The Celestial Sea Read online

  I take little hands and stroll in the morning sunshine under the trees around the playing fields. We stop at an old-fashioned mowing machine that is no longer in use; one of our favourite haunts. We regularly turn it into a magical train. I have been truly blessed by this gift that has spread to thirty families, including a full parent/child programme over the last three years. A number of local villagers have become involved too; namely the elderly residents from the retirement cottages next to the church. The rich addition to my life has been immeasurable, although my own family has understandably disliked the intrusion into their living space and begrudges their mother’s absorption and reduced energy in other areas. The Kindergarten overspill takes up too much space——The Laird dislikes the piles of ‘clobber’ in the corner of his office.

  All our closest friends have been included in the great antipodean decision and the telephone is constantly busy. As we begin to close our English life we realize how full and rich it has become over the years we have been together as a couple; our ‘going out to others’ reaping rich rewards. Under the ever-informed, retired Colonel, {my father}, we are getting to know the lay of the land ‘down under’. A volcanic hill in the harbour is a well-known landmark and the family archives of catalogued, National Geographic magazine provide us with a stream of information on the local Maori culture, the history of pioneering, Kiwi life and the breathtaking landscape. We are hungry for information and read whatever we can find. I am particularly interested in the Small School’s handbook and compilation of photographs; their festivals look wonderful and I enjoy the Kindergarten description of winter’s arrival when they light their wood-burning stoves. Our growing excitement means that psychologically we are getting ready. Yes, I think we are nearly ready.

  Chapter 3 Quantity

  “You can’t possibly have more stuff——there’s no more space!” My ever-patient Father is exasperated. He stands by the loaded car as the last boxes bump down the stairs. I am tired and hot but we are nearly finished. The cost of transporting our entire worldly goods across hemispheres is more than they are worth, so we are storing everything in the home attics and garages. We can start again in New Zealand. Tomorrow the freezer goes to a teaching colleague and next week The Laird will drive up to London in the school minibus to deliver fifty small boxes for overseas shipping. We are taking books, family photos and music. A few items like my food processor and the children’s favourite toys are included. The rather quiet, single teacher moving into our flat has asked to purchase some furniture, as well as all the curtains and blinds that were expensive to have made. Many of the drapes in this old house have drops of three metres! The stone-mullioned windows feature on the town map in the local library. We can’t help wondering what the new, unmarried Housemaster is possibly going to do with so much space. The building will be very quiet after our four years of habitation. Never again will we have the pleasure of living in such space and style——the kitchen window-seat fits twenty-five with room to spare and I can’t reach the ceilings——even if I stand on our tallest ladder.

  Returning from London, The Laird informs me that it may take several months for our boxes to arrive in New Zealand. I was under the impression that transportation would only take three weeks. “We have booked a quarter of a container so we have to wait for the rest to fill.” My parents have kindly bought us some red suitcases——one each for the allotted baggage allowance on the flight. They are stacked in our bedroom, ready and waiting. I consider them, thinking how strange it is to be reducing our busy lives to these five, red, zip-up companions. We shall take a basic wardrobe, a few books and one or two personal items.

  A sudden shout brings me back to the present—“Quick Ma, the dog has got one of the guinea pigs!”——Oh dear—another—she had one last year. Tearful faces watch the twitching body spend its last on the doorstep; one highly chuffed spaniel convinced she has delighted The Mistress. One less to house, I think sadly. A solemn burial takes place in the garden, but not until the bigger brother has been summoned——Dixie was his pet after all. He is pensive and soft for a while. His skateboard is left standing by the gate while the family troop down to the lower garden. His friends can wait.

