St Helena Day Part 1

Yesterday was the 511th anniversary of the discovery of this mad rock by the Portuguese. It was St Helena's Day. St Helena was mother to Constantine the Great and is patron saint of new discoveries and is traditionally credited with discovering the relics of the True Cross. 

 

The day started with the police and the Scouts, Cubs, Beavers, Guides, Brownies, and Rainbows parading down the main street.

Tall Girl was amongst the Brownies and loved it.

They joined in a little thanksgiving service lead by the Bishop.

I love the formality of his robes with the rock and roll background!

HMS Black Rover is in port visiting and was all decked out with bunting.

After a short pause for a cuppa, next up was the novelty sports. A relay sack race with the sack as the baton, 

tyre rolling relay,

three men on a pair of skis,

tug of war,

wheel barrow race with real wheel barrows, and sadly, I failed to get a snap of the dressing up race!

A sit in the shade to get over all the excitement. Pick your tipple: a nice cold beer, a frappe special (iced coffee with ice cream in the top) or a stick of candy floss.

I shall save the float parade, ladder challenge and fireworks for tomorrow...

xx

Silent Sunday: Fairies return to fairyland

 

xx

Log cabin knitted blanket ta-da!

I used every last scrap of yarn and I love it.

 

I love my new shoes too.

It is pretty much square, but strangely baggy in the middle.

It is soft and warm and sunny,

and will make a great lap blanket.

Three beautiful things: log cabin lap blanket, poinsettia reaching it's full potential and Tall Girl with very long legs.

A poinsettia is for life, not just for Christmas...

xx

A waste of a garden!

One of the things I really miss about the UK, and our chosen place in it, is my garden. 

 

Indeed, when this little blog began, it made up half of the subject matter. 

We are very much aware of how lucky we are to have come on this amazing adventure to this description-defying place...

but that doesn't stop you missing some of the things you left behind.

Our house here is surrounded by lots of lovely green space, but it is not a garden, or rather it is not my garden, and there are very few flowers.

Last weekend, my Dad (who is visiting), Giant Baby and I went somewhere where there were lots of lovely flowers.

 It is a bit of a weird place because usually you are not allowed down among the flowers.

Instead you are required to keep a respectful distance.

But this was a special occasion so I gloried in all the fabulous floriferousness.

You see, it was the anniversary of the death of Napoleon, and we gathered with the great and the good and the curious at his tomb.

Or, rather at the tomb that had once been his.

You see, he now has a much grander (and slightly weird looking) affair in Paris.

His body was repatriated some 25 years after his arrival in St Helena, and 19 years after his death.

He chose the spot in St Helena himself, and chose well.

It is in a lush, green valley which looks North and a bit East, towards his beloved France.

They strung up a suitably mournful flag for the occasion.

And wreaths were laid without even a hint of a giggle. (I would have giggled).

 

Then, after the formalities, the congregation, for want of a better word, were invited down into the normally out-of-bounds graveside garden. I think we were supposed to pay our respects, but it turned into a bit of a garden party.

 

No champagne though, which was a shame.

xx