I was desperate for a shot tonight and thought I was destined to do another of my dreary ‘in crummy hotel’ shots. Then I saw the light. To be precise, I was walking past a cemetery and the beautiful evening light was shining on the headstones so, after taking my bags to my hotel, I popped back out with my camera and took a walk around.

Although technically the light was much better on the sunny side of the stones, I liked the moodiness of the shots into the sunlight. I did a few ‘crosses’ and then I spotted this angel. Now, I thought, there is a shot! Of course I had to go for the full-on drama shot and so here it is!

This grave belongs to a young man of 23, whose parents saw themselves burying him only a year after they were probably slowly exhaling in relief that he'd not been killed in the 1st World War. I do think that is such a terrible thing to face into. He died in 1919 and not of the influenza pandemic that killed more people than the first world war, but in a flying accident - he was in the RAF. It took another 50 or more years for his siblings to find their way alongside him into this grave.

Everyone on pad has, at some stage, done a graveyard shot, some more tasteful than this and some, undoubtedly less so. I’ve never done it because, well, to tell the truth, I spend my time avoiding them on the whole…..but it was the graveyard or a crummy shot of some sarnies and a bottle of water so I succumbed to what I think of as pbase cliché no 432.

The heart occupied my thoughts for a long time and continues to do so since DM has been surprisingly upset at its cremation! Now I have a suspicion that ‘obsession’ has been replaced with one for angels. Let’s face it, even to a complete atheist like me, there is something deeply appealing to the thought of something looking over you and keeping you safe.

Anyway, shot got and now replete after the consumption of one of Marks and Sparks finest (well, actually a reduced price) butties, some lush beetroot (I have a bit of a thing for beetroot) and a bottle of water, I come to my story for tonight, though you are certainly reading it at least tomorrow because I’m in a depressing place with no access to my ‘outside world’.

I’ve had some very strange and wonderful experiences in my pbase journey. Probably none more strange than what’s happened in this last week. I’ve woken the dead in a way that I never imagined! My grandfather to be precise. I got a private message on my diary saying that I shared a grandfather with the man who left the message’s wife. So, she is my cousin. I now find I have a whole new set of cousins, whose existence was a complete unknown to me only a couple of days ago.

Last weekend’s rather obtuse posting about messy families was in reference to this event. Weirdness abounds because my new cousin and her husband are Jan and John so there is another of life's whacky coincidences as I was with Jan and John myself last weekend!

My Dad has known he had a half-brother and half-sister for many years, having been told as much by ‘Mrs Nuttall’ whose part in this story is too peripheral on which to elaborate. He was twelve years old or so when he found out. My grandfather had another whole family before running away with my Dad’s Mum.

This fact was never mentioned. My grandfather never, ever referred to his previous life as long as he lived. My Dad encountered his ‘new’ siblings for the first and only time at his Dad’s funeral. My Uncle Philip did not even know they existed before the funeral and we’re not entirely sure if my Auntie Vickie knew of the existence of her brother and sister, I expect that part of the story will unravel in time.

More communications have subsequently passed between me and the man I now know as John, with me treading carefully but hopeful that some good may come of more than a lifetime of misery, anger and bitterness. Life is short though, we none of us know what’s around the corner so I would like my Dad to know his siblings. He is a fine man (you know how I feel about the best Daddy in the world) and if you want the truth, I want to show him off. I would love his sister and brother to see his kindness and generosity and know the decent, honest man that I love so much.

Somehow, I worry about this posting because in this fragile tale, I’m unsure what will happen next and I don’t want my pbase ramblings to deprive my Dad of something he’d dearly love to experience through my clumsy handling of this story. But, tell it I feel I must. I don’t want a bubble to burst and the magic of the fact that pbase has started this to disappear. I suppose John stumbled across my diary by googling his wife’s maiden name….

All of that said, I feel as if I’m living in a Jeffery Archer novel – you know, one of the ones where in a generation past, there is a deep, desperate family secret and suddenly you find siblings gravitating together several generations later. I do hope ours has a happy ending - or at least a peaceful, rested one.


Last year I was singing the praises of Ocado - that service truly is missed by me since I've been here in Cornwall, now I have to make do with crummy old Tesco!