I was sitting in the kitchen, thinking about making a supper of the bread and cheese in front of me. I was alone, as I had been every night since Martha passed away, an empty age ago. I have often thought of moving somewhere more convivial instead of rattling around in this big, isolated, old, cold, damp farmhouse. Especially since Martha died here. But it’s where we had so many happy times together, and I’m not getting any younger, so here I stayed here, gradually fading into the stone walls.

Anyway, there I was by the kitchen table inwardly reminiscing about meals we’d shared, when I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye, over by the pantry door. I turned towards the activity, but only caught a flash of something small shooting across the flagstones, heading behind the big oak welsh dresser.

With patience learned through hard practise, I sat immobile watching where I thought the flash had taken refuge. My virtue was rewarded. A small wavering of the shadow showed something was emerging along the skirting from behind the dresser. After a couple of false starts, something crept out tentatively, looking around for any sign of danger. The “something” was definitely a small house-mouse. How it got up here all that way from the village is a matter of conjecture. It probably inadvertently hitched a ride on a delivery cart up from the village, with driver and passenger equally unaware of the other. I doubt if it could have made it overland with all those predators on the lookout for a tasty morsel in the depths of winter; and the weather has been bitterly cold too.

Its cautious creep turned into a headlong dash as it hugged the skirting back towards the pantry. Once there, it stopped again and looked around. Then, curiously, it turned towards me, almost as if it knew I was watching, and sat nonchalantly washing its face and whiskers. Ablutions complete, it turned and squeezed itself under the pantry door, its tail giving a disembodied wiggle before it followed its body out of sight.

I went through a series of emotions in a couple of heartbeats. A stunned surprise at its very existence. An indignity puffing up at its impertinence in invading MY home. An anger rising at the thought of it stealing MY food. But above all, a warm, if wry, amusement bringing a smile, the first for a long, long time.

And so I decided to be tolerant of the little interloper, for a while at least. That night I slept soundly.

The next day I began the process of making friends. A little bit of chocolate goes down very well with a house-mouse; as does cheese, bacon, and beef dripping. I used these titbits to lure her (I had this feeling it was a female) out towards more sensible food. I placed this food a little bit further away from the pantry every day, not a lot; just a few inches, but progressing steadily towards me at the table.

Then I started moving around while she was concentrating on her food, little by little, and never towards her. The first time I tried it, she bolted and didn’t come back for a day. But she seemed to have thought it over and decided I wasn’t that much of a danger. And anyway, the food was good. Whatever the reason, she resumed her regular meal times.

From there I progressed to approaching her. Again, patience and chocolate overcame her initial trepidation, and inch by inch, the gap between us shrank. Until that magic moment when she took a small piece of chocolate directly from me, moved a few steps away, and sat and ate it; and then came back to me for more.

It had taken most of that long hard winter to win her over, but the satisfaction was immense. The rewards from then on were even better. It would be laughable to suggest that a little house-mouse could replace Martha, but, Margaret, her name now, is doing a fine job of easing the pain. She’s a source of company, amusement, and a very, very good listener. Especially at night while we lie curled up in our bed and she cleans my whiskers as I recount the goings-on of old in this farm. Life’s worth living again.

23rd October 2004

Such love that a man could lay down his life
For our wants and our needs to be supplied,
With such love He suffered death on the cross
Midst prejudice and tears of sad loss.

For our sake Jesus was scoffed at and scorned
Had placed on his head a crown made of thorns,
Pierced in his side by the edge of a sword
With love his precious blood shed for all.

Such love he could feel from the cross looking down
Of those who in faith he could see midst the crowd
Deeply distressed, they stood weeping and sighing
Doing their utmost to save him from dying.

So deep was his love on Calvary that day
He suffered in agony our sins to repay
Finally he surrendered, his dying wish “to forgive”
In hope that a new life free from sin we might live.

Often in this world troubled with violence and shame
We question ourselves, was his death all in vain?
Then upon deeds done with love and kindness we gaze
And for the love of God’s son we give thanks and praise.

My name is Dora and my knowledge of flora,
(Plant life that is not the spread)

Was gained when my life was affected by strife
The time of the Second World War

When an ounce of that and an ounce of this
Wasn’t enough to survive the blitz

We dug up the grass and planted veggies instead
We harvested spuds, lettuce and tomatoes so red

They made treats for supper and dinner and tea
Extras for the family and sometimes for me

But we earned our daily bread not once but twice
Working all day and digging all night.