Time for the fight for justice to move on

The paving slabs outside our kitchen had grown black with grime, so today I went at them with a power hose to blast them clean. I had nearly finished when, under the kitchen window, I suddenly felt the rain coming down again. I was already quite wet from the water splashing up round my feet, so didn't worry too much, and determined to finish the job. When finally I went back in to clean up, Ann was laughing by the open window. "I was throwing water over you," she said, "and you didn't even notice!" I told her I had noticed, but took no notice of it. That's so typical of Ann - she has a wicked sense of humour, but it's usually directed against me, probably because there's no one else around.

Having said that, MA came this morning with the girls, and this afternoon the boys came to celebrate their release from quarantine following their visit to Luxembourg. Ann prepared one of her wonderful meals, a casserole with all the veg trimmings, and a good selection of puds including a classic sherry trifle. Delicious.

There has been much fuss recently about "Black Lives Matter". This is true, they do matter, as do Asian and white lives. What does not seem fair however is the wanton destruction of our British heritage with so little protest in its defence. We are not even allowed to state "White Lives Matter" without the catch-all condemnation of "that's racist!" No, it's not racist. Our lives matter too, and our history matters. We all acknowledge that slavery was wrong, but slavery was abolished in this country in 1807, over 200 years ago. It is time to move on. White people in the UK make up 86% of the population; people of Black ethnicity make up less than 4%. So small a percentage deserves respect and equality, but not total dominance of the airwaves, and certainly not the right to dictate our history by ripping down statues willy-nilly. Black people make up 5% of managers and directors, which is a fair number; and they make up 16% of people in professional jobs. This does not sound like prejudice to me, for on these figures black people are succeeding and doing well. No, the real thrust of the modern anti-slavery movement should not be against the past, which is gone, or against statues of long-dead people with whom this tiny minority disagree; they should turn their sights to where they might actually make a difference to people's lives: to modern slavery in Africa, or to the sex slave trade across Europe, or to support people like Malala, fighting for the rights of women abroad. Perhaps then they might achieve something worthwhile, rather than celebrating as victory the toppling of dead bronze.

eco vandalism

Freddie Mercury

The inner artist is progressing slowly. I've finished a portrait of Freddie Mercury, a singer whom I love and was keen to capture a likeness. Also, I've started my first oil painting - a very much more difficult exercise, but a road I was keen to tread since being given an easel and box of oil colours by our friend Robin. I am keen to do a memorial portrait of my friend Colin, following his recent death. It is hard starting without lessons, but Ben bought me a book on beginning to paint in oils, and there are a number of good videos on YouTube that are helpful, though every artist seems to have their own technique, no two of which agree. It seems to be a case of "do whatever's right for you". Bob Ross's series on BBC is helpful, with good tips about mixing colour and creating background skies and landscapes, but he uses a three inch housepainter's brush and never paints people or animals, let alone portraits in close-up. In the end, I am just having to experiment with mixing the paints, blending the colours, and building up the picture and learn as I go along.

The boys continue in quarantine, but are released this weekend, so Ann has invited them over for a celebratory meal as part of our "household bubble". More bubbly characters than those two it is hard to imagine, and we are delighted to be their first port of call after release from house arrest.

On Monday, Rosie had her scan to check all was developing well, and to determine the sex of the child. Matthew decided to announce it to everyone in a mass video call; to cut a long presentation short, it's a girl. They haven't chosen a name yet, but Lucia, who seemed to have predicted it correctly, now said she ought to be called Olivia. We all agreed that was a lovely name, but of course it will be for Matts and Rosie to decide, and it was too soon for them to announce anything yet.

eco vandalism

I am cursed by neighbours
destroying God's good trees
sawing, chopping, felling -
no dream of conservation
but the striving desperation
of watching woodland fall.
But, for every one he destroys,
I will plant not one but two,
I will spoil the despoilers view
cover him with emerald green
until his house cannot be seen
and beech, elm and crawling leaf
will suffocate and bind his limb
to still his hand from eco sin.

