Farewell Joyce

My comrade Joyce Sharp passed away over a week ago and I attended her funeral on Sunday.

Joyce was a old style Woodcraft Folk member. Socialist, vegetarian, a peace activist. She had met Peter, her husband, at the 1946 Woodcraft Folk International camp on Ovingdean Hill near Brighton, a stones throw from my home. They married shortly after and settled in Kingston, just a short walk across the downs from me.

When I was first a Woodcraft leader, we only had 3 groups in our district and Joyce and Peter, who owned a fruit farm, used to let us camp in their orchard... I think most of the Sussex folk did at one time or another. There was never any feeling of property from them. They genuinely welcomed us to share their space. Socialism was a part of their daily lives, I wonder if they even thought about it, it seemed so ingrained.

I didn't know her really well but I always felt I knew her more than I actually did, if that makes any kind of sense? And Peter too. A marvelous couple. But Joyce always talked to you as if she'd only been chatting with you a few days before. It could be a little disconcerting. I remember she told me she'd been "given the all clear" at one point... I hadn't even been aware she was unwell.

Joyce's coffin was made of green cardboard, and decked with Woodcraft Folk stickers and words like "Pax" and "Peace", to which origami peace cranes had been glued. Her coffin was laid out in the summer house, amid photo's, folk shirts and other memories of her life. The final photo was a large black and white image, blown up. Joyce's face showed the lines that younger women try to hide. But her jaw was set and determined and yet her eyes twickled with that sense of fun I often witnessed in her.

At the appointed time we made our way up the slightly climbing path to her place of rest. She was being buried on the land. There were so many people there. Young and old. WI, peace activists, Woodcraft Folk, Labour Party, family and friends. I was at the back of the crowd and it was hard to hear the orations. Some had voices that carried, others voices thin and reedy, I couldn't make out. The rain drizzled down occasionally.

Eventually I climbed the bank so that I could hear the speakers. All spoke of Joyce's warmth, stubborness, creativity and love. It was hard to believe she'd departed and I would never see her again. She was lowered into the ground, and I felt the lump in my throat. I quickly looked away. I didn't feel I had the right to weep when her family were being so stoic. I looked up to the horizon and saw the downs folding across my vision. And I thought how Joyce would have loved this spot. I mean who wouldn't?

A fire was lit and more songs were sung. A group of us said our goodbyes and offered our condolences to Peter. He introduced me to Brian Morris- an academic who has just published a book on Ernest Thompson Seton. I thought how typical of Joyce and Peter that I should meet him at their home, on this day. We walked together to the Jugs for a drink and for half an hour I was absorbed in discussions on the early woodcraft movement. Maybe it makes me shallow, but I grasped the opportunity to avoid feeling my heavy heart and the dread that one day it might be me saying farewell to Kaz.

That evening before I feel asleep, I made Kaz promise me she wouldn't pass away before me. Kaz as ever had the answer and said rather romantically and unrealistically, that we'd die together...

IO, IO its off to work I go

Busy week. On Tuesday I had to get up at 4am to travel across to south Wales to represent a member. The journey involved Brighton to London to Newport to Abergavenny on the train, taxi to Brecon and pick up there to Stenybridge.

Wales. What a beautiful country! Wet, but beautiful. I'd forgotten how incredible the scenary is. The last time I was in Brecon was 18 years ago when Jo was two, and we had a holiday there. Its a different kind of beauty to the Sussex downs; harder, more exposed, the hills almost gaunt. Whereas the downs of Sussex embrace you like a lover.

The same day I then had to retrace part of my way, go up to Banbury via Oxford where one of the PCS Instructional Officer Group picked me up and drove me to Kineton. Our committee was meeting there the following day. So I stayed the night in the officers' mess. Most of the committee made the journey so that we could crack on early the following day.

Officers' messes are strange places for civilians. All the lads are ex services so they're kind of used to the "military" ethos. I wonder if I will ever get it? Kineton MoD site is partly built on the site of the battle of Edgehill (1642), so the mess has armour, weapons and prints of the battle all over the place, including a model of a New Model Army regiment in a glass case. Drinks are always ridiculously cheap in a mess- 60p for a gin and tonic! Needless to say as the evening wore on we all got a little bleary eyed. Tom's eyes were on stalks, H was slurring and winding Tom up about being a Tory, Tom kept offering me viagra! These lads are as "rough as fuck" as KC likes to remind us. "But that's why," as KC further remarks to me, "you fit in with us!"... I can't argue with that.

