Thursday, August 02, 2018


An Imperfect Life


People like me?


Chapter 31


New Maldon seemed quite a pleasant place and it was a short walk past shops to the station; convenient for both William and myself, should the modelling become a possibility.
“The Sweeneys have invited us for tea.  Remember Pat – we’re in the south now and that means afternoon tea- sandwiches, cakes and biscuits not your lusty high tea – that’s their dinner.”

Lunch to us was what we had mid–morning at school but in the south it was the equivalent of our dinner.  Crikey!  Would I ever get used to it?

  The flat owners lived in an old house next door- Mr and Mrs Sweeney and their teen –age son.  The table was beautifully laid with an embroidered cloth and silver tea-pot.  William’s eyes gleamed when he spotted the crumpets – simply oozing with butter.  It was a bit sticky making polite conversation and trying to eat at the same time.

William had an attractive speaking voice – apart from his stammer, but I wasn’t attuned to this particular Surrey accent.  It wasn’t that Mrs Sweeney was posh because Fleur, my sister in law was posh and she had quite a raucous voice.  Mrs S spoke in a very gentle voice and was ‘refained’ so when she said she had heard I was fond of ‘ceiling’ I thought perhaps she was referring to my house painting and went off at a tangent.

“No no!  Ceiling !  Ceiling!”  By now she was getting a bit riled.  In panic I looked desperately to William for enlightenment but his mouth was stuffed with crumpet.  He finally swallowed and then started to stammer and laugh at the same time which made everybody talk at once in their embarrassment.

“THE BROADS!” he roared.   The penny dropped.

“Oh sailing!  Yes we love it!” trying to stifle my giggles.  Sighs of relief all round and I felt a prize idiot – couldn’t even speak the language.  In spite of it all we seemed to pass muster.  Although Mrs S appeared both fragile and whimsy it was clear who wore the trousers and she even gave me a light kiss as we said goodbye.

  The flat was ground floor and furnished and I couldn’t wait to personalise it with our own pictures and linen.  We decided to hire a van to bring down essentials and the rest would go into store.

  The next fortnight went quickly as I finished at the hospital, said goodbye to friends and family and finally moved south.  Now to find a house we could afford, settle in and - at last - start a family.  I couldn’t wait!

  A typical northerner I set off down south with a few prejudices and a slight chip on my shoulder but determined to be open –minded and to give people the benefit of the doubt.  I knew I was going to miss the cheery, friendly, unashamed nosiness I had known all my life but it was time to grow up and discover the world.

  I soon had the flat looking as if it belonged to us and our first visitors were my sister Maddie and her boy friend George.  They had great news; they were going to be married and were buying a large house – with the aunts - in Caterham.  Maddie’s son was going to leave boarding school and would be educated locally.  George worked as a radio officer with BOAC but to my great relief Maddie was leaving BOAC and was looking for a job locally.

  We had heard some shocking news recently: one of the girls in Maddie’s year at school, who had also joined BOAC as a stewardess had been killed in a Comet plane crash.  Maddie also had a frightening experience when the plane she was in developed a problem and was forced to circle the airport for hours to use up petrol.  Maddie had to keep calm and to reassure the passengers.  They landed safely and she was given a citation from Sir Miles Thomas.  We were delighted she was going to look for a safer and less stressful job.

  We met our neighbours in the flat above.  The wife Renata, was Rumanian and very sweet and friendly but I didn’t take to her husband who was a big burly Londoner.  Looked and sounded exactly like a wide boy – a spiv.  During the war a spiv was a person living by his wits and engaging in petty black market dealings.  You wanted a bit of extra bacon, sugar, coal or petrol (gas) the spiv was your man.  Never mind the sailors in the Merchant Navy and on tankers risked and often lost their lives providing these things; the spiv didn’t have a conscience.

  “What happened to your determination not to prejudge people – you’re just imagining things.”  William was right so when they invited us to go out for a drink with them we agreed.

  It was a perfect summer evening and they took us to a pub on the river.  We sat in a garden with willow trees drooping elegantly in the water and the swans were like a corps de ballet warming up for Swan Lake.  William went to get drinks and I tried to be as friendly to the husband as I genuinely felt to his wife.  After a few sips of wine I began to feel more charitable and thought maybe he wasn’t such a villain after all.  He certainly was good company.  He told us how he got round the gas and electricity charges.  Both flats had separate meters and the money was collected by Mr Sweeney.