Annie Elliott

Work continues to gather pace, but we still manage to spend some time in the garden and visit a number of garden centres to buy screening plants, to shield off the barren fence where our new neighbour has butchered all the trees. Once, our garden was a haven of peace where we would hear no more than the murmur of insects or birds calling each other, but no longer. On teleconference calls, I have to shut the window to keep back their noise, or even close it against their yapping dogs, even on these hot days.

He has a massive garden, four times the size of ours, but has turned the thing into a chewed up mess, and is now busy concreting a large part of it to take new buildings for their proposed joint businesses. The whole place has taken on the aura of a building site, with him, his brother and son shouting constantly the whole day as they break up foundations with a sledge hammer or rattle what sounds to be piles of scrap iron, the whole business accompanied by what seems to be a ritual of cursing and swearing.

We respond as Ann writes: by planting more trees on our side of the fence. We are slowly building a screen of green to fence him off. Even now they are at the front bellowing at each other. I am working in my room at the back, but still they drown out the birds and the peace.

The boys return and I have a hospital trip.

Edwin and Andre returned safely from Luxembourg yesterday. Their only delay in the whole journey was the customs at Brussels train station, where they were subjected to two separate interviews to review the purpose of their journey to the UK. Having convinced the customs officers that they were only transiting Belgium with a view to returning home, they had to complete quarantine declarations and agree to remain in isolation at home for two weeks. Those poor boys have sacrificed a great deal to support us in Luxembourg at the funeral.

The eulogy delivered by his son, Tom, has been put on line by the church, and I will paraphrase a small part of it here as it sums up so perfectly, if briefly, the life of a giant.

Colin Buckland
He tirelessly sought to acknowledge and bridge differences, learn from others, encourage dialogue, build consensus and collaboration for the good of the next generation. He was the most inspirational teacher and his fairness was universally recognised. For his dedication to all his students,  he is remembered with fondness and love. He was a true Catholic, a man of profound and robust faith that was secure enough to tolerate his highly-intelligent, scientific mindset and the human fallibility of himself and others without judgement or condemnation. His bookshelves were like his mind: tolerant, well-informed, strong and broad.

He was a joyful man with a highly-developed sense of humour most strongly characterised by intelligence and warmth. His love and skill for music defies description. The people and music that he leaves behind are testament to that. He was said while conducting to be able to bring in the sopranos with his left eyebrow while keeping the lid on the basses by glowering at them with his right – all the while keeping perfect time with his hands. Polymath. Inspirational. Kind. Intelligent. Fair. Non-judgemental. [He is remembered for] his musicality, his voice, his warmth, his humour, his faith, his generosity, his love, his humility, his legendary eyebrows.

He set an example for us in the best possible way. He was also a romantic and had a deep love of the sea and sailing. He could quote poetry by heart at the drop of a hat. Thank you for all the joy, wisdom and love that you brought to all of us.

Today, returning to earth with a jolt, I had to attend the hospital for my six monthly cystoscopy check for the bladder cancer. It was a strange experience, with everyone wrapped in masks. The hospital though was eerily quite, the carpark almost empty, the corridors quiet. I had to arrive only five minutes before the appointment, and Ann was not allowed to accompany me so had to wait in the car. We had put gloves on, but the nurses doing the cystoscopy made me throw them in the bin and clean my hands with disinfectant. They say that gloves carry disease from door to door, and if I leave them on I'll carry any hospital bacteria or viruses back with me and deposit them on my clothes when I get dressed, and the car door handle when I return to the carpark.

Anyway, the good news after that spiel is that my bladder remains completely clear, and I can be left for another six months until my next check up.

The memorial service for Colin Buckland

Edwin in abstentia at Ann's birthday

Today, Saturday 13th June, is Ann's birthday. I rose early and took the dogs out at 7am, for the day was brilliant sun and blue sky. Too often if I leave it, such days cloud over or rain comes, though today it is still set fair despite the poor forecast. Ann, who was born on a Friday, has always held the 13th to be auspicious, but today her celebrations are muted, for today also is the memorial mass for Colin Buckland, and Edwin is away with Andre in Luxembourg, to represent we who cannot be there. Ann asked for me to make her a card this year, so I have done a small portrait of Edwin, to remind us of his presence even though he will not attend the birthday celebration.

