Autumn blues (and pinks)

It's officially autumn. I was wearing two layers at the weekend, it was dark when I got home from long days at work at the start of the month, and I'm pretty sure I saw frost on the grass earlier this week.

But as it warmed up this week, I could enjoy the late roses and pink sedum. And butterflies have come out dancing again.

I know some people love autumn - the friends I visited last weekend were happy it's autumn now, and last week when I went to a Write and Shine workshop, a lot of the writers seemed excited or happy or at least gently optimistic about the autumn equinox. When we went round the table, each saying one word that came to our mind when we thought of autumn, I said "sad".

I feel blue when the days get shorter and colder and darker. I feel sad when I see the summer flowers shutting up shop for the year. And my heart sinks a little when I see the Halloween and Christmas things in the shops before the summer is over.

The photos above were taken at Selfridges on a beautiful warm day in August. Christmas comes very early to Oxford Street each year, but it's still strange to see. The David Bowie bauble is pretty cool if you have money to burn. I am sentimental though, so my favourite Christmas decorations are the oldest ones with the fondest memories attached to them.

Today is the big Macmillan coffee morning. This time last year I went to Helen's parents' house where Helen and her mother ran a coffee morning as they had done on previous years. But last year's was poignant - the beautiful young woman in the green Macmillan t-shirt serving us tea, coffee and cake had been diagnosed with terminal cancer six months earlier, and would leave us seven months later. The last few weeks, several of her photos and videos have suddenly brought me to tears. My grief is cyclical and I feel like I'm back at disbelief and deep sadness.

The last few Septembers, Helen's mother and I met at the local allotments and bought dahlias. I love the bundle of dahlias wrapped in newspaper - it reminds me of a passage from the late Jane Packer's book, where she remembers her grandfather bringing allotment dahlias for her grandmother. Last September, I gave flowers for Helen - Darcey David Austin roses (named after her fellow dancer Darcey Bussell) and sunflowers with British lisianthus - and a smaller posy for her mother. I love the deep pink-reds and yellows of the season. The colours almost banish the blues of the shorter days. This year her mother and I meant to go to the allotment open day, but life got in the way.

Tomorrow I'm going on the first Twilight Walk organised by both St Christopher's Hospice and Greenwich and Bexley Hospice, walking around Greenwich and Blackheath. St Christopher's looked after Vicky as an outpatient for a few years and as an inpatient for the last five weeks of her life. Vicky's fundraising page is here. St Christopher's also looked after Helen as an outpatient and at home. Helen's fundraising page is here. And Greenwich and Bexley Hospice is where I've received bereavement counselling for the past year (as I'd worked as a bereavement counsellor at St Christopher's for three years, I couldn't have counselling there because too many people knew me). My sessions are about to come to end, and I'm utterly grateful to the hospice, the bereavement service, and my incredible counsellor for the support they've given me during this wretched year. You can donate to Greenwich and Bexley here.

I hope you have lovely weekends and the sun shines for you.

The storm before the calm

The year whizzes by, the month zips along, and now it is less than a week until Christmas Day. I usually end up blogging more at Christmas during the calm after the storm...that week between Christmas and New Year is a time of reflection for me.

I went to a Christmas service at the end of November - which feels like ages ago now. It was a remembrance service for people who were bereaved, and it was intended to be a candlelit service held outside, by a Christmas tree. Unfortunately, the gale-force winds meant that the candles wouldn't light, so people took the candles with them to light quietly in their homes. It's the only service I've been to where we sang Once in Royal David's City and You'll Never Walk Alone, but it was lovely. In fact, I'd never sung You'll Never Walk Alone before, and I didn't realise what a moving song it is.

Now the weather has shifted again, and walking back past the Trafalgar Square Christmas tree last night, I realised it was 9pm on the week before Christmas, and I wasn't wearing a scarf or gloves because it was so mild.

I hope your Decembers are going well, and if it's stormy for you now, that there is calm ahead.

Tower poppies

I mentioned my South London-centricism in my last post. I think many Londoners, on both sides of the river, suffer from a condition I call world-revolves-around-Londonism. Also known as London arrogance. I'm not talking about the type of arrogance you see when walking through the City during rush hour - that's a whole other kind of awful. I mean the feeling that important things in London will last forever. It's a feeling that was challenged when Canary Wharf was bombed in 1996 - I was in town at the time and was shaken by the thought that such a strong, developing part of this confident city might be vulnerable. It's also a feeling that meant I missed seeing the Nineteen Eighty-Four book bench by Thomas Dowdeswell in the summer; I knew it was a temporary display, but also assumed I had an indefinite amount of time to see it.

