ALL THINGS BRIGHT AND BEAUTIFUL 
A recent trip to England and Scotland made me remember, once again, how beautiful the country is.
As a child growing up in northern England, I tend to remember the weather being sunny. Of course there are several memories of sliding on frozen shallow ponds and puddles and sledding down nearby hills with barely an inch of snow, I also have memories of having deep snow once in a while, when we got snow inside our knee high Wellington boots.
Like all kids, I enjoyed the winter fun and games, however, most of my memories are of playing outdoors in summer, which must have been during the school holidays as my memories seem to recall long days without parental supervision.
I loved growing up in my grandma’s home as it was just minutes away from open countryside and also a waterfall that ran through fields of daisies and buttercups. How strong are the memories of long summer days paddling in the pond at the bottom of the falls. Not for our age group was the deeper water that ran over the falls, that was the territory of big kids, teens daring each other to swim close to the brink of the drop off.
The younger kids were happy enough in the swimming hole below the cataract of water and the nearby shallows, where we could paddle. The girls all tucked their dresses into their underpants and the boys rolled up their already short pants. Very few of us had actual shorts but wore cotton dresses all summer and the boys seemed to wear the same short pants summer and winter and only went into “long” trousers when they went to the “big” school, around the age of eleven. This didn’t seem to matter whether the boy was tiny or really large, bare knees were the norm for junior school.
We would mess about in the water for hours then tuck into our packed lunch, usually jam and bread and a bottle of water. Sometimes one of us would have lemonade powder which we shared, each of us getting enough to give a slight taste to the water, but not much flavour. Some of the kids would have a change from jam and bring potted meat or dripping, one kid always brought vinegar butties, which were strangely delicious. In Lancashire most of us called our sandwich a butty and we were always happy to share each other’s lunch. In those days kids were not allowed to be fussy, no such thing as not liking food, if you didn’t like what was offered, then you obviously weren’t hungry. I think every English child grew up listening to the tales of starving children in poor countries.
How come then, when I got older, my memories consisted of standing at bus stops in the wind and rain? Getting wet feet going to work through slush and icy puddles, and umbrellas, being blown inside out in the gusts of wind that accompanied the rain. Surely the weather pattern didn’t alter that much in a few short years. Did the carefree time of being a kid make things seem rosier? I guess it did.
When we came to Canada in 1974, the summers seemed to go on forever and the winter snow seemed so much easier to deal with than constant rain and wind. I remember taking my four children on several picnics each week during the summer holidays and vacations spent camping never seemed to get rained out.
However, on my recent trip back to my old home town, I was delighted to see snowdrops everywhere and the bright green of daffodil shoots on every hillside and grass verge. Once you get out of the city the rolling hills go on for ever with little white dots of distant sheep scattered everywhere. Even though it was January and early February, there were signs of spring trying to break through wherever I looked.
Yes England is still very much the “green and pleasant land” of the old hymn and yes, I felt nostalgic at leaving my old country but Canada, and most of all Oliver, is now my true home and Oh Boy, it feels so good to be back here.
There truly is no place like home, where ever you make it, and this is mine.