The spiv had manufactured a shilling (the required coin) on a wire so he could insert it in the meter ad then retrieve it.  I looked at William’s face and could see he was shocked.  This was cheating – not the gas board etc, but the Sweeneys who were providing both our families with homes at a reasonable rate when there was a great scarcity.  As the evening wore on the spiv said you couldn’t sit by the Thames on a summer night without tasting a Pimm’s.  I had never had one.

“It’s a mixture of gin, quinine and herbs made into a long drink with lots of fruit floating in it.  That’s Pimm’s#1.  Pimm’s #2 has a Scotch base and# 3 a brandy.

Now what’s your poison Pat?”

I decided to try a gin base but William said he would stick to beer.  It did taste delicious and looked so pretty but when I tried to stand up to go the rest room I fell over.  Suddenly I felt very ill –my head was swimming and I had to be carried to the car.  The next 24 hours were the most wretched I had ever spent and almost put me off alcohol for life.  Later we discovered the spiv had thought it a jolly wheeze to put double rum in the Pimm’s - in addition to the gin.  I think I was right about him in the first place.

  We decided to avoid our neighbours after my disastrous evening with them and started looking at maps and deciding where to house hunt.  Neither of us wanted to live in so urban a place as New Malden.  We wanted a house with a garden, a decent living room, a kitchen big enough to eat in and three bedrooms.  Oh and a garage!  We didn’t have a car but we expected – in the fullness of time, to have all of that.

The first house agent asked all sorts of questions about our financial state and took us to see a house in an unattractive area.

“Why have you brought us to see this house?  Apart from anything else it only has two bedrooms and no garage.”

“Mrs Maitland, forget the garage!  With your finances there’s no way you can afford a car so you don’t need a house with a garage!”

I was incensed!  How dare he?  Who was he to put limits on my life style and deprive my children of somewhere to house their father’s car?  The fact – as William pointed out – that we had neither car nor children did little to diminish my outrage.

  We tried another agent and another area.  Gradually we were moving further and further out in the suburbs until we reached Epsom.  It was a lovely town in the fifties, with the Downs and the famous race course an added bonus.  We were having a drink and a sandwich in a pub in the centre of town and were entranced when mine host answered the phone in a deep gravelly voice with the thickest of Surrey accents,

“Marquis o’Granby ‘ere!”

  The only house agent open on Sunday was what we thought was a slightly fishy firm- widely advertised with the emphasis on the wide.  The agent had a handle bar moustache, and flat, Brylcream-ed hair.  A dead ringer for Sam Costa who used to be in the marvellous radio programme ‘Round the Horn’.  We told him what we wanted and he said he had just the place.  Well he would wouldn’t he?  The snag was it was in a little hamlet – a bus ride from town which meant commuting by train and bus.

It was a bungalow and fitted all our requirements except for the garage, but there was space for one.  From one of the bedrooms you could see the race horses being exercised on the Downs.  The decor was a bit dreary but amazingly Sam told us we could have each room redecorated at their expense.  I couldn’t believe it.  He drove us back to Epsom and suggested he took us for a cup of tea.  After a cream bun I was putty in his hands and wanted to make an offer there and then but William insisted we should talk it over and phone the agent that night.

  All the way back on the train I prattled on about furniture, colours, which room would be the nursery- I was in love with a bungalow and William did his best to rein me in but I could tell he was excited too.

I needed to earn if I was going to make the house beautiful.  The next day William made an offer to the agent and I phoned Marta.  Miraculously she answered the phone and seemed to be delighted to hear from me.

“Now Pat darling you don’t know London so let’s make it easy for you.  There is a big store in Piccadilly – Swan and Edgar’s, you can’t miss it.  I’ll meet you there at 12.30 and take you to meet my agent.  Must fly darling – I’m running late.  Ciao!”

  I dressed with great care: dark grey suit, fresh white blouse, little white gloves and       high heels.  I caught an early train and found myself in Piccadilly an hour early.  Drifting round the Store I discovered the Ladies Room had an actual Rest Room where you could recline on a sofa and rest aching feet.

At 12.25 I was bright eyed and bushy tailed waiting to greet Marta.  At 1.25 I was still waiting

At 2pm I was a bit tearful- my feet were hurting so much.  Wearily I limped back where William – home early - gave me tea and sympathy, suggesting I phone Marta after dinner.