  Apart from the documentation and residency permits, doctor’s checks are required before we can enter New Zealand. The closest accommodating surgery is in the middle of Portsmouth, twenty-five minutes away. Getting the family quintet into the car and arriving on time for the appointment is a challenge in itself. “Can you please read the map properly?” Exasperation erupts from The Laird as we get lost in the less attractive, back streets of Portsmouth. Eventually we arrive at the private clinic and duly line up for weight, height and eyesight tests. A pee in a bottle proves enlightening for the younger members of the family and the merry doctor is easy in his professional banter. It is expensive to go through this procedure; in addition, one of us has to have an accompanying x-ray. I reckon the surgery has tapped a lucrative corner of the medical market for little work. “Can we stop for fish and chips on the way home?” Opportunist children spy a chink in their parents’ sagging armour.

  * * * * * * *

  “Are you free next Wednesday?” A group of Kindergarten mothers invites me to afternoon tea before the end term. The house is one of the oldest in the village and is occupied by the new Bursar and his family. Built during the Arts and Crafts Movement it is owned by the school and features solid brick chimneys, panelled rooms with heavy, wooden beams and a charming garden surrounded by ancient oaks. We sit on the terrace beside the old-fashioned roses and share stories and mutual appreciation while ducking the odd bee that circles our teatime treats. I am going to miss them all. In four, short years I have acquired some close friends; made particularly life-giving by the Kindergarten’s philosophy. With growing excitement I tell them the little I know of the school on the other side of the world that dances to the same tune.

  I am busy every evening this week sewing parting gifts for my little charges. Each child will receive a ‘golden sun-streamer’ when we say goodbye at the beginning of July. The sun-streamers are made from orange and yellow felt, one colour on each side. Circular with a three-inch diameter; I fill them with rice and attach similar coloured, narrow ribbons to the bottom edge. Throw them high and they take to the air like golden orbs with blazing tails——comets in flight to thrill little and big people alike. I have completed eight so far. I shall give one to each child in a special way at our final gathering on the last day of term.

  Chapter 4 Quintet

  The Laird of the household is an ebullient, eternally youthful and generous man. As a young boy he excelled in all sports——and still does——especially rugby. He grasps every chance to participate in anything sporty with a single-mindedness that leaves everyone else literally ‘holding the baby’. He is of solid build and medium height; a true Celt with his auburn hair and trim beard, often to be found wearing eccentric, tartan trews and funny hats with an extremely obedient spaniel by his side. He is a much-loved character and tends to take centre stage, needing high accolade from the immediate community for his sense of identity and self-esteem. He possesses a remarkable energy, matched only by a surprising ability to switch off completely. I often tease him about his lack of ‘middle mode.’ I sometimes wonder if this extreme pace indicates a reluctance to face deeper issues. His ability to endlessly talk and prove his point of view gives him a big advantage over his students but can come across as over-bearing and bull-headed amongst his peers, especially those of the female gender. This side of his character is gaining strength as he matures, to the point where even I find it difficult to put across any opinion. This developing trait is giving me some concern for the future. I hope a degree of humility and a softer edge might appear with a move to the other side of the world.

  The Laird’s friends play an important role in his life, particularly male friends from his own school days. They almost take the place of family. He will go into a rapid decline if regular, social even
ts are not solidly fixed in the diary; especially shooting and fishing expeditions. To be active with ones friends is a top priority but to be let down by anyone is considered unforgivable disloyalty. He calls for justice, honour and a strong adherence to moral ethic at all times. These qualities lend him his vocational, teaching prowess.

  Although traditional in his outlook my husband is broad-minded and manages, {albeit without heartfelt belief}, to acclimatize to his wife’s alternative ideas. We both come from military backgrounds where we had temporary homes around the world as we were growing up; hence our own boarding school upbringing. The Laird’s ancestral routes stem from Scottish/Irish heritage and his years living in Scotland, coupled with his Celtic build and auburn colouring, give him ample claim on Scottish lineage. His family’s disowned Irish Castle lends a ring of truth to the jovial title of ‘Laird’, especially as he is the eldest son. A diligent, caring husband and father we are proud to call ourselves his family.