We started the day watching the celebratory mass for Colin streamed live from Luxembourg. Edwin sent photocopies of the service, which we printed out. Colin's son, Tom, gave a homily, and his daughter, Sarah, has invited them to the village of Roodt sur Syre where the ashes were interred, to see the woods where he now rests. I have few pictures of Colin and me together, as generally one of us was holding the camera, but I've found one from our sailing days, when we sailed into Brightlingsea, anchoring off-shore and taking the dinghy to the town quay. We were sometimes mistaken for brothers, and that night we had fish-and-chips and a drink, and someone offered to take our picture.

We two at Brightlingsea

Back in Luxembourg, Edwin and Andre met up with Colin's daughter Sarah. They hit it off well, and she's invited them to meet up in Oxford. Tonight they are eating at one of Colin's favourite restaurants recommended by Sarah, for a commemorative meal, then tomorrow they start the trek home, hopefully crossing borders as freely as they entered.

Birthday tea for Ann

In the afternoon, MA, Sam and the girls came with Ann's presents. The day was hot so we could sit out, with our own sandwiches and 2 meters apart, but we shared a cake and bottle of fizzy. The girls had decorated the garden with imaginative birthday posters and balloons, so we had some semblance of jollity despite the oppressive restrictions.

Wearing our gloves and facemasks, we visited a garden centre yesterday to select a tree, choosing a magnolia which I have planted to celebrate this day of both birthday and death. Above the saloon, we have raised the Brazilian flag which was to have been in honour of Andre and Edwin, so we can still think of them as the flag flies freely in the brisk Easterly wind.

The Great Escape

Leaving England

A message from Edwin, just after 6 a.m. to say they were on the train and heading for King's Cross on the first leg of their journey to attend Colin's memorial in Luxembourg.

At 8 a.m. came another message, to confirm they were through the customs barrier and in the departure lounge at St Pancreas and ready to board the Eurostar, then a note to confirm they were crossing France on their way to Brussels. Nothing much was open at St Pancreas station, and no food or drink is served on the train, but they had the forethought to pack sandwiches and a flask, feeling more like fugitives trying to escape across the border than solemn mourners.

A friend of Lucy, a former labour MEP until 31 January when we left the union but who still lives in Brussels with her Belgian husband, had offered her phone number to help out if there were any problems. However, they left the station precinct easily with no further checks, and took possession of their hire car. Petty bureaucracy dictates that, having been in the UK for more than a year, Andre is no longer allowed to drive here but his licence is still valid in the rest of Europe. They were offered a Fiat, but Andre does not like driving that model so they took a Vauxhall Astra Estate, a much larger and more comfortable vehicle. 

Leaving Belgium 

A couple of hours later, hearing nothing, I texted to ask if they'd crossed the Belgian border. "No," came the answer, "we've stopped at Ikea for some shopping." They are so laid back those two; they could have had beds in their car. They soon reported they were on their way again, and with the border only about 5 km further on, they sailed through with no checks at all, and made for their hotel.

Sarah, Colin's daughter who is organising the whole thing, texted a welcome and even offered to ferry them from the hotel to the church tomorrow for the service. So now they will relax in the hotel, able to go for drinks or coffee and cakes with no hindrance. They still have to wear face masks when out, but other than that they are free from lockdown and able to lead a fairly normal existence.

On religious intolerance

Birthday gifts

If all goes to plan and they succeed in getting to Luxembourg for the funeral on Saturday, the boys will be away for Ann's birthday. So when they came round last night to collect Edwin's passport and funeral garb for their trip tomorrow, they also brought Ann's birthday present, insisting she could open it while they were there. It was a gift of three of her favourite wines, each attached to a gift wrapped book relevant to the region or type of wine. That was so thoughtful, and we both look forward to reading their selection.

