Today is sunny again after yesterdays heavy rain, which is good, because this afternoon a man is going to go up on our roof to see why our chimney liner bangs in the wind. he wanted to go up last night at ten o’clock (in the rain, in the wind, with a torch that wasn’t working)and I think invoking the dreaded health and safety was for once quite in order. If all goes well we will be able to light a fire for the first time this year on Friday when the hearth cement dries out. Only a month later than the firm originally promised. And I will be able to get all the books back in the sitting room, and roll back the carpet and take off all the dust-sheets. Winter can start.
Of course all this dealing with tradesmen takes a toll on the work, which is heading nicely towards the concept stage (ie no actual words written yet)and so does family history.
This photo is of Grace Dieu House, which has figured in family history since my great-grandmother’s time.
I discovered last week that my great-great-grandfather, who features in The Green cliffs of Moher was on the White Star Line ship The Atlantic which went down in March 1873, with the biggest loss of life at sea right up until the Titanic.And I’m still digesting the profound impact of seeing where I came from – both country and people. It explains so much, fills in so many gaps, makes sense of so many anomalies. It would be too much to say I felt I’d come home – I didn’t. But it showed me the sub-conscious bench-mark I’ve carried with me for what home should be like.
