Last week I flew home.

I had forgotten how chilly England is in November but I was pleased to be back for a short while to see friends and family. It bought back lots of memories.

For as long as I remember, the period between Halloween and New Year has been a magical time.

When my brother and I were small we would long for the end of October, a time to dress up and have fun, followed almost immediately by Guy Fawkes Night. This gruesome celebration of the end of the 1605 ‘gunpowder plot’ to blow up the Houses of Parliament in London is eagerly looked forward to by kids of all ages. Guy Fawkes was burnt at the stake for setting the explosives and each year that event is re-created with home made Guys and, nowadays, with fireworks lighting up the night sky. We would wrap up warmly, sip hot soup and ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ at the bangs and whizzes, bright lights and air filled with the acrid smell of burning – great fun!

We nearly always caught some kind of bug during the changing seasons when we were small. We ended up feeling sorry for ourselves in my grandmother’s living room. We taxed the poor lady’s ingenuity as we were always restless. Each year we produced ‘works of art’ on rolls of old wallpaper using flour and water paste and bits and pieces cut from last years Christmas cards. There was always a Christmas tree stuck to the back of her living room door and often a festive montage along the hallway. It kept us occupied and added to the building excitement of the coming merry season. It is a shame that now I associate this particular memory with the ‘flu’. I have never thought about it before, but perhaps a slight fever added to the surreal quality of our resulting art work!

My grandmother died several years ago and my parents use her old living room as a dining room now. When I walked into the house last week, for the first time since June, noting as I did so that my parents had been busy with a paint brush as new paintwork gleamed, I was instantly transported back in time. I half expected my grandmother’s smiling face to appear from the kitchen at any moment.

Alas, this was not to be but my mother made up for her absence. I had not told anyone I was coming and oh, her face when she saw me. It was a picture. You can imagine the scene I am sure readers. Tears, hugs, demands for information on length of stay and where was my other half?

My father, who truth be told was the main reason for my visit, was a bit of a shock. He has once again been battling his health and, to be honest, I was not sure what I was going to find when I saw him. I cannot say I liked what I found but during the visit I did see him visibly buck up. I think he was pleased to see me, which was nice as he was stuck with me for the week. My father is a man of many words but not necessarily those of a demonstrative nature. His greeting to me was as warm hearted as ever, “you’re back then?” Bless!
While in Blighty I visited a very ill friend. She has battled with a debilitating sickness for years and this has opened the way for a more aggressive disease. It has taken a grip, which she battles with fortitude. She is unfailingly cheerful, as is her lovely, long-suffering husband.
Our son is on the seemingly endless task of boat hunting. I should explain that, with property prices astronomical in the South of England (you think prices are high here on Anguilla!), he has decided he wants to live on a houseboat. He has now spent nearly a year looking for one. He has a mooring for it so he has somewhere to actually park it when it finally arrives. All he needs now is to find a boat that the owner actually wants to sell, that will float, that is bigger than a matchbox and is not so old to be classed as an antique. Easy, eh? He has encountered all of these problems and a few more to boot; he was offered a boat built in 1899 once. We trekked to the south coast to view another prospect. This was a very nice forty foot cruiser which the current owner has looked after. She made yours truly a very decent cup of tea while our son went over the boat from sharp to pointy end. It dates from the 1970’s and had been decorated in keeping with the period. Imagine Austin Powers with a bit of a hangover and you are there.
My brother has moved house and I went to stay the night with him. This was interesting. An eternal bachelor, though still looking for the right lady, he is making his home the way he wants it. So, the kitchen has more gadgets than I have ever seen. I must say, I was impressed by the combination George Forman Grill and Griddle upon which he cooked breakfast…. but I digress. I shall be thinking of his bathroom for a while too. I think it is the bright yellow tiles on the walls, which I must say look much better than they sound, which will stay with me, not to mention the Union Jack decorated rubber duck in the bath tub.
In all it was a good visit and it was lovely to be reunited with everyone, even if only for a brief spell. As Thanksgiving looms on the horizon, many people on Anguilla will be thinking of family and friends, taking stock and giving thanks for their blessings. This is indeed what I have done this last week. I wish you all a very happy time.

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