Two Nations Divided By An Uncommon Sentiment

A strange thing happened to me last week. It was quite surprising although not unpleasant. Two merican gentleman had taken the tour on HMS ALLIANCE and in conversation afterwards, it transpired that they were over here for a month or so, visiting sites with a D-Day history and would finally end up in France. As we talked and I told them a little about the HOLLAND 1, they asked about the guides and I told them we were all volunteers. They asked how long I'd served in the Royal Navy and I replied that it was for 32 years. "Thank you for your service", one of them said.

A quite un-British thing to say.

We've just bought a fantastic new Zanussi fridge.

It cools all the way to absolute zero. How cool is that?

Generations

This past Sunday was a day of generations at the Royal Navy Submarine Museum. I worked with a man who was on board HMS BELFAST as it undertook the bombardment during the D-Day landings at Normandy in 1944; guided visitors on a Cold War submarine, talked to submariners who were on HMS CONQUEROR when it sank the ARA Belgrano during the Falklands War in 1982, and worked with a young man who's been patiently waiting to join the Royal Navy at HMS Raleigh for several months despite knowing that others who join up quit within the first week because they find the training too hard.

THE ROYAL NAVY SUPPORTING ALLIED FORCES 

IN NORMANDY, JUNE 1944. Starboard 4 inch guns of 

HMS BELFAST open fire on German positions 

around Ver-sur-Mer on the night of 27 June 1945.

Sharkey's World: "Black Buck" Documentary

Sharkey's World: "Black Buck" Documentary: “Black Buck” Documentary – “fiction, of course”. By Lester May (Lt Cdr RN – retired: HMS Hydra 1980-83) Camden Town, London. “Full ma...

Sunday Evenings

I'm beginning to dislike Sunday evenings now I've been out of work for so long. The weekend is always a 2 day haven of peace because during that time I know I shan't have to be too concerned about financial matters, I haven't had to concern myself with rejections as the agencies will all be shut, and the pressure to look for work is eased. But as Sunday darkens and the evening draws on unhindered, my nervousness starts to build up again, for I know all those things will have to be dealt with at different times in the next 5 days. There are occasional escape routes such as when I go out for a run or when I do my voluntary work at the Royal Navy Submarine Museum - but those are small oases of peace. Some 'easy listening' music on  BBC Radio 2 first and then bed. Oh well.

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The Green Man

Today was a good day. Many, many people came to St Luke's Church, at the Royal Hospital Haslar to say goodbye to Steve Sharpe. His family, friends, field-gunners, Commandos, Medical Branch staff and combinations of all those were there. There are few people who were as friendly or as generous, and this was reflected in his wife's tribute.

In a way, it was a good day for Steve.. The demons - let's not mess around - the PTSD that had been affecting him as a result of the action on RFA Sir Galahad in 1982, and later an incident in Norway, and had caused him to take his own life, can never affect him again.. In that way it's good and we can now associate Steve with the Green Man - not the green of the Commandos, but a symbol of rebirth, and believe he's happily bimbling around some wood or forest. But without a 'house' on his back and a PRR.

This was the closing poem - a favourite of his mum-in-law:

Do not stand at my grave and weep,

I am not there; I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow,

I am the diamond glints on snow,

I am the sun on ripened grain,

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning’s hush

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circling flight.

I am the soft star-shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry,

I am not there; I did not die.

Moving on.....

Some Sunday Afternoon Thoughts

It's strange how the mind works. In this past week, I've finally sorted out my business accounts (with the help of a Quickbooks expert), I've attended one interview, have one booked and hope to get a third. And since all that has come to pass, I feel a little more relaxed, a little less anxious. Weekends are always easier but this is a much stronger feeling.  What a pleasant and novel sensation.

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I attended my interview as an London 2012 Olympics Games Maker yesterday afternoon - a volunteer helper in everyman language. My brief and easy interview was undertaken by a lesbian ex-Israeli army sergeant tank instructor who works for McDonalds. Who'd have thought?

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A friend ended their life this week. Whilst it became necessary for them to separate from their partner because of the effects of their troubling condition, their love for each other was, never  has been, in doubt. My friendship developed over a few short weeks, and was curtailed by 2 distinctly separate careers. We met a couple of times over the following 25 years and that friendship seemed to persist. I met the partner but once having tried to help at a troubling time. Since the suicide I see their posts on social media and I wish I could help more.
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I'm edging back into my running again, and it's almost enjoyable! (I have a place in the 2012 Virgin London Marathon). I seem to have got into a habit of running in the dark in the early evening. It seems to make the run shorter but sooner or later, as I up the miles, and as the days get longer, I'm going to have to venture, blinkingly, into the daylight. It just means a change of a barely formed habit. All do-able.
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Friendship's an odd thing. You can meet someone for a short period and then go your separate ways for many years and yet be permanent friends. Other friends come along and the friendship endures over many good years, and you see them intermittently but enjoy the time you spend with them, and wish those opportunities were more frequent. But then there are those people with whom one strikes up a friendship, who are likeable and whose company one enjoys and then you find out they're not quite who they say they are. It's clear it's a pathological thing that makes them fabricate but does that make them any less likeable? Time spent is enjoyable and a break from the routine and provided they don't perpetuate the stories they've spun, it seems churlish to cut the tie, even though one has been misled.