Priti Patel, the Home Secretary, a woman of exceptional talent and ability, has reminded an opposition member in the House that she was all too well aware of religious prejudice, having been subjected to Paki-bashing at school, and having to fight her way up a very difficult ladder to succeed. This type of prejudice is all too apparent in films such as East is East, and Blinded by the Light.

Some while ago, Edwin and I were invited to the Royal Society of Medicine to see a presentation to the neurosurgeons who had treated Malala following her severe head wounds. We had the privilege of meeting Malala, the activist for female education and youngest Nobel Prize laureate, with her parents, and also a representative from the Pakistani embassy who gave a glowing presentation about his country, leaving us tempted to visit. Her "crime" was to believe something others did not - in this case, that girls should recieve an education.

Malala at the RSM

As a medic, I have had to work with people of many different nationalities, and generally people are no more nor less varied in one culture as they are in another, whatever their racial characteristics, or what beliefs they cling to. As has been stated many times, it is not differing religions or race that trigger hatred, but intolerance of those who are different. The current unrest and protests round the world against racial discrimination led us to think about aggressiveness in general, so much of which is driven by religious intolerance, examples of which abound.

The nature of being a spiritual person is not how we worship, or who or what we worship, but to acknowledge that there is some power beyond that which can be seen. I am not particularly religious, but would describe myself as spiritual. Girders in the Sand presents a picture of the evolving god. As the elements are beyond their components of protons, neutrons and electrons, so are the proteins, genes and chemistry above them in variety and form, and the living cells are above them in complexity as individuals are above the cells that compose them. So an evolving god is as much beyond anything that can be imagined as human societies are beyond the individuals that comprise them.

We can but approach the unknowable through human representations: Jesus, Allah, Jehovah, Budda - all figures suggesting something beyond imagination. Religious wars and intolerance are fights against human imagination, therefore against ourselves. Yet beyond this, something remains - beyond our power of thought, yet drawing us forward, through music, art and architecture to something beyond ourselves. Perhaps then, when we see the unity of all things, racial and religeous intolerence will fade away.

A funeral is announced

On Monday, after the news came to us of Colin's death,  we broke the house arrest imposed by this totalitarian regime and drove to Cambridge for a meal with the boys. Edwin had been to three shops to get the ingredients so he and Andre could prepare something special. They even bought in two bottles of Pinot Gris, a wine favoured by Colin, so we could toast his memory. We took the dogs in the car, and walked them in the local park, though they were not allowed in the apartment. We celebrated well, and got home about 1am without being stopped by police. What sort of state are we living in when free adults are forbidden by law to use common sense and take small, calculated risks?

Can it be but two days of grief? The hours seem longer. Today came messages from Kate and Teen, Colin's sisters, and a direct call with his daughter, Sarah. Following Luxembourg custom, the cremation has already taken place, but no one including family is allowed to attend. Instead, they are given the ashes soon afterwards. The interment of the ashes will take place in the woods above Roodt-sur-Syre on Friday, attended only by his wife Ann, the two children Sarah and Tom, and the parish priest. Sarah and Tom were able to travel out from England on Friday, but they both still hold Luxembourg passports and speak fluent French, which helped their passage across the border. On Saturday, a memorial mass will be held, for unlike in England, conditions in Luxembourg have been eased and churches are not closed to grief or silent reflection on a passing life, unlike here where the church remains barred and I had to spend a quiet moment in the ruined priory again.

Edwin has announced that he is determined to travel to Luxembourg to represent us at the service. He intends to travel by Eurostar, hoping to persuade the authorities of the essential nature of his journey. Now, he is coming over with Andre to collect his passport and funeral attire. He has a letter stating that theirs is an essential journey, so now they have booked their rail tickets and car hire. Hotels in Luxembourg also are open for business, so they have booked that too and will stay two nights over there. He has never driven abroad before, but Andre still has his Brazilian licence, so they've booked the car in his name.

It was good to see them again, though so briefly as we passed the things to them, including the loan of my black tie. If anyone can make it through the bureaucratic jungle of restrictions, it will be Edwin, so we wish him safe journey.