  “Marta are you alright?”

“Pat darling!  Yes why shouldn’t I be?”

“I was supposed to meet you and…”

“Oh my God!  I’ve been so busy – I totally forgot.  Pat darling I hope you didn’t wait long.”

“Well actually…”

“You see darling most people would know that if I wasn’t there I’d be at the Ritz or the Dorchester – or lunching at the Ivy.  I have to remember when I’m dealing with people like you.”

Those words echoed in my head long after the conversation was over.








Saturday, July 14, 2018

Over the last month I have been having health problems and investigations.
So far nothing sinister has turned up and I feel hopeful that I may have turned a corner
and can at least resume the next chapter of 'An Imperfect Life' as I catch up with
everything else I have neglected.
Here's hoping and thank you for your endless patience.
Lot of love,

Wednesday, May 30, 2018

An Imperfect Life


Leaving the North


Chapter 30


  In the end I was thankful we were going over to the Jones’s for lunch.  It would take my mind off William’s departure.  It would be the first time in my life that I would be alone overnight.  The prospect of being alone in an apartment over a shop which was empty between the hours of 5.30pm and 9am, made it worse.  Gran was in the States and everybody else had their own lives.  I would just have to get used to it.

“William did I tell you when I spoke to Bridie on the phone she said her niece would be there.  The point being she lives in London and could be helpful to us when we move down.”

John and Bridie greeted us warmly, gave us drinks and whilst the two chaps discussed William’s appointment, Bridie showed me her collection of china figurines.  But where was the niece?

“Oh poor girl – she’s had such a time of it lately she’s worn out so I made her have a lie in.  She’ll be down before lunch.  Now did I tell you Pat she’s a model and has just been put under contract to J Arthur Rank – no less?  My sister’s beside herself!  Marta’s only eighteen – would you credit it now?

Bridies’sister – who was Irish of course had married an Italian and the result was Signorina Marti Rossi.  I couldn’t wait to meet her.

“Hi everybody!”

There in the doorway was Marta herself.  Pausing just long enough for us to take in her remarkable presence and retrieve our jaws from the floor, she advanced towards us.  Eighteen she may have been but she had the sophistication of a forty year old.

“Pat- this is my niece Marta Rossi and Marta this is William- Pat’s husband.”

Marta gave us each a dazzling smile and an elegant hand shake.  She had a pleasant musky smell.  I don’t know about William but I was captivated.  I had never seen anyone like her before in the flesh.  Thank God I’d washed my hair but I wished I’d put on more make-up.  She was taller then me, as slim and with similar colouring but her hair was very short- like Ingrid Bergman’s in ’ForWhomTheBell Tolls.’  She had highlights before anyone knew about them.  She looked very chic but told me later her clothes ‘cost nothing’ that it was how you put them together that mattered.

She wore a dark grey pencil skirt with a white open- necked shirt.  Her waist was clinched with a scarlet belt and a jaunty scarf round her neck tied the whole outfit together.

Over lunch she told us she had started out doing photographic modelling and was sent as a ‘special’ (a step up from an extra) to work on a film.  Here she was spotted by Dirk Bogarde who told Rank they would be mad if they didn’t put her under contract.  Maybe it occurred to him- with her slim build - she would make a suitable leading lady for him; he was quite slight.  So they did and all was set for her to have a brilliant career.

“Marta did I tell you that Pat and William are going down to London for William’s new job and Pat has to find a job for herself?”

Marta turned her blue/green eyes on me and studied me from head to toe.



“You would be photogenic.  You can’t always tell but with those cheekbones you are very lucky.  I still have puppy fat and have to suck my cheeks in like this.”  She demonstrated and for a moment had Dietrich-like cheekbones.

‘‘Look when you come down give me a ring.  Auntie Bridie will give you my number.  I’ll arrange for you to meet my agent and see what she thinks.’’

I nearly burst out laughing- it was so ridiculous.  Me – a model; who couldn’t walk in a straight line, who had a blushing problem, had been schooled never to raise my head above the parapet, lacked confidence and had a tendency to knock knees.

Looking back it occurs to me that Bridie might have planned the whole thing.  She was a wily old bird and had always been very kind and caring towards me.

