Snapshot: A gathering of the cousins on the Gower
Last summer, our three children and their cousins planned a holiday together on the Gower Peninsula at Hillend campsite overlooking Rhossili Bay. Seeing them in the picture, so reminiscent of family holidays shared there over the years, they look easy and familiar together. I felt proud and happy that they had chosen to spend this time in each other’s company, before setting off on their own separate paths of university, travel and careers.
Ranging in age from 14 to 22, they had gathered on this time away from all over the United Kingdom (Bristol, Brecon and the Isle of Skye). Anna, 11, was still a bit too young to join them on a holiday without adults.
There were adventures on this mini-break of which we, the parents, only heard edited versions: an epic journey in search of the Blue Lagoon, midnight swims in thunderstorms, and beach bonfires. We are still not sure how the car got that new dent ...
In 2013, they lost their lovely grandad, my father, who spent many happy family holidays playing with them on this very beach, jumping in the waves, sharing picnics and ice-creams. I feel that the cousins’ sense of family is Dad’s legacy – the importance of getting together, sharing music, meals and family fun.
Emma Trump
Playlist: Thoughts on the last days of the school run
Lose Yourself by the Script
“Look, if you had one shot or one opportunity / To seize everything you ever wanted. One moment / Would you capture it or just let it slip? Yo”
This morning we’ve spent our time haphazardly following the routine needed to get us into our beloved traffic jam to school. There is variety in each morning, but only in whether I ask you five times or four to brush your hair and wash your face. Inevitably, once safely in the car (yet again we forget to factor in defrost time) we realise that your coat/PE kit/random yet vitally important object is inside the house and more faffing commences until, finally, worn and weary, we hit the busy road to your primary school.
What happens next is this: the music goes on, the singing starts, all the world we pass is observed and critiqued, we discuss deeply and natter inanely. We label the regulars we see, creating entire lives for them. Currently, we have Sweater Man but we have previously enjoyed the daily obliviousness of Cuthbert the Geek, the Water Carrier on an early morning pub quest and Banjo, the cyclist with 11 children. We rock out to Frank Sinatra, Baka Gbiné, Mika and Les Mis and, like a pair who have sung together for ages, we know when to hold back and let the other’s vocals shine out.
We have slowly perfected the Eminem rap that you hope to use to impress your friends so they’ll vote you on to the school council. We discuss how the graphics on a van can work for or against its company, we translate numberplates in to 999 calls, play “Punch, yellow car!” and argue over the heater. Sometimes I let you help to change gear, or we practise your campaign speech to get the assembly songs changed.
You have rewarded me with many classic quotes over the years ... “Mum, I’ve a funny feeling that I was put on this earth by a giant hand. I think I am Jesus”; “Mum, year 6 have stopped using ‘gay’ as an insult – I think they’ve matured”, and when I asked how your day had gone that tricky time you insisted on wearing a dress to school, you said, “Fine, I just signed autographs for my fan club!”
This joyous time we’ve been trapped in sheet metal together is coming to an end. Secondary school beckons and you’ll bus there and back, having those laughs and silly moments with friend and foe. Goodness knows how you’ll get out of the door in time for that. But you will. And you will blossom.
Despite the nightmare that is having a kid at a non-catchment school, I’ll always be thankful that we had that shared experience. I cherish the time we’ve spent together and will miss your company in the car dreadfully.
Life should get easier in September. We’ll find other ways to watch the world, sing and be silly, but know that I’ve never regretted the decision or the fight to get you into your chosen primary school and maybe when you are older and I’m decrepit we can take that same journey again and reminisce, perhaps even sing along to some Frank.
Vix Ford
We love to eat: Fish pie with Grandma’s sauce
Ingredients
About 1kg potatoes, peeled and chopped
400g fish pie mix, ie fish of your choice
1 tbsp cornflour
2 tbsp butter
570ml milk
Grated cheese for topping
Boil the potatoes, ready to be mashed later for the top of the pie. Cook the fish as required – for example, poach for 10 minutes in milk. Make (Grandma’s) simple white sauce: in a small nonstick pan, using a wooden spoon, mix a tablespoon each of cornflour and butter, and 500ml cold milk. Put over a medium heat and stir with a whisk while it warms up and thickens.
Put the fish and the white sauce into a dish. Mash the potatoes with a little milk and butter and cover the fish mixture with it. Sprinkle grated cheese on top and cook in a moderate oven for about 30 minutes.
My daughters, aged four and six, will often whine, “I don’t like fish pie” when they find out that’s what we’re having for dinner … and then they eat it all up in five minutes flat. We haven’t persuaded the one-year-old to try it yet – today, she played with it, putting it into another bowl with her spoon, so perhaps we’re halfway there.
Once I put the bowl of cooked fish on top of the fridge (don’t ask me why, perhaps there was no worktop space left) and used the milk the fish had been poached in to prepare the white sauce, forgetting about the fish. I made the pie and served it to guests – none of us noticed, perhaps because the sauce was lumpy or maybe they were too polite to say anything. After everyone had gone home, I found the fish!
Kathy Richards
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