  As Mistress of the household I am generally in charge; a role I have perfected over the years. I am of average height and build——more on the slight than the solid. I have curly brown locks, blue eyes that are my best feature and an eagerness for learning and innovation in all endeavours. As long as the underlying intention is a deepening of spiritual knowledge I am usually first in line, often inciting the crowd to join the adventure. I have an observant eye and keen head for organization and system management, networking and enterprise. Oh yes——and I possess a vibrant imagination——mustn’t forget that. Some may think I am too accommodating of others but I won’t say more——there are surprising sides to my character that lie hidden. The ensuing story will reveal all.

  Our fourteen-year-old son is a self-contained, slim young man of guarded expression and conversation; that is, in front of his family. We have decided he is the biggest fraud really——leaving the house in the morning with the sourest expression, barely acknowledging any of us, only to be seen seconds later wearing a large grin and chatting endlessly to his friends! Because of his supposedly split personality we sometimes call him ‘Cedric the Scowler’. I can’t remember exactly why——something to do with a caged cat who often escapes between bouts of snarling through the bars. He is a striking boy, on the tall side with high cheekbones and wide-spaced, hazel eyes; both inherited features from his paternal, Czechoslovakian grandmother. Every now and then he reveals his best trait; a delightful empathy and call for fair-dealing, as well as a quick wit and great sense of humour. As he matures I am pleased to notice inherited traits from my father of a tidy mind and keen eye for detail. Last week I found him tidying the kitchen!

  Cedric has recently taken to the sport of mountain-boarding, {Snowboarding on wheels over grass}. His skateboarding skills work well with this relatively new pastime. One of his school friends is seriously involved in the sport and the two boys head off to a local track as often as possible. When he isn’t boarding he likes spending quiet time at home. He loves the family pets, often bestowing them with heart-warming tenderness——his siblings often wish for the same benevolent attention instead of the constant battering he dishes out. Perhaps he will surprise them one day. Needless to say, aged fourteen, he is devastated to be leaving his school and is putting up a strong, moody fight against the whole procedure. If we had a healthier bank balance we would possibly consider leaving him here, {where his growing literary and artistic talents could flourish}, to join us during some of the school holidays only. At this stage however, that is not to be.

  Now for our nine-year-old ‘Go Getter’——son number two—a chip off his Daddy’s block. As the years go by this becomes more and more obvious, much to the pleasure of his father and enthusiastic response from everyone he meets. He is a complete delight, from start to finish. He is one of those children to whom everyone warms, from grandparents and teachers to family and peer group. He has no idea how lucky he is; a lack of hidden agenda in his open personality makes him most appealing. His build is stocky, like his father, and he is of average height. An unruly mop of flaxen hair, usually standing at odd angles, crowns his big blue eyes, which are a family trait. He has an adorable speech mannerism, where he pushes his lips forward in his eager delivery. He is a voracious reader and is always hungry for information. He asks endless questions and his near photographic memory means at the age of nine he possesses a large general knowledge. “Did you know the world’s spiders consume the weight of the entire, human population in one day?” “How on earth do you know that?” We ask, surprised enough to stop eating our breakfast cereal——spoons poised in mid-air.

  Sitting still is a near impossibility for this amusing child. His physical energy is matched only by that of his father, although a case of mild asthma occasionally slows him down. Random footprints up the walls in strange directions usually mean he has been perfecting some dare-devil trick while gripping the architraves between the doors, and if you want to preserve a piece of furniture, or any good linen, just keep it well away from the busy fellow. He is a terrible fiddler, ever taking things apart or poking things where they shouldn’t go. I remember with a chortle how my sister’s precious cupboard came to ‘stay’ with us for a year; “yes we have the perfect place for it——we have put it in the Go-Getter’s bedroom——he needs some extra storage.” There was silence at the other end of the phone until Mizzie was heard to say: “Oh”. Luckily the cupboard survived the year, apart from a dousing of super glue on the mirror, which came away easily enough. Due to our impending move it has gone to reside in a more civilized household.