  All too soon it was time to go- I could have listened to Marta’s husky accented voice all day.  I was pretty sure William would pour cold water on the whole idea.  Quite right too – but it was fun to day dream.

        ‘’What did you think of Marta?’’

“She seemed to know what she was talking about.”

“But what did you think of her idea of me trying to model?”

He gave me one of his grown up looks.

“You’ve always been very pretty dear.  And remember that photograph I took? That won in a national newspaper.  You’ve nothing to lose.  You might as well give it a go.  You’d have to stop nursing when we start a family.”

Why did it always make me furious when William said I was ‘very pretty’?

  The next day his mother Dodie came over to see him before he left for London.  She was soon to leave herself; Wallace and Fleur had found her an apartment in Southsea within reach of them but not too close.  Her house had been sold, and some of her excess furniture was being stored for us until we were settled in a house.

I had mixed feelings saying good bye to William at the station.  Part of me was dreading being alone at night but I also felt a frisson at being able to please myself what I did in my spare time; I could eat what I liked, go to bed when I liked – keep the light on - reading all night if I chose.  My job would keep me occupied during the day; I just wasn’t sure how many week-ends I could cope alone.

  The first week-end I phoned William at his brother’s house and he seemed quite cheerful.  He had been looking round a town called New Maldon for a flat, was settling in the job and said I should probably hand in my notice now.  When I told Sister she was very sweet and said how much I’d be missed and the ward and the children had never looked so well cared for before I came.  That was thanks to my training school RMCH – fondly known as ‘Pen’ short for Pendlebury.

  I did what all lonely people do - kept the radio on from dawn till dusk and had long chats with shop keepers and the ladies in the hat shop, who found it odd that William didn’t come home at the week-end.  The second week-end on my own I was really fed up.  Why did everybody have to be away at the same time and then I remembered Keith Barker.  He was a bachelor we had come to know – quite studious with a dry sense of humour and we both liked him – which was something of a rarity.  On an impulse I rang him and asked if he would like to go for a walk on Sunday morning.

He immediately said yes and we arranged to meet at 10.30am.

The minute I hung up I regretted it.  What had I done?  A married woman asking a man out.  I was overcome with guilt and didn’t know what to do about it without making an utter fool of myself.  I couldn’t phone him again and say I’d made a mistake – I decided to go for a walk to calm myself down.  After a while I realised I was near Carol’s antique shop and had a brainwave.  She was a level headed person and a good friend, maybe she would help me out.  When I told Carol what I’d done she roared with laughter, said I was an idiot to get my knickers in such a twist and of course she would join us.  It turned out to be quite enjoyable after the first flicker of surprise when Keith saw Carol, we had a lovely walk and then they both came back and had a simple lunch with me.

That night I phoned William who had been enjoying one of Fleur’s dinner parties.  I put my foot down very firmly and said he had better be home the next week-end.  Something in my voice must have rung a bell and he got the message.  By Saturday I was in high spirits – everywhere was spick and span, there were fresh flowers, I’d made a trifle, bought a bottle of wine and there was a chicken (still a treat in the fifties) roasting in the oven.  Even the ladies in the shop were excited and beamed at us as we returned from the station.  We both had missed each other and for a while basked in a happy glow.  The bell rang from down stairs to warn us that someone was coming up; the door opened and in walked Dodie her arms outstretched to embrace her son.  Just when William and I were about to have a romantic meal together after a three week separation.  I dashed into the bathroom to try to conceal my frustration and tears.  After rinsing my face with cold water and some deep breathing I went back into the living room.  William had made her a cup of tea and I’m fairly sure he must have had a word because Dodie said,

“I know you’ve cooked a delicious meal and don’t worry I’m not stopping.  I just wanted to make sure William was alright.  I’ll just finish my tea and leave you in peace.

  Now I felt guilty.  However she did go and we had the evening I had planned

“The flat in New Malden is fine so I’m going to move in and you work out your notice Pat, arrange for the furniture to go into store and then you can join me.”

“I’m longing to see what it’s like William.  Tell me all about it,”

“Actually the owners – the Sweeneys- are very anxious to meet you so it’s probably a good idea for you to come down next week-end.”

All my frustration and angst disappeared and I was excited at all the lovely adventures ahead of us.  The Southerners couldn’t be all bad could they?




Monday, May 07, 2018

An Imperfect Life


Chapter 29




“What’s up?”

“Just come and look at this!”

