The Second Christmas

I am constantly surprised to find how nice everyone is being to me. This is certainly true of my new colleagues at Newport, although I have found that the bureacratic process  of 'onboarding,' as they call it,  envelopes people in a slew of arcane forms and processes so dense that you end up signing everything, not really knowing whether you are buying a new cruise missile or joining the coffee club. It's the same for the locals, only my being British adds a new circle in this administrative hell of mystery. Yesterday I was told that I had somehow accumulated no less than three different personnel files and that their big task now was to work out how to merge them. But anyway so far, the rest of it has been fun, although US working practises (and competition for car parking spaces)  means that I am usually in my office by 0730 !

One morning though, the first rotating set of Cherry pictures mysteriously disappeared off my computer screen one day (this is the sort of thing that often happens in the interactions between me and computers- and in fact almost any kind of mechanical device; I am convinced that they smell fear), but over this second Christmas without her, Simon installed another set, mainly of pictures taken during our various trips abroad over the past 10 years or so.  Now I am, for the time being at least, partly  living  'abroad', here in Newport Rhode Island, they underline the uncomfortable difference between then and now.  One of the most obvious of these is the lack of somebody on site to talk to when one comes up against the malign bureaucracy that is still hounding me, this time over complications on driving licences and car registration, a situation which I don't intend to dignify with an explanation, but which actually ended happily - with my getting the necessary driving permit. Being on one's own means not having someone to share troubles with. I realise, of course, that a lot, and indeed a growing number of other people are in this predicament, but after 50 years of  marriage it's still a very new sensation for me - and quite an eye-opener into an aspect of human life I simply hadn't been aware of before. Very sobering !

                However, being alone wasn't an issue over this second Christmas without Cherry, since in the three weeks or so

that I was back in the UK, it was a matter of constant socialising that was partly professional with work at Kings, the launch of a friend's book on the Battle of the River Plate at Boodle's and a trip to the Staff College in Brussels. This latter was enlivened by the simultaneous presence in Brussels of Mrs May who was trying to improve the EU's offer of a parting deal with the UK. My Metro stop is right underneath the Berlaymont building, the headquarters of the EU Commission. This was in a state of a total security lock-down with loads of armed police and barricades all over the place. A substantial diversion was needed for me to reach my destination. Outrageously, I had to take my coffee-and-croissant breakfast in a different cafe. One gathers that Mrs May got even less out of it. But I was intrigued to see my latest grand-daughter's fame had spread such that the Bruxelloise had named a street after her. Maybe expecting her to become a ballerina like her cousin ?

                Such excitements apart, by far the majority of interactions were with the family. The most unusual aspect of this was when we all converged on Ely Cathedral and the Bishop's Palace to participate in a service of remembrance for those who lost their lives in the disastrous battle of Heligoland in December 1939 when the RAF tried to attack the German fleet in daylight and got badly hacked about in the process. Granddad Austin was one of the survivors, fortunately for the rest of us and his memoire was bitter about the thinking behind it. We had fun linking up with the descendants of other RAF people in the raid and comparing photos and stories. We learned a few things about Granddad that were new to us and which will go into the grand family history, when it eventually gets done. The cathedral itself is quite magnificent and looking up at someone looking down at us from one of the openings of the famous lantern far above us was most unsettling !

The organisers also had more than a touch of the theatrical about them, for part-way through the ceremony an RAF bomber crew, dressed for the part, emerged out of the shadowy north aisle and walked wearily and in complete silence through the congregation as though on their way back from the raid. It was eerily effective. The next commemorations of this event will be next year, 2019, of course.

                I spent a bit of Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with Philippa, Chiff and the kids, which was great. The Christmas eve family service was another eye-opener for me, with any number of little shepherds roaming the aisles and, the following morning, deeply impressed by Barney and Martha's self restraint in keeping back some presents to open later at Wansdyke  Otherwise I was at home hosting a sequence of family visits, spread across virtually the whole holiday period. It was very busy but absolutely wonderful. Violet whose cries had for a while enlivened the lunchtime proceedings at the Bishop's palace but who was very good in the Cathedral itself (where the echoes would surely have been irresistible) has grown at a speed I had frankly forgotten about and was clearly one of the stars of the season.  Already she's adept at unwrapping parcels. We sent a video of this to the American friends who had sent her Hattie, her second Teddy (Mine was the first of course).  Ann and Mike, Chiff's parents spent the New Year with us which was nice. Otherwise it was a question of

 

constant wrapping and unwrapping of presents, crackers and party-poppers, feasts variously provided, meals out at the King's Arms (necessitated by my lamentable lack of cooking skills), and much needed healthy walks in the hills and along the canal, whatever the weather. The festive season included an excursion to Lacock with Christopher and Beth and a trip from Burgess Hill to Shoreham a place we all thought totally bizarre, especially the weird collection of houseboats along the River Adur constructed out of  old torpedo boats, busses and apparently anything else found lying around, some of which seem to fetch a princely sum these days - in excess of £300,000.

 

                To this combination of festive events, I need to add no less than five social occasions in the village (a party at Louise's, a meeting of the Friends of the Church to hear about the consequences of the theft of the lead from the roof - now recovered from a wrecked and stolen car which couldn't take the weight (what absolute idiots these people must be - £40,000 costs for no gain at all)); a supper at the King's Arms; a carol service followed by drinks at Rosie's; and another party with the Martins. It really was all go....

                All this all probably explains why life felt a little flat here in Newport and maybe in need of a little reflective quiet rather than struggles with the Rhode Island Division of Motor Vehicles! My professional adherence to the absolute truth means I have to tell this story against myself, though I had meant to conceal it in the best academic traditions. A colleague kindly took me to Cranston, 40 minutes away,  just southwest of Providence. For reasons too complicated to explain, my temporary plates had expired on the car and I needed a chauffeur for such a long 'public' journey (instead of scurrying guiltily from home to college in the early morning and evening dark which is what I have been doing). We arrived at 0800 to find nearly a hundred yards of anxious locals queuing up in the open  to get in the building when it opened at 0830. When I eventually got to the requisite desk I found that I had forgotten to bring the paperwork with me ! Rarely I have felt so mortified and stupid !! There it was on the breakfast table back home. Very salutary. My colleague said he had enjoyed it all so much we did it again the following morning only arriving even earlier. This time everything went according to plan, until the moment one lady was about to print off the first stage of the application process, when the whole system went down throughout the country. (Nothing to do with President Trump's shut-down, apparently). Everything was lost and once they'd got it up and running again half an hour later, I had to go through it all a second time. Then on to stage 2 - the written exam. This was a cracker - (40 questions - multiple choice - on a computer that hated all foreigners, inevitably). How many teenagers die every year in the US  because of drunken driving ?  What does Rhode Island state law say about 7 year old children on booster seats ?  What does veloticising mean ? Etc etc. Towards the end I was just plain guessing but was delighted and rather surprised to find that I had passed. I had already been put into a start of mild alarm by so many officials there wishing me good luck. So I am now legal again, or very nearly so and the garage can get on with getting my permanent car plates. But I emerged feeling as though I had been through a wringer - like most other people I noticed ! I must remember when I get back to the UK next week that things are a bit different there.