  And last but not least is our six-year-old Little Lady, our bundle of feminine joy after two boys. She is rapidly developing a strong character and takes on the whole family with a firm hand. As a bump in my tum she was fondly known as ‘Rinky’ after the wonderfully named, bohemian establishment; ‘The Rinky-Dink Café’——a regular haunt at a summer festival in Wiltshire. The name has stayed with her and suits her well, especially with the addition of ‘The Minx’. In many ways she is very like me, although we catch glimpses of the same short temper and moodiness that accompany her bigger brother. As a toddler she was known to throw crockery and slam cupboards if crossed. Watch out everyone! We wonder what the teenage years will bring. Rinky is of medium height and build with long, mousy fair hair that tumbles down her back in fairy ringlets. She has the same blue eyes as her brother; with a slight touch of green. She is as bright as a button, never misses a trick and shares the family tendency towards wholehearted participation and instigation. She is also very sociable. Her enthusiastic response to any endeavour is heart-warming and I certainly enjoy her companionship. We have discovered she is a keyhole listener as well as possessing that female trait of deduction——surprising in one so young. She keeps up with her brothers without question and verges on the side of tomboy in her physicality, although her love of pretty dresses and all things feminine places her firmly in the ‘girly camp’.

  We are sorry to be taking Rinky away from the blossoming relationship she shares with her little cousin, but we shan’t be gone forever. The apple of her Daddy’s eye she is in danger of being indulged. Terrible tears and furious grumps erupt when she is put in her place. Her sense of responsibility always amuses us; “don’t forget the rubbish like you did last week——our pocket money is still sitting on your desk Mummy——I have been thinking about what you said on the telephone this morning.” Of course she is too young to really understand the full impact of our decision to move hemispheres. Her main concern is which toys to take and what the airline might give her to play with during the journey. Her travelling things are already neatly laid out in a corner of her room.

  So, that is our family of five. The back-up team consists of my ever-generous and selfless parents; the retired Colonel and his gentle, yet commanding wife——an expert needle-woman and family cook; my sister who is a published children’s author and her solicitor husband with their little fellow; my big brother——a banker of global status with his French wif
e and their four, super-achieving children and my younger, solicitor brother with his delightful wife and baby. The Laird’s family do not feature as often, although they are almost the same in number but a more scattered group to whom said gentleman is less attached. Having experienced constant negativity in his immediate family he is used to looking beyond his own environment to others, my family having well and truly taken the place of his own. I sometimes wonder whether his lack of enthusiasm and general, dulled spirit when we are alone as a family unit is a result of his early experiences.

  Our family dog is going to stay for a while with the school secretary to whom she is much attached. For several years we have worked and bred the smallest breed of shooting dog: the Working Cocker Spaniel. Our present, four-legged friend is the third dog we have owned. She has produced two litters of successful pups——the latest litter are about to depart. The income generated is helping towards the cost of this giant move, although the added chaos of four rampaging puppies is another ingredient in our ever-mad existence.

  And so, our final days in England speed us towards our departure on July 8th 2005. The Laird’s last days at school are mixed with those of his leaving sixth formers——an exciting cocktail of midnight parties, illicit car escapades around the school grounds, the confiscation of one student’s vehicle as it ventured into the village with a driver a little worse for wear, leaving speeches and high accolade for the departing Housemaster. He has had quite an impact on the establishment over four years. My diligent parents continue in their visits to relieve us of our dwindling, earthly chattels and I begin the preparations for the final day of Kindergarten and the celebration, a little late, of the feast of St. John. This festival should be celebrated on the longest day; i.e. June 21st and is full of blazing hot colour and feasting. I have decided to delay the festival to provide an uplifting closure to our Kindergarten initiative. Harvest bounty and seasonal ripeness underpin the celebration and when the day arrives we are blessed by perfect weather and eager participants.