Wednesday.

Yesterday we motored across to Little port in Cambridgeshire to Ann's brother Michael's home, where we stopped, took photoes on front doorstep (top picture), changed me tie to a black one, got into Mick's car and went on six or seven miles north to Welney.
Went to the village Church for the funeral of an old family friend, Margaret Wilson. Got there early, and found ourselves a pew about halfway along the Church. A few minutes later a small family occupied the pew in front of us, one of them being a very elderly lady. Mick knew them better than we did (though if you grow up in a village you know the family faces) and introduced us, upon which the old lady shook my hand and said "Hello Michael. I went to school with your mother", then told me it would soon have been my mother's birthday, and how old she would have been, had she lived longer. For the benefit of Crowbard, the old lady was Linda, the last surviving daughter of Ernie Smith. After the service we walked across to the Lamb and Flag for a quick drink, and in the corridor met a very large and dignified old lady (built rather on the lines of the Albert Hall, and apparently of much the same vintage). She had a handsome, well chiselled face, and looked thoroughly distinguished. She, too, said "Hello Michael", then in the same breath "you and I used to play in the fields together when we were younger". This left me in something of a dilemma, as I'd no idea who she was, and the next few minutes took all my diplomatic skills to reply to her remark, and find out who she was, without revealing too clearly my complete non-recognition of her identity. I got there, though; and then remembered her very well (she was in fact some three or four years younger than I, and presumably still is). I challenge Crowbard to identify the lady on my description of her, always remembering that being nearer to her in age, he probably knew her rather better than I did. It was a strange sort of day. On leaving the pub I ran into another old friend (a bloke this time) who was an old school friend I hadn't seen in fifty odd years. I did recognise him, but only because I'd been talking to his daughter a bit earlier, She'd told me who she was, and who's daughter she was, then admitted to having had a bit of a pash for our son Jonathon when they were at junior school in the village; when I saw her next she was with her father. (Must remember to pull Jonathan's leg about this when I next see him). Then on to Phoebe's at Outwell for a very traditional tea (bless her). Back to Mick's, changed ties again, and out to supper at an Indian restaurant that he often frequents. Returned to his home, where we spent the night.

This morning in two cars to Bury St. Edmund's where we met up with Ann's other two brothers and their wives. To the refectory where we lunched (see above photo taken outside the Refectory). We then split up and strolled about Bury doing a little light shopping, and then met up again at three p.m. at the Angel Inn, shown in photo below, where we ordered a pot of tea for all of us, and Tim explained final details of Gran's small estate. Finally broke up the tea party just before five, and got back to our own home at sixish. Both feeling pleasantly tired, but have enjoyed what feels like a couple of days off. Feel as if I'm now typing like a light machine gun to fit whole, rather peculiar two days, in.

Goodnight All.