — hear every sound as the story enfolds. All these detailed nuances, served up with a dash of iron in the blood.
Every page swift moving and packed with drama! Geoff Nelder at his best! A literary masterpiece, a meal to gorge yourself on.

Photo: Geoff Nelder at one of his many signings.

A Load of Hot Air!
What should have been an adventurous birthday treat, turns into an horrific nightmare when their hot air balloon passes over the scene of a murder. The balloon is spotted, shot at, and the chase begins… murder and mayhem maybe, but lightened with humour and erotic romance. What a feast! Go on, indulge your senses!
Visit:
Geoff Nelder’s Blog for reviews:
And Geoff Nelder’s Imagination factory
See Hot Air on You Tube
Then buy it direct from Wuacademia

Ulverston area — sheep, dogs and thieves.

When we moved to Ulverston in 1985, the first people we got to know were our neighbours and dog walkers (followed by friendly shopkeepers and counter assistants). A smile and hello from the doggy people we met while exercising our Golden retriever (followed by our Border Collie) were great blessings as they gave us a sense of belonging. Likewise the cheery 'good morning' of those who served us in the shops, and even the greeting of us by name in the bank and Building Society.
We may not have our roots in this area but are associated through family ties, especially to the land.

The farmers have been through severe times over the years and extra paperwork adds to their burden. Now they have to guard their stock from gangs of thieves who rob them of their livelihood. Whether rare breed or common stock, it does not matter to them. Money is their only god and him only do they serve. Shame has no meaning — getting caught, to them is their only folly!
What happens to the poor animals? Are they slaughtered away from prying eyes, without the benefit of humane methods? Unless they are sold in the usual markets, by one illegal means or another, I can't see an alternative. We have no idea what suffering these animals go through. Well, it's for certain, we keep an eye on the field gates near to us, especially if we see a van parked.

Another matter. I love dogs, I miss the ones we used to have and often pat the friendly ones we meet when out walking. (One lovely old spaniel grins and sits on my feet) I like sheep too, in the spring we delight in the lambs that frisk in the fields. Sadly, dogs and sheep don’t always mix. When dog owners allow their pets freedom to run wild when out walking, sheep are highly vulnerable. This should not happen.
Last month a dog (or dogs) savaged two sheep grazing in a field not far from the town. It looked like the dogs had tried to tear the legs from the sheep. As well as terrified, the poor animals must have been in agony. The wounds were ghastly and yet the dog owner left the sheep to suffer and die. The farmer could have been contacted, even if a name had not been left. Callous? What do you think? At least, when on holiday, when we found a lamb wounded and another with its eyes pecked out, we quickly found the farmer to alleviate the suffering and save further lambs from the crows.
Notices are sometimes around fields warning dog walkers to keep off the land, or keep to footpaths. especially where there is valuable livestock. It is an offence to allow a dog to run loose. On the whole, farmers are pretty good, especially if we stick to footpaths. Or if we keep dogs well under control on common land.
Sheep-worrying does not just take place in the spring. Nor does worrying only involve sheep, it can take place amongst any valuable stock. Best to keep dogs off grazing land and on a leash while walking country footpaths, otherwise the dog owner is more guilty than their pet if an incidence occurs.
To those who think their dog would never attack any person or animal, be assured ‘friendly’ dogs from three months to twelve years will attack sheep for the sheer fun of it. This has been proved by extensive studies carried out in Australia and elsewhere.
Leaving aside, the legal aspect and cost to farmers, dog owners should consider the suffering experienced by sheep when attacked, and the fact that once a dog has tasted the meat it is likely to attack again. Farmers are allowed to protect their livestock — dog owners beware!

University Fees For English Students

This is not the usual thing I put on here but it does not fit my other blogs either. I hope those interested in the subject will find their way here. This is important.
There is an urgent need to settle the student fees issue. Justice must be done.

I have given serious consideration to the matter regarding University fees as applied to English students. Wales and Scotland who, to those not aware of the situation in the UK, get their huge grant to run their internal matters such as Education, Health and Social Services from Westminster, pay the fees for their students (and are generous with other social services too). Hardly surprising that English students feel hard done by. Hardly surprising if some English tax payers feel somewhat annoyed too. But that is another issue.
I can see a certain logic in students paying back the costs of their university education but I believe it to be deeply flawed. At least, the cost of student fees should have been left as they were. But maybe the whole business of higher education needs looking at and trimming done. I would question why the school leaving age has been raised.

Like many of the older generation, we were brought up never to be in debt. We saved for all our needs. There were no credit cards (thank goodness). A mortgage was a necessity due to shortage of rented accommodation and long waiting lists for Council houses. We were in a bed-sit for three years and still at the bottom of the housing list because we had no children. We would not have children until we had our own home. It is somewhat ironic that we, along with others who know the value of thrift, are now having to pay for debts not of our own making. And for excesses in handouts that have made it cruel for many who work to be worse off than many who don’t and have no intention of doing.

With this in mind, I believe it to be totally unjust that today’s young people will have the burden of paying back University fees for their own education (at least at this higher rate), at a time while paying taxes to help subsidise the final-pay pensions of the more fortunate, the cost of supporting the ever-increasing elderly at home or in care, and credit handouts for this, that, and the other, not to mention the escalating sums for the NHS as new drugs and procedures are discovered to lengthen life and ease pain, while many are living lives as if to test how long their heart, liver, and lungs will last. PLUS the graduates, on starting work, putting aside a large chunk of their salary for their own future pension. What a burden!

Youngsters seem to have little say about their education. When I taught it was child-centred learning. Now they are pushed into exams as though passing them is all that education is about. Money would be better spent getting youngsters into apprenticeships and continue, where appropriate, studies through Evening classes and a day release. A University education was once held in high esteem, that honour seems to have diminished. Surely with realistic opportunities for those who are not University inclined the way could be paved for a better future.

Education is lifelong and enters every aspect of life. But, at least, each citizen should have the right, at some time in their lives, for two or three years of free higher education, if appropriate, at University level.

(I speak as someone who had to give up a college design course at the age of sixteen so as to earn my own living, my father having become seriously incapacitated — benefits in 1949 were almost non-existent. I was fortunate enough to realise my ambition through sheer hard work and luck. Later I trained to be a teacher. I gained all my qualifications, then and later, as a mature student. I know of others who gained all of their qualifications through evening classes and rose to high levels of management or engineering.)

Already, there are cutbacks for care of the elderly, cutbacks in other major and important departments. At this time, perhaps it would be appropriate to raise part of the shortfall by putting a tax on top of VAT for those luxury goods that only the truly well off can afford?

As for the marching students, those who simply mouth slogans without knowledge should get to know the facts. Marching is fine, protesting is fine when orderly, but following 'the crowd' in ignorance of the true facts, makes the public wonder if they are ready for mature learning.


NOTE: Photograph of Nottingham University. My brother was a student here in the late 1940's at a time when 'boys like him' did not go to University. (There were few Universities then). He left school at fourteen, gained an apprenticeship with Rolls Royce and attended night classes. He went on to study for higher degrees and gained a scholarship to study in the USA for his PhD. When he died, he had 54 patents in his name and was acknowledged as a specialist in his field. He was also involved with athletics and gained various awards and prizes. Determination is needed to get on, in all walks of life.