I am in a reflective mood today, the first anniversary of Mums death. For various reasons, I have been drawn to thinking about the Great Western Canal, so here is a first draft: The Grand Western Canal This picturesque stretch of inland waterway was as much central to my early years as it was to the village of Sampford Peverell through which it flowed. Our 1950s “Cornish Unit” was a post-war Council house built yards from the canal, and initially only separated from it by orchards. Mum would walk the three miles from the farm where we were living temporarily, in order to clean the house through, before moving in when I was six weeks old. Now the furniture could come out of store, and I would no longer be sleeping in the drawer of a chest of drawers. Mum continued to live there for almost fifty-nine years, until her death in 2013. It was an extremely painful 24 hours for her and for us, during which she reached the conclusion that she would no longer be able to live there. It was akin to a Gethsemane experience, when her very strong will had to be surrendered to Gods, as Jesus himself had prayed, “Not my will but yours be done.” What she most wanted to see one more time, was the green grass, and we helped her achieve that. As I write this, she died a year ago today. The canal held a mixture of pleasure and fear for us as children: pleasure at the sound of our voices echoing under the red-brick bridge near the football field; fear as we learned to avoid the swans who we were told could break your arm, especially if there were cygnets around. Pleasure as a gaggle of us children walked the five miles into Tiverton and back on a Summers day; fear as some children inevitably ventured onto the frozen surface in winter, but I was not among them. We had a succession of family cats- Ginger, named for obvious reasons, Fred a black and white, and Tigger, spelled T-I double G- ER, per the “Winnie the Pooh” book by A.A.Milne. Ginger almost met an untimely end, when in an effort to keep him warm he was put in the oven attached to the Rayburn. Fred was another cat who risked some of his nine lives. We understood that cats had a natural aversion to water, but Fred didnt seem to know that, because he would swim across the canal and could be clearly seen looking back from the opposite bank. My brother John let it be known that he would like a canoe to paddle on the canal, but as Mum had been widowed when he was fifteen, she told him that the only way he was likely to get one was to pray about it. A while later Mum asked John if by any chance he had done that, because the window- cleaner had approached her, asking, “I dont suppose you know of anyone looking for a second-hand canoe?” This was a great encouragement to John as a young Christian, and to the rest of the family, that God should answer such a specific prayer. In the last year I learned of another prayer answered in connection with the Grand Western Canal. On 20th November 2012 a catastrophic breach of an embankment occurred near Halberton. A farmer who had been monitoring the rising water and the impending threat, prayed. As he watched, the north embankment gave way, taking the huge quantity of water, fish and mud away on to farmland. Had it breached on the South-side it would have flowed down the hill and into the village and its homes. Mum always loved the view from her home, especially from her bedroom, from which she had a clear view of the bend in the canal as it made its way through the village and towards the Parish Church. The changing seasons and the wildlife of the canal, with its calming reflective water, has given me a life-long love of water and swans. I now enjoy living near the sea at Totland Bay, Isle of Wight and it is to this element that I am instinctively drawn, for inspiration for poetry, or a mental breather when I am stuck on some sermon preparation.
Posted on: Fri, 31 Jan 2014 12:14:33 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015