Richard
As 2019 drew to its remarkable fortissimo coda, I tuned into Lockdown and thought about the great gift of, time and timing. As we all know, time has no master and costs us nothing but gives us so much. I am assured that it ticks away equally for everyone in the cosmos! Hummm…? You may not feel so, depending on how hard pressed you are when juggling occupations, daily chores, the family’s needs or leisure activities. [Note to self; I must try Stephen Hawkins’s book for the third attempt, to unravel the true meaning of time].
How each of us apportions that magical intermezzo differentiates us and brings incredible variety. On 20th December “retirement” arrived for me! The legal documents were signed and Richard Billington IFA Limited, the business which Debbie and I created and nurtured, had grown into a fully-fledged enormous enterprise of financial benefit to thousands of customers all over Britain and overseas. It was passed lock, stock and barrel to new owners. They also bought my trading name, my phone numbers and my business email! Many fears and some sadness flashed through my head as the deeds were signed in a Dickensian solicitor’s office on a rainy winter’s morning in Kettering. What was I doing???!!! Well, perhaps some clever maestro with a magical baton was conducting us. Had we waited till spring 2020 and covid, we would never have received such a spectacular agreement.
Naïve as I am, I thought that endless leisure lay ahead… mornings would stretch into afternoons reading and researching; maybe I would catalogue my science, and music books. [Note to self; must brush up on the Dewey Decimal system]. Perhaps I would luxuriate in full unrushed ecstasy with newspapers... I could enjoy Shakespeare once again with no essay to write afterwards! Maybe I would drift from Dante to Dostoyevsky via Flaubert - just because I had rediscovered time!
I would grapple, or so I thought, with the omniscient Stephen Hawkins et al. in my very own garden den! (A recent passion has been to drool over office retreats in colourful catalogues.) But Debbie has not quite given the green light. So I’m on a massive charm offensive! “More tea and cake dear? You rest; I will do the ironing! I’ll cook the roast for the family on Sunday. Shall I prepare something special for your mother at the weekend?”
But all that was wishful thinking. And so it came to pass that reality arrived with a frightful shock on December 21st!!! The ink had hardly dried on the solicitor’s documents when Debbie produced a sheet with at least 40 essential jobs around the house and gardens! Winter grudgingly crawled, molto adagio, through January and February as I diligently worked through the jobs. Occasionally, brief spells of late mornings, with a 7.30am start, were permitted... What luxury!
There was no Praetorian call of cuckoo in March or April. Glorious May lulled us into a false sense of security and we decided to tackle a very big job from the list! We removed a section of our house wall - the bit with a dodgy dpc!!! The bricks were low quality and probably seconds when the house, Admiral Rodney, was built in 1770 ish. Deconstruction is easier than construction especially with a percussion Jack-hammer. So we confidently removed parts of the wall to the foundations! The builder would come by later and do the fiddly bits with a trowel. After two months he hasn’t arrived! It’s no calamity though. Fingers crossed, the place still stands yet the holes do look shocking.
One of our most enjoyable pastimes is long distance walking. In previous years we’ve completed dozens of walks in the UK, plus trekking around the Shetlands, Orkney, the Isles of Scilly and the Isle of Mann. I know why Mendelssohn and Beethoven walked so much. I know why Elgar loved the Malvern Hills.
We have lots more treks to do in the UK. At present we have reached south Nottinghamshire on the 280 mile Macmillan, Cross Britain Way - Boston to Barmouth.
Those billiard table flat fields in Lincolnshire grow great potatoes.
As we ploughed on, I also heard quite a few larks ascending. But it was DRY. In early May we watched enormous dust bowl clouds swoosh across the landscape as in Steinbeck’s Grapes of Wrath... withering, wilting and as dry as a camel’s hoof. Molto secco or what!!! Now, we’ve reached the lush Vale of Belvoir with its stunning scenery especially when viewed from the high foresters’ path through the woods, beyond the castle. The beeches there are enormous! As we walked, Peter and his wolf could easily have slipped out of the dense undergrowth and loped behind us to a rhythm from Tchaikovsky. They didn’t show!
Debbie has a fast staccato walk with a rapid unceasing cadence. Years of chasing scouts and guides across Britain has toughened her sinews. However, my gait is mostly largo with frequent passages of allargando via diminuendo. “Do keep up husband. You’re half a beat behind again!” is the regular imperative from the leader. “… just taking in the scenery dear…”
In my youth, when knees were strong and ankles firm, I was a Morris Dancer! (OK; no comments please!) Sometimes I was a step – half a beat, behind the side during a dance. The lads made allowances for me. One of the special calls was: “Richard’s left!” which actually means go right. Those days were great fun when muscles were as taut as violin strings.
Did I tell you that I have danced for her Majesty and spoken with her? Remind me to tell you about “…Manchester…” over cake on a Saturday morning.
OK, back to bricks and putting our house together again. Foxton is surrounded by the influences of bricks and brickmaking. Our neighbour’s house, Kiln Orchard, was a brickyard. There were a number of kilns and clay pits nearby. The resulting Foxton slims are delightful to lay with no sharp edges. They have an orangey red colour. Foxton’s beautiful bricks went from our very own village wharf to Kings Cross Station to enrich that remarkable Victorian masterpiece.
Most gardens in Foxton have orchards too. The heavy clay is excellent for fruit trees. We have some old apple varieties and of course, Victoria plums. Sorry choir … the plums only last for the first three weeks of August and we don’t meet then!
Now where is that job list? Ah yes; I can tick off another. Only 39 to go! So it’s happy days ahead for us in retirement.