Author: Ellen Bell

I bagged up some clothes for the charity shop early this morning. I fold them neatly, wanting whoever eventually buys or receives them to find comfort in them. I feel better for such shedding. I like to have less rather than more. Always.

She gave up her royal privileges and her name and stepped back and then forward into a more prosaic life. Returning to her first love she became a music teacher in a primary school in Hull. It was a life of service that ended as she wished it, or so it seems. Perhaps I am being overly romantic. I hope it was. A good woman, I think. R.I.P.

He is wise and steady, where I am anxious and wavering. You’ve just got to live it, see it out. Those days. those hours. I am blessed. I know this. With so much. And because I am so blessed, that is, there is food and warmth and shelter and meaningful work, I have time to think like this. And dream and hope. And yet there is still greyness and disappointment. I just have to keep on, keeping on. That’s all. Until my rest.

They said on the news that one thousand people crossed The Channel on small boats yesterday. Is it a flood? It is hard to ingest such information amidst the fear generated by the right wing media and political parties. There must be a calm, intelligent way of managing this need to seek political asylum and a better life. Can we not talk about it rationally and come up with some long term peaceable solutions? Please.

He likes to do things for me, to solve my problems, if he can. It can make him a little irritable if this solving of problems doesn’t quite go to plan. An irritability that is usually projected onto me. I understand this trait better now. It comes from a generous spirit, a wish to give, to make things alright. And I love him for it.

And I am, fond of her. I want her to feel held, to know that she is thought about, and remembered by those who are not quite her family but have shared part of a life, brought together by a marriage that came later, when we were full grown. I have grown fond over the years. We have both mellowed and much has been experienced. I wish her well. Always.

I called him. He sounded less care-worn. He told me that she’d gone into a home to give him some respite. Is she still there? I asked. Yes, he said, she’s stayed there. It was getting too much for him, he said. And other the other avenues they tried hadn’t worked out. She didn’t resist, apparently. But she’s fading faster.

She sent me a message to say that she’d ‘morphed’ into me. Her diet and her lifestyle had all undergone a radical change. She seems happier for it and I am glad. I’m not sure that I’ve ever been a role model for anyone. And I don’t think I’d want to be. My way of living isn’t an admirable one. It’s just a coping mechanism, that’s all. I wish her well, always.

It is coming. He did a comparison between sunrise now and sunrise at the end of September and then December. It is coming. All that blackness. Others have it worse. Always. And there are pleasures to be had. Aren’t there?

It’s undercurrent is palable. Rowan Williams in his article attempted to put it all into context. They’re just ordinary human beings like we are, he wrote. See that ordinariness. They are not the other, they are we and we are they. It is true. But fear has turned them into scapegoats. Let us not be blinded by fear. Let us see each and everyone’s humanity and, above all, be kind.