It also meant that when I first heard about the Tower poppies, I expected to make several trips to see them, to watch the "field" growing. Did I? No, I didn't. And as Armistice Day drew closer, I found myself busier with work and uni, ill with first a migraine and then a virus, and refusing to go at any time other than dawn. Perhaps it's nothing to do with living in South London for the best part of four decades, and more to do with my own stubbornness.

Last Thursday I returned to work, and thought I would go and see the poppies before my first appointment. I knew they had started to dismantle them the day before, but I also knew that it would take a long time - 888 246 ceramic poppies need much gentle care.

I quickly took a few photos of the view from London Bridge towards Tower Bridge. When I used to work in Essex, I would often walk to Liverpool Street from Cannon Street or London Bridge. The walk from Cannon Street reminded me of Roald Dahl's short story, Galloping Foxley (if you tend to get the same train to work every day, I recommend a read of it). But the walk from London Bridge meant I could see this view in the morning.

I'll never tire of it.

I saw Tower Bridge and City Hall up ahead as I walked along the south side of the river. Tower Bridge is fantastic - it's so colourful and distinctive. I adore City Hall, too. I think it's a beautiful building, and I regret not taking photos of the interior and the view when I got to visit it ten years ago.

I crossed the bridge and saw the poppies gradually and then suddenly.

I realise now why Tower Hill is said to be the best side for viewing - it's nearer to the poppies and at a similar height, whereas the river side has a longer drop down and the poppies are nestled down there.

I walked along the east side and followed the gate to the north side. It was just after 7.15am and it was quiet, except for a few people taking photos and some commuters passing through.

One thing that struck me was the mud. Nearly every book I've read about war, every poem and memoir, describes the mud and the rain, the boredom and the emptiness, as much as the horror and the blood.

The ceramic poppies were designed by the artist who came up with the idea for the installation, Paul Cummins, and were arranged by stage designer, Tom Piper. 

The official name of the installation is Blood Swept Lands and Seas of Red, and comes from the words of a man who left his home in Derbyshire to join the First World War, but died in Flanders. Each of the 888 246 poppies represents a "British or Colonial military fatality during the First World War". The total number of casualties, according to the Imperial War Museum, was more than 16 million. Cummins said he hoped people visiting the installation would take time to reflect, and although I found it hard to imagine the magnitude of the casualties, I did reflect.

Particularly when I saw them close up.

There were several crosses left in tribute around the tower, and I noticed one amongst the poppies.

I was touched by the names, the messages, and the photos.

Ceramic poppies created the sea of red, but there were other flowers to be seen. A yellow rose and a bunch of alstromeria had been tied to the railings, paper and knitted poppies were left nearby, and roses and fuchsia grew around the tower.

Although all of the individual poppies have been sold and will gradually be packed and sent out over the next few months, I think the other poppies that formed part of the installation will go on public display, touring the country.

How wonderful that a part of this display, that caught the hearts and minds of an estimated 5 million people, will be seen by even more.

Age UK Bromley & Greenwich Community Volunteers Time Bank

If you're making a special trip to London to see the poppy display in memory of the soldiers killed in the First World War, it's worth also seeing the First World War galleries at the Imperial War Museum, and the Garden Museum's temporary exhibition (the GM is just up the road from IWM).

As well as the Gardens and War exhibition, there is a display in the Garden Museum of embroidered, printed and painted handkerchiefs, inspired by the memories of gardening in wartime.

The artist Cas Holmes worked with the museum on one of their outreach programmes. The Art Interest Group is organised by Age UK Bromley & Greenwich Community Volunteers Time Bank (CVTB), and with Cas, created a beautiful display in the centre of the museum.

Each handkerchief is so unique, because of the techniques used to create it, and the thoughts and feelings that inspired it.

Today there was a Thrift Fair and Skills Swap, and members of the Age UK Bromley & Greenwich group were there, knitting hats for Innocent drinks, to raise money for Age UK. If you want to knit a hat too, you can still do it here - each hat-topped drink generates 25p for Age UK's Spread the Warmth campaign, providing befriending, warm meals, and emergency support in cold weather for older, vulnerable people.

Remembrance Sunday in London

This year, my dad wanted to go to the Remembrance Sunday service in London, so I went with him. There were thousands of people lining Whitehall, and we stood in the cold, autumn sunshine with people of all ages, a few in military uniform, watching the service as it was shown on a huge TV screen for those of us further away. We felt the intensity of the two minutes' silence that began and ended with the sound of a World War One gun being fired; I have rarely known London to be so quiet, especially when it is so crowded.

We walked around, saw the police memorial, went through St James's Park, and watched the march as it went along Horse Guards Road. There were many young schoolchildren who waved at the veterans and civilians marching past, and many veterans waved back. The atmosphere was warm and respectful.