Preparing for Passover this year I am remembering last year when daughter, son in law, grandson and niece moved into the barn rooms for a duration of 13 weeks. When they arrived, cars full of food, laptops and clothes, none of us knew what was going to happen. At times it felt like the end of the world. Roads and skies became quiet and we closed the front gate unsure of when and how we would open it again. Amidst the lockdown we began Passover preparations and daughter and son in law rolled up their sleeves, planned menus, cleaned the kitchens and began to cook. We were amongst the few who were able to share the Seder nights with some of our family. Many spent those two special meals alone, lit their candles, ate their unleavened bread and drank the symbolic four cups of wine. We really understood the age old question recited at the Seder table by the youngest child present (or by a solitary celebrant), “Mah Nishtanah halayla hazeh? Why is this night different from all other nights?”

This year daughter, son in law and grandson will be preparing and eating the Passover meals in their own home. We will be joined by our son and our younger grandchildren – our bubble. Granddaughter has been practising the Mah Nishtanah with her mother and we look forward to the pleasure of hearing her recite the verses in Hebrew.

Today, after a week of careful cleaning, lining cupboards and changing pots and pans, I have begun the Passover cooking. The hens, bless ‘em, produce plenty of eggs and there are vegetables in the garden and the last of the garlics, onions and potatoes from last year’s harvest.

Plenty more food to cook and freeze or refrigerate before Friday including this home grown and very strong Maror (horseradish) which we eat grated in unleavened bread and also covered with Charoset (a sweet paste made from almonds, wine and apple) to remind us of the bitterness of our enslavement under pharaoh in Egypt and of the bricks we had to produce daily – perhaps the ones that built the pyramids.

A friend alerted me to an obituary that appeared in The Guardian yesterday. Forty three years ago we lived in a tiny hamlet, Stoneshill, in Devon. One of the four houses was designed, built and occupied by two very special people and they became friends as well as neighbours. Heather, wife and mother, was kind and clever and resourceful and enabled her creative and talented husband to become an internationally renowned ceramacist. Heather left this world in 2007 and her husband John Maltby, joined her in January. I only learnt this news yesterday. The Maltby home housed a studio and kiln which allowed John to work in a place that gave him peace and inspiration. I was privileged to see his work regularly when I would visit Heather for a cup of tea and a chat. I was young and a new mother and my own mother was far away. I was always made welcome. John used to sell his “seconds” from a small area at the front of the house. I bought many pots as did my mother when she visited us. We thought they were perfect pieces but they did not live up to John’s standards so we benefitted from these treasures.

The Maltby’s had their own two children and the daughter became our son’s babysitter as well as our young friend. When we moved to London I stayed in touch with Heather via twice yearly telephone calls and Christmas cards designed and printed by John. When my parents celebrated significant anniversaries I commissioned John to make them pieces and Jeremy was the recipient of two further works

Our son was rightly proud of the little boat that John made us when our baby was born

There is so much more that I could write. Take a look at John Maltby on wiki or read the obituary or appreciate his works online. His passing has allowed me to renew contact with John and Heather’s daughter. I am sure that we will, in months and years ahead, share many happy and special memories.

Not the smallest British bird (that’s the gold crest) but it is the shortest and in proportion to its size it has the loudest song of any British bird. click below for it’s song

Stealing sandwiches, climbing the rafters in the barn

And finally, sitting quietly (near Mabel) in the pergola admiring the hanging baskets that Jeremy planted up today