William ran down the steps into the small kitchen – concern on his face.

“My new honeymoon underwear – ruined!  Just look at it,” I whined.

We had acquired a new washer which you filled up and emptied manually but it washed – preferably whites and coloureds separately.  No-one told me that Dodie had dyed William’s white naval shirts a burnt sienna colour.  Now I had matching underwear.

As far as house cleaning went I was satisfactory.  In hospital we had learned the science of cleaning and practised it daily, so my paint work was washed regularly and cleaning started from the ceiling and progressed downwards, with all the guff vacuumed up at the end.  But there had been a few disasters.

Trying to emulate Dodie who made scrumptious red currant jelly which we had with roast lamb, I got as far as slinging a muslin bag full of boiled red currants between the kitchen taps only to realise with dismay, that the red liquid vanishing down the plug hole was the jelly- not the mess in the muslin.

A valuable lesson to learn: read the whole recipe before you start cooking.


We had been given a pressure cooker as a wedding present and for years it was our only cooking pan.  Sadly one day I had the heat too high, bringing the pressure up too quickly and the whole kitchen, from the ceiling downwards was sprayed with boiling stewed apple.  A lovely fresh smell but sticky underfoot.


“We’re invited for Christmas to Fernhill.  Mummy’s invited too.”   Fernhill was Fleur and Wally’s beautiful new home and I could tell from William’s face that he was delighted at the prospect.  My job apparently was to make the Christmas pud’.  I found an old war-time recipe and used grated carrot to cut down on sugar.  I really concentrated, following every step with the greatest of care and I can honestly say it was the best Christmas pud’ I’ve ever tasted.


“I’m going to take some extra time off work – I’ll write to Fleur and tell her we’ll be arriving a few days early.”

I thought this was a rotten idea remembering how Mum and Gran used to get in a state with Christmas preparations but William would not be swayed.


There was a mile long narrow lane to reach the pretty white house deep in the Hampshire countryside.  The grounds were littered with ornamental stone mushrooms and one of the outhouses alone would have made a splendid house.

When we arrived I took one look at Fleur’s face and wanted to run for the hills.  Thanks to the Christmas post our letter hadn’t arrived and poor Wallace had to cope with the fall out.

The house was filled with Fleur’s mother’s beautiful furniture.  The dining room chairs were all carvers with women’s torsos carved on the uprights of the arms.  It amused me to watch the men’s hands slip casually on to the carved bosoms.  This seemed to have a soothing effect on them.

Fleur ran the house as her mother had done with different napkins for breakfast, lunch and dinner and such things as the basins in the bedrooms cleaned daily.  The difference being that her mother had staff and Fleur didn’t even have a ‘daily’ (cleaner).  When I offered to help – a little light dusting in mind, I would be likely to be presented with a bucket of potatoes to peel or a similar arduous task.


She worked very hard herself – eyes narrowed to avoid the smoke from the cigarette wedged in the corner of her mouth and we were always rewarded with a suitably stiff naval libation – G and T with ice and a slice at lunchtime and a Horse’s Neck (brandy and ginger) or three at dinner.

It seemed there was a lot of work to be done outdoors so William and Wallace disappeared after breakfast and returned for meals – having enormous fun.  I admired Fleur greatly but we didn’t have much in common so the highlights were mealtimes which were excellent, although one knew all the beautiful china and crystal would be washed very carefully by yours truly.


“For God’s sake don’t break anything Pat!  All this stuff comes from Greylands (her old home) and is irreplaceable,”

 Mealtimes were quite noisy.  Wallace had an acerbic wit, especially after sundown and Fleur would give her raucous laugh which would bring on her smoker’s cough.  Dodie getting her Willies and Wallys confused had me in stitches which would start my endless hiccups.

The delicious meals were cooked on an enormous Aga which ran on fuel and sometimes had the temerity to go out.  That was the time to take the children for a long walk until things had quietened down.  It was an interesting Christmas and I learnt a lot.  The brother’s got on well with William quite happy to do as his elder brother wished.  I felt a little homesick for my family and was happy to be back in our more humble home again.  Did William ever wish he had married into money I wondered?


