Gravestone

Photo: Andrew Bunyan, engraver

Mum’s name has now been added to the gravestone, along with an introduction, “In loving memory of…”

We also added some context to the years, although without the ’19…’ I doubt that people would have that that Dad was a time-traveller born in 1845 who married a woman in the following century.

I like the Scottish tradition of using the wife’s maiden name.

In a way, it feels good to see them together again after so many years without Dad.

Rest in peace, Mum and Dad x

Beware the Ides of March

My dad, through the years until shortly after his illness in 1983

Last week, I realised that it was exactly 38 years since my father had his first of three subarachnoid brain haemorrhages. He was 38 years old.

This has been the first anniversary of Dad’s first haemorrhage without Mum which is maybe why I’m writing about it now. I’ve also been scanning a lot of photos from my Mum’s collection which is helping piece together some of the puzzle.

The soothsayer in Shakespeare’s play Julius Caesar warned the Roman emperor about the 15th of March, “Beware the Ides of March”. It’s a phrase that took on a very real meaning for our family.

On Tuesday 15 March 1983, my father Keith Saunders was in his birthplace of Nottingham to deliver the 1982/83 IEE Faraday lecture The Photon Connection about how fibre optics (light) would revolutionise communications. Shortly after he had stepped off the stage in Nottingham (I think it was at the Royal Concert Hall) he was giving an interview to the BBC about the lecture tour when he suddenly felt very ill. He turned, vomited and collapsed onto the floor. (I’ve often thought, somewhere, at some point, the BBC had footage of my dad vomiting!)

It had begun as an ordinary Tuesday in March but one that changed all of our lives forever.

Continue reading Beware the Ides of March

Buffalo! Bison!

Musk oxen on Windows 10 lock screen

Yesterday, my Windows 10 lock screen started to show this image of musk oxen, native to the Arctic.

Because they look a bit like bison, it reminded me of when I was younger, getting ready for school and saying bye to my dad as he left the house for his 20-minute walk to Exacta Circuits in Selkirk.

Every morning, when he put on his coat, I’d step out of my bedroom, which was next to the front door, and as he opened the front door to leave I would say, “Buffalo!”

And Dad would turn to me and reply, with a big grin, “Bison!”


In related news, did you know that “Buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo” is a perfectly valid sentence in English?

It means, “Buffalo bison that other Buffalo bison bully also bully Buffalo bison.”

Postcard

Photo: Autumn Glory by Jonathan Leach

A couple of months ago, my lovely sister Jenni sent me this postcard on my first birthday without my Mum. She found it in a box of postcards that my Mum kept and would send people as a blessing.

It reads:

May God walk ahead of you
and guide your path
May God walk beside you
and keep you company.
May God walk behind you
and protect you from harm.
May God surround you
on all sides with his love.

I have needed to remember this over the last six months or more.

I hope that it blesses you too.

Everything but the kitchen sink

Kitchen sink

Last month, while clearing out Mum’s flat I came across this tatty old thing, the kitchen sink (model 1.024) from my younger sister’s old Caroline’s Home doll’s house.

You know the saying “everything but the kitchen sink”, that means “nearly everything one can reasonably imagine; many different things, often to the point of excess or redundancy”? Lots of people used to say that about my late Mum’s handbag. She kept a lot of things in it.

“Blimey! Rosalie, you have everything in there except the kitchen sink,” they’d laugh.

And my mum would rummage at the bottom of her handback and proudly produce this old thing.

“Actually,” she would counter, “I do have the kitchen sink in here.”

But it served a purpose other than just a comic retort. Behind the tiny cupboard doors, which over time broke and were repeatedly taped together with masking tape, Mum kept three ten pence pieces—the right amount of money to get her into most public toilets in an emergency.

That’s the kind of practicality that I admired about my mum.