Serving in Afghanistan

Our warrior Son had been away for nearly 3 months but at the end of September, he was due to return to the UK for two weeks of R & R (rest and recreation). Lavish plans were already underway to run Christmas three months early.

In the meantime, there was just enough time to squeeze in one more food parcel. These parcels, which were delivered free by The British Forces Post Office, (BFPO) were a lifeline for those serving so far from home. Great was the excitement on parcel day.

A PARCEL

I’ve just packed up a parcel And sent if off today, To that brave young soldier man, Serving in Afghanistan. So what’s inside that parcel, That’s winging on its way? Well: There’s chicken pot-noodle And sliced apple-strudel, Two different fudges And twelve jammy-dodgers, A copy of ‘Zoo’ A soduku or two, Green tea, instant coffee, Some crunchy-nut toffee, Wet-wipes and sun-screen, A small tube of face-cream, Marshmallows and spare socks, Packed up in a shoe-box, Secured with elastic, And sticky-back plastic, All ready to go, Via the BFPO. That what’s inside the parcel That I sent off today, To that brave young solider man, Serving in Afghanistan.

Maggie Smart

The Unforgiving Minute

“If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,

Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,

If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,

Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,

And - which is more - you’ll be a Man, my son!”

From the poem ‘If’

by Rudyard Kipling 1865-1936

What in these curious times of lockdown are you all doing to ‘fill the unforgiving minute’?

During the spring lockdown, I embarked upon a project to beautify the house. This, I planned to achieve with plentiful use of pot pourri, scatter cushions and scented candles; all of which were to be colour-coordinated to within an inch of their lives. I took great care to distance myself from my husband during this work, because I was well aware, from the strained expressions that it produces on their silly faces, that men hate pot pourri. Rose petals scattered across the bed are guaranteed to induce a choleric fit.

They also hate scatter cushions, which they find unsettling. They don't have a clue what they mean, or what they are for. When confronted with a large number of scatter cushions, men will break out into a cold sweat, becoming agitated and socially inept. It is gratifying to observe their naked vulnerability when they grapple with six or seven scatter cushions whilst trying to engage in meaningful conversation with your guests.

Scented candles, together with a recording of Pachelbel’s Canon played at low-volume on a non stop loop, will cause grown men actual pain and can bring a full-blooded male quaking to his knees.

Good job then that I was not confining my beautification project to the house. I was also intending to do a ‘Capability Brown’ number on the garden, as I felt that this was something in which my husband could freely engage.

I approached him with a tentative smile.

“Would you like to jet-wash the patio?” I asked.

I should really have learned the lesson by then, that any husband-targeted question preceded by the words ‘would you like?’ is a colossal mistake. My kind offer of gainful employment was summarily rejected. His own agenda for passing time involved re-reading all the Terry Pratchett books, hence the reason that they were strewn all over the house. Then there was the 1,000 piece jigsaw which was scattered across the dining room table …

I guessed that I’d just have to up the number of scatter-cushions.

Maggie Smart

As Time Goes By

If I had to have a condition, and had a choice as to what that condition should be, I would have opted for one of those Victorian, malingering types of ailment which rendered it necessary to look pale and beautiful, whilst languishing on a chaise longue.

I would be willowy and interesting.

I would write soulful poetry.

I don't think that Parkinson's would have had a look in, but since I was landed with it, I decided to make an action plan.

ACTION PLAN

(On being diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease)

I’d decided that the best thing to do with this Parkinson’s was to file it under ‘P’

In my list of ‘personal ailments’

And then? As time goes by - well, wait and see.

It would appear in a slot between ‘M’ for malaria

(nothing scarier)

And ‘T’ for tonsillectomy

(which had had very little effect on me).

The only entry under ‘N’ was the occasional neurosis.

‘P’ was conveniently vacant,

I hadn’t owned a parrot and had never contracted psittacosis

I wondered idly if ‘leg waxing’ could be entered under ‘L’

Whilst it wasn’t exactly an ailment

It hurt like hell.

Maggie Smart