We decided to give a party.  We had made lots of friends during our time in Altrincham and were within reach of some old ones.  I stipulated that the room should be warm and welcoming - it was before central heating – and there should be plenty of food (my responsibility) and drink (William’s). Our cuisine was not very sophisticated in the fifties but the aim was to mop up the alcohol and allay people’s hunger so we had cheddar and pineapple bites, bridge rolls with tasty fillings, sausage rolls and masses of trifle, fruit salad and cream.  I realised that to have a successful party I – the hostess should sacrifice my evening and just look after everybody.  William kept the beer, wine and cider flowing and a choice of soft drinks.  When everybody had eaten and was sitting in a happy haze - sipping on the floor - I relaxed and enjoyed the rest of the evening.  I got a kick out of bringing people from different areas of our life together.

“Bill meet Diana.  Or did you meet at our wedding?  Oh no, of course we didn’t know you then.  Well you must be sure to come to the divorce!”

I don’t know why I said it. Maybe it was the drink. There was a nanosecond silence and then everyone laughed


We were pleased that our joint effort had been successful.  Some time earlier we had been invited to a party the Jones were giving for their daughter Libby and for me it had been a disaster.  He was William’s boss – tall with a craggy face and the debonair manner of a forties film star.  His wife Bridie was small, plump with wild hair, full of fun and a captivating Irish brogue.  The two of them together were fantastic company but I felt a little sorry for Libby - a nurse who was in her early twenties and somewhat overshadowed by her scintillating parents.  The other guests were mainly nursing friends of Libby.  One of them stood out – Ruth – a gutsy, attractive, sturdy girl with dark curly hair and fresh colouring.  She was very animated and hit it off with William who was probably the most attractive man there.  As the evening wore on they seemed to get more and more excited and I was feeling uncomfortable.  When finally William drank some wine out of Ruth’s shoe I fled to the bathroom and had a weep.  I was angry with myself for being such a wimp - maybe I had PMT- it wasn’t universally recognised then, but I felt hurt and lonely.  I understood why he did it but I wished he could relax and not feel he had to prove something all the time.  I got over it – we had had this successful party and in the summer we would go sailing which always brought out the best in William; not in a flotilla this time and somewhere more adventurous than the Broads.


“When shall I ask for time off William?”

“Leave it for a while - I’m going to start applying for a new job.”

This was news to me.  He explained that he wanted to diversify and change the direction of his career towards research and that would probably mean a move down south so I would be leaving anyway.

I’m ashamed to say I quailed at the thought of living amongst ‘bloody southerners’


“What about your mother?”

“I expect she’ll sell the house in Norfolk and buy an apartment near Wallace and Fleur now they are settled in Hampshire.”


We planned to live in a commuting area to London and considered places within a 20 mile radius.  I favoured north to make visiting my family easier but William preferred south to be accessible to his.


He applied to British Iron and Steel Research Association in Battersea and was invited for an interview.  I had been nursing, at different levels since I was sixteen and working as I now did, part-time was unsatisfactory.  I needed to do something different but decided to keep my job until our plans were firm and we moved south.


I was afraid William’s stammer would affect his interview but it never seemed to hold him back; he came through with flying colours and they offered him the job.  Mum and Dad weren’t fazed when I told them we would be living at the other end of the country.  They were having the time of their lives.  They now had a small car and the world was their oyster.  Gran spent most of the time in the States, Evan was happily married and Maddie had met a radio officer and they were contemplating marriage when their divorces were absolute.


We decided William would accept the job, go down alone and live in digs until he found somewhere for us to rent, when I would join him.  The plan then would be for us to buy a house so that we weren’t spending all our earnings on rent.  He said we would see how long we could last living apart, to save money.  I thought this was not a good idea.  William was quite happy to spend the week-ends with his brother but I didn’t relish being alone for an indefinite period just to save money.


Meanwhile the Jones invited us to lunch the week-end before William left.  I tried to cry off remembering my humiliation I had felt at the party but William said we owed it to them to go as John had obviously given him a great reference.  They were a sweet couple and this was lunch – not a party- so I relented.  Little did I know that this lunch party would have such an effect on my life.  And I nearly missed it.









Wednesday, May 02, 2018

I'm limited to short, sharp bursts at the computer just now so I regret chapter 29 will have to be posted even later than usual.
Hope to be back to normal before long.  Keep the faith.

Monday, March 19, 2018

William's photo that won the Daily Express 'Miss Zipp' prize.  Sailors will note that Pat was actually stationary at the time

Friday, March 16, 2018

Pat actually sailing