Wheels of Fire Since being a young girl in North Devon sixty years ago, when I thrilled to the excitement of Barnstaple Fair every September, my constitution has developed a powerful dislike of roller coasters. So the events of the last couple of days have done nothing to keep me in a state of equilibrium. Thursday morning saw Julia and me bowling along the M5 to visit Tom Lower at Chelston Motorhomes. After metaphorically prostrating myself for such a long time, Tom’s agreement to lend us a motorhome for the duration of the Granny Trek had set the excitement generator in motion. The outcome of the meeting was more than we had dared to hope – a beautiful vehicle, available from one week before set-off, complete with fuel costs and unlimited publicity. Added to this is Tom’s intenion of running the Taunton Half Marathon, where he will be encouraging all and sundry to join him in nominating their charity as Granny Trek for Children’s Hospice South West. We fairly flew back up the motorway, wheels barely touching the road! On Friday, my mother died. Since her 95th birthday party in November, we had become increasingly aware of her failing health. I was with her at 1-20 in the morning as she slipped away peacefully. In almost a century, her indomitable spirit had fuelled a multitude of joys and sorrows. Family was her raison d’etre and her cruelest blows were the loss of my dad and two brothers. Freddie died of meningitis at the age of 15 months, over seventy years ago, so she was deeply impressed by the work of Children’s Hospice South West. When Tony and I started the Jogle fund in 1995, Mum’s was the first cheque to be paid in, and recently she started off the Granny Trek account. As she didn’t want a lot of money spent on flowers at her funeral, we are requesting donations to Granny Trek CHSW instead. |