Lamps and Lanterns

We continue in lockdown, self-isolating, with some of us being shielded, generally confined to barracks. Some of us are fortunate enough to have access to a garden, now past its best as spring heads for summer. But it's still a place for simple joys, discovering beauty and relaxation. What's there been in it for me this week? Take a look at the photos and you'll see more than flowers and elephants - a range of lamps and lanterns! 

Wendy tells me most of them don't work anymore.  I can vouch for that. They're solar-powered but don't blame the sun. Just ageing like us? Come on a moonless night and you'll see a dozen or more glowing as darkness falls. But whether from an apple tree, in a plant pot or even on the patio table they do add interest even during daytime. Once again these garden extras have prompted memories. 

Like the Japanese lanterns. I'd arrived in Tokyo at the cherry blossom festival - an unforgettable profusion of colour in the streets. Everyone seemed happy. For me it was a week of looking into the future of the two SA hospitals there, one now a hospice. Sunday services brought another dimension, the Sunday evening's preceded by an open-air meeting with a procession back to the hall, music provided by the dozen or so bandsmen. I can still see the trombone slide pushing its way past me as I walked ahead of them. But the most enduring memory: in the middle of the band, a couple of marchers carrying Japanese lanterns. 'We have to be able to read the music,' said the band leader, answering my question through a translator. Music is a universal language of course. 

Then there are the three candles. I thought there were four, I said to myself, as I remembered the first time we'd seen the two Ronnies at it again. Son-in law, Steve, showed it one Christmas afternoon and all of us were in stitches. When next will we be able to gather as family, I've been wondering.

Then there was the ship's lantern. neither port nor starboard, but certainly a reminder. No cruises for us, but a four-day journey from Cape Town to the island on the RMS St Helena. Yes, we did have dinner with the island governor one evening, and with the captain another, and play cricket on deck. I lost my wicket for hitting the ball over the rails. And I did some clay-pigeon shooting, competing with fellow-passengers from the back of the boat. But I found I'm a useless shot, so that was the end of that. 

It wasn't quite a hurricane lamp - that's a step up from a storm lantern - but other models stirred memories of them. We used them during our scout camps. Then there was fishing as a teenager just about all night, or so it seemed, with 'Uncle Sam' on the Swartkops River just outside Port Elizabeth. He was a family friend, and a very big man at that, so I was quite scared being in the little dinghy with him. I felt sure we'd end up in the river. The lamp attracts the fish, he told us. It didn't work that night. We caught nothing! At least I survived the ordeal. And there was another occasion when Fred and I joined a group of local farmers for a weekend’s fishing on Zambia's Lake Kariba in the 70s. Again the lamp was there. And this time we did get something, landing (and then releasing it back into the lake) a massive Zambezi Vundu (an air-breathing catfish) in the middle of the night. There are more stories from that weekend, but I'll save them for another day - perhaps when next we meet up? Meanwhile I think each of you with respect and gratitude. 

I don't need to remind you that we live in darkened days, so should probably remind you of the message normally reserved for Christmas, about 'the true light that gives light to everyone'. And there's another message too. You need no reminding: keep the memories alive; keep safe, keep cheerful, keep shining - where you are. 

May 2020