The Five Of Us

Tonight it is cool, almost cold with a brisk wind

The five of us settled in the living room together.

The fire is lit, and I have a blanket come homemade pashmina on

Chic Eleanor would be proud.

Mary is on the little grey arm chair in the corner

Roger is in front of the fire 

Dorothy is in her usual position next to me 

And Albert is perched on the back of the trendy blue Sofa next to my shoulder.

We sit in the dark , with only me watching Bake off.

The chubby Polish guy is sweet

Roger took himself to bed in his crate in the kitchen a few minutes ago 

Finally, he’s comfortable enough to make his own decisions 

 and he is truly home

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Frederick

 

In a corner of Cartmel Priory, I spotted this marvellous marble edifice. Carved in the late Victorian era, I naturally thought it was a tomb but it isn't, it's  a memorial to Lord Frederick Cavendish who was murdered in Phoenix Park, Dublin on the night of May 6th, 1882. His true grave is in St Peter's churchyard, Edensor near Chatsworth House in Derbyshire. He was buried on May 11th 1882 with thousands of mourners in attendance including some three hundred members of parliament.

So why the marble memorial at Cartmel? Well, near to Cartmel is a lavish country house called Holker Hall and it was where Frederick Cavendish spent much of his childhood. He was the second son of William Cavendish, the 7th Duke of Devonshire. Holker Hall was just one of the properties that this fabulously wealthy noble family owned.

Incidentally, when you follow the money trail back through time you  discover that the source of that wealth goes right back to the the eleventh century when William the Conqueror divided up the kingdom and doled out vast swathes of land to French noblemen and loyal supporters.

South of Sheffield, the names "Cavendish" and "Devonshire" are rooted in the landscape. You see them in pub and street names but of course they are mostly associated with Chatsworth House which even has its own signal colour - Chatsworth blue:-

That same colour also appears around Cartmel.

Chatsworth blue

Anyway, getting back to poor Frederick. He was a politician, close to Prime Minister William Gladstone and at the age of forty five he had only just been appointed as The Chief Secretary for Ireland.  Walking with a companion through Phoenix Park, he was set upon by militant Irish nationalists armed with knives. Those seven men were later brought to justice and hanged.

Lots of things happened in Britain in 1882 but on the political front the murder of  Lord Frederick Cavendish was surely the most momentous - sending shockwaves around the country. He might well have succeeded Gladstone as prime minister.

After one hundred and forty years, he has become a forgotten figure. I guess that is what the passage of time does. It blots out so much.

I have been in Edensor graveyard before but I plan to return in the near future to find Lord Frederick's grave. The last time I was there, I went to seek the grave of Kathleen Kennedy - sister of John F. Kennedy who married into the Cavendish family but was killed in a plane crash in 1948.

Lord Frederick Cavendish

(1836 - 1882)

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Young Dog New Tricks

 I got up early and after walking the dogs, Roger and I drove to Llandudno. I had to take my DBS paperwork in to HR and needed to complete my online mandatory training, something I cannot access on nights or at weekends as I needed the aid of their help desk. 

Roger proved to be a wow with the secretarial and managerial staff and after some initial nerves 

Slowly got used to the adulation, closing his eyes to the mew mews of the ladies .

I took him to the bedside of one patient who I had discussed his progress with.

Much is said regrading disclosing your private life to patients , but in the hospice some idle banter about ordinary things can often be a great leveller to patients undergoing stress towards their end of life.

I shared stories of Roger’s small adventures after coming to the cottage and she had offered me some sage advice of how to deal with a dog not blessed with a huge brain.

Like most of my Welsh who visited patients, Roger was gentle and inquisitive with my patient. 

He lay next to her, with his paws either side of her elbow and he let her pat his head gently with a boney hand without playing with the tie on her nightdress sleeve  which dangled before him

She coo cooed at him quietly, telling him how smart he looked and she didn’t turn her head away when a single tear ran down the side of her face beside her ear. 

Roger sniffed her face gently as she called out “ My sweet, sweet boy “ 

…and it was me who turned away and pretended I hadn’t noticed.

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