Roxton on Friday with the U3A and Roxton today with the Rothsay Ramblers. Another sunny autumn day with a stop at the thatched Congregational church, where the caretaker offered to open the building so that we could take a look inside.

The church was licensed in 1808 and set up in a barn by the Metcalfe family who owned the house and park on which the church is sited.

Prior to the founding of the church, the Metcalfe farm workers had to walk to St Neots if they wished to join in non conformist worship. Today the house and land are owned and farmed by the Bath family and the church is independent of the landowners

We carried on walking towards the weir where we came upon a quartet of environment officers who were checking the water level and wondering if it was safe to get into the river to clear the weir of silt and debris. We left them wondering.

From the weir back to the start of the walk, I chatted with a lovely woman who had also lived in North London before she moved to Bedford. An avid Tottenham fan, we talked football, mourned the loss of old style clubs and players and somehow or another got onto the issue of begging and homelessness in Bedford. She told me about the Street Angels who go out onto the streets of the town on Saturday night to help those who are drunk or have taken mind altering substances and need some sympathy and guidance. In their kit bags they carry bottles of water and pairs of flip flops? The flip flops are to give to the young women who may have fallen over, inebriated, and broken the heels of their shoes. The flip flops save their feet from pavements strewn with broken glass! You live and learn. Bless the angels.

I was so busy talking to new people that I didn’t take notice of the route and would be unlikely to be able to lead a walk in Roxton in spite of being a regular rambler there!

Sow in the poly tunnel in late spring, put outside in a holding bed in early summer and plant in position in August. Pick and eat in autumn. Two more cauliflowers ready to cook.

After the two minute silence at 11 am I drove mum home to London. Then it was a drive to little brother’s house where his friend and musician, Mark, announced that “I am playing a gig at your place In the spring”. That was news to me…..

Then I figured it out. We have agreed to host a fiftieth birthday party for a friend of brother and she has asked Mark and his band to play. Looking forward to it (I assume we will be invited as it takes place in our barn!). After a quick natter and cuppa it was off to N17 to play with two of the grandchildren. A treat indeed.

And an opportunity to inspect their olive tree which, this year, is smothered with green fruits which are now ripening and turning black. This gives me hope for our small specimens in the courtyard.

We met, this morning, in the country park in the village beside the silhouette of the silent soldier. The reverend read prayers and our friend, Bernie, movingly recited the poem “In Flanders Fields”, then the last post was played by the single bugler. Two wreaths were laid and we observed two minutes silence.

At home I looked at the photograph of my maternal grandfather, Charles Cohen, who volunteered at the age of 17.

He trained and was kitted out but, thank heavens, The Armistice was declared before he was sent to fight. My paternal grandfather, Sam Cohen, was older and did serve and fight and survived the terrible Battle of the Somme.

He returned a harder man, no more a boy, married and fathered his only child 9 years later. He rarely talked of his experiences but told my brother of sleeping in the trenches with rats running over him. He told me that he used his command of the Yiddish language to translate for the German soldiers that they took prisoner. My paternal grandmother, Sam’s wife, had met a boy during the Great War, years before she met and married Sam. This young New Zealand lad was on his way to fight in France, from where he sent her embroidered postcards.

He was killed in a foreign land, never to return, and so very far from his home. We remember all who served and we mourn the loss of life in that war and all wars.

A Saturday night Barn Dance at the village hall

Maybe it’s a mouse or even a rat…… no doubt Nigel will bring any prey to the back foot for our approval.

As I drove towards our rendezvous at Roxton I listened to the late Sandy Denny’s rendition of the folk song “The Banks of the Nile”. Truly worth a listen especially as we approach the centenary of The armistice. ‘Twas always thus with soldiers sent by governments and monarchs to fight in wars and die.

The church at Roxton was decorated with red poppies and flags to commemorate the “Great War” and the lives of those who fought and never returned. The poppies in the trees were made from plastic bottle and painted red and black, made by the pupils of the local Roxton school……may they never have to fight and kill and die.

We continued on our route with the river to our right and later a fishing lake to our left.

Such tremendous beauty in this green and pleasant land.

We passed the congregational chapel with its thatched roof. One of our group had preached there one Sunday some years ago, to a small group of ten elderly congregants. When he returned on another occasion there were only eight in the pews and he wondered what he had done wrong!

Further along three house boats were moored on the river and the wooden lean to, solar panel and wood piles on the banks led me to assume that they are homes as well as river vehicles. Romantic but probably chilly in the depths of winter.

Another wonderful walk – thanks to our route leader Jenny.

Mum had finished her breakfast so I allowed Nigel in to sit by the wood burner and keep mum company while I got myself ready for the U3A walk later this morning. I came downstairs and Nigel was licking what looked to be a bar of soap.

It was, in fact, a slab of butter. He had jumped onto the counter and opened the China butter dish and stolen its contents. Oh Nigel, when will you ever learn?