At friends

Boysie, our friends' fox terrier, has gone to the great kennel in the sky and a new angel statue has been added to the dog cemetery for him. After the recent construction of their garden room the ground was barren so I came over with surplus plants from my garden to improve matters.

The weather was good enough for us to lunch out of doors.

I love this sort of easy time spent with friends, with their good food and good-humoured  conversations

 a certain amount of teasing

and comfortable lazing.

Then something was spotted something coming up the channel

and there was a rush for cameras

and binoculars

What is it that the tugs are pulling?

We'll never know!

A Moment in Time

Last week we traveled north for the funeral of my husband's uncle, the last male relative of that generation. After the 2nd World War he had lived for about ten years with his elder sister, my mother-in-law, and family, so he seemed as much an elder brother as he did an uncle. He'd been a rear gunner in Lancaster bombers during the war, a 'tail-end Charlie'. Although the war years were only a few in a long life it is significant that the photo used for his memorial service was of Ron in his airforce uniform.

He was certainly more fortunate than many of his wartime companions. Thoughts of Uncle Ron's experiences prompted me to read H.E. Bates, 'A Moment in Time' which is set in Southern England in 1940. It describes the lives of a group of young fighter pilots and is a love story. H E Bates was a knowledgable gardener and countryman and his knowledge is very evident in this book, which makes it a bonus for me.  It's a period piece and rather sentimental but I enjoyed it.

Corfu's deserted village

We have visited Old Peritheia a number times over the years. On the first occasion the village was utterly silent with a mass of wild flowers underfoot and yellow butterflies in the air. It was quite magical.

So I was irritated at first to find a car park and a restaurant with it's extractor fan making a great din in this formerly peaceful place.

But the sight of a veg garden always cheers me up, especially one with a chair and a table with checked tablecloth!

A beekeeper was at work

and once away from the restaurant all was quiet.

The houses are slowly disintegrating.

It's possible to peer inside

but no longer safe enough to enter.

Ceilings and floors have collapsed since our last visit.

This is my favourite house.

Take a closer look.

When you stand on the veranda there is a cooling breeze that wafts from up the valley.

It must have been a beautiful home.

It saddens me to see it disintegrating.

But perhaps there's hope. Other houses are in the process of being restored. Perhaps 'my' house will get the same treatment before it's too late.

Back to the coast for a swim. We used to holiday for many years in a little place just above this beach and were last here about fifteen years ago. The taverna is now twice the size but otherwise little has changed.

Then along the road to the supermarket to be hugged and kissed by the owners. "Why so long?" they wanted to know. We bought some of their delicious honey.

I stopped to photograph from the road that winds up out of town.

It was a very nostalgic trip!

Agios Marcos

I love this small village and at one time thought about buying a house here. When I talked about it with an English woman who was married to a Corfiot she said, 'don't, it's slipping down the hill.' Many of the houses are deserted. I last looked around in the spring of 2003 when I took this photo.

It prompted the following poem.

TWO KILOMETRES

Two kilometres lie between the village on the hill

and the coastal strip where they strip

and turn and burn acres of flesh a worrying pink

colour-matched to the inflatables on display

outside the tourist shops.

In the village soft pink flowers against pink walls.

Over-ripe lemons lie rotting on the ground.

An insect hums.

Only a current of air moves through these empty homes

and an orange butterfly.

Shutters collapse,

paint peels.

The bare bones of old stonework glimpsed

through fig and walnut, peach and almond trees.

Silence has fallen like enchantment

on this village on the hill

and it is still

only two kilometres from the coastal strip.

On this trip nothing much had changed, this doorway had been  repainted, a few more houses are occupied, but the gates to the church yard were locked, presumably because the bell tower is no longer safe, and the houses that remain unoccupied are in an ever more fragile state.

I think it's a beautiful place.