The following day a few of us went across to the site of the battle of Edgehill which is situated on MoD land. Aparently the land is haunted. There are stories of guard dogs not being willing to go into certain areas of the site... Anyhow,

...THE BATTLE

King Charles marched from Shrewsbury toward London with his newly raised army. Essex marched out to meet him, with the express task of making sure the king did not reach the capitol. They met near Edgehill, a few miles from Banbury.

The two armies were of approximately the same size; about 14,500 men. The Royal cavalry under Prince Rupert and Lord Wilmot pushed back the wings of the Parliamentary army, but in the centre the royal troops were themselves badly mauled.

After only three hours of hard fighting neither side was able to make headway, and they broke off the fight as darkness descended. Essex considered his army too badly pulled damaged to resume the fight next day, and he pulled back his men to Warwick, leaving the road to London open to Charles' army.

The Result

Although neither side at Edgehill could claim a decisive victory, the result was that Charles "won" in so far as the road to London was now open to him. However, Charles did not take advantage of his opportunity.

His natural caution asserted itself, and by the time his troops reached Reading, Essex had regained London and a fresh force of men prevented any further royalist advance. Charles never again had so clear an opportunity to take London as he did after Edgehill.

Wankered in Woodingdean

Funny ol' week really.

There was the snow for starters, and the angst of "Do I, don't I go to work"? Its not always recognised that Woodingdean, sitting on top of the South Downs, like Smaug on his treasure hoard, is subject to localised weather! I've left Woodindean in thick fog on occasion and boarded the bus, only to find the weather totally different in the valley.

There's been some sort of flu thing going around. I had it, now the rest of the family has had it, the lucky last contestants being Jo and Kaz. Kaz has soldiered on in the way she does...imagine the scene. Kaz is involved in a serious industrial accident that involves chopping her arm off....

"Oh it ok, I just seem to have severed my arm off at the elbow. Yeah, its a bit painful...I suppose I should go to the hospital but I really have to go into work for the team meeting today."

"Kaz!" I reproach her. "Its your fuckin' arm! Its hanging off! Blood is splattered everwhere! I really think you should consider not going into work today!"

"Oh stop being so melodramatic. I'm sure another one will grow back in a few months or so."

Whereas Jo seems to think she can muscle in on us lads territory and has come down with a virulent strain of man flu.

On Friday night the Goddards and Madam X came over to the wild frontier (Woodingdean) for something to eat, and perhaps more importantly, something to drink. It probably wasn't a brilliant call on my part. Chris, the "poppet" plasterer- recommended by Madam X, had been at our house today. After he left, there was a film of plaster dust everywhere! Kaz was on a mission. We had to clean all the downstairs rooms, sweep, wash the floors, clean the frigging bogs... and on top of that cook a meal! "Why the fuck did I come up with this bright idea," I muttered as I washed the tide mark off the bath, "and come to think of it, why can't the bloody kids (huh! 20 and 15 year olds in particular) clean the poxy bath??!!" Kaz utilised her stock answer... "Because we're the adults and they're the children." OH FUCK RIGHT OFF! Its hardly bleedin' child labour is it?

Ty arrived, suited and booted. He's had man flu this week and looked a bit rough...even for him. Tina arrived separately, without Izzy. And latter Madam X, the most Luddish of all my comrades arrives too. She has a new mobile, but doesn't know how to swop sim cards (??) Apparently someone at work usually does it for her....

Mr G is initially glum ("I'm dying! No. No, really I'll just drink tea... Ok maybe just a glass of red with dinner." ) Three hours latter, he's standing up, gerating his hips, crooning into a whisk "I'm stoned in love with you."

Tina looks flushed...gin always does that to her.

Madam X sits slightly detached, finding the idiotic bahaviour of the rest of us quite amusing! She was wearing a very alluring perfume which I can't resist smelling, but as this involves touching her neck I feel I'm bordering on getting a slap...from either Kaz or Madam X, or both! I spray a little of the delectable liquid onto Kaz, aiming for the knap of her neck, but miss a bit and some gets into her hair!

Its always a nice evening when I get to hang out with Madam X and the Goddards. The evening finishes about 1am. Kaz crashes immediately our guests depart. Our bedroom door handle got busted earlier in the week and Honey has exploited the situation shamelessly to push the door open with her nose and curl up on the bed. Kaz lies in bed, eyes shut, a look of tranquilty on her face. I hear the pad of doggy feet, just as Honey is about to jump onto the bed, a voice cuts through the darkness "Get in your basket!" Before I can think, I'm half out of bed before I realise Kaz is shouting at the dog!