Farewell 2008

As another year drifts to a close it is time to pause and reflect, to look backwards over the past twelve months and then turn and pass through the door to 2009. 2008 did not disappoint. I entered the year full of hope and optimism and by and large, this was the way of my year.

2008 was the year of commitment: M's brother married his beautiful wife in February and then in June M proposed to me. Our announcement was swiftly followed by that of two sets of university friends and one set of school friends and so 2009 seems set to be the year of the wedding (although I suspect that 2010 and beyond will be no different).

2009 will be a year of change for me personally as well as globally. First of all, it will be the first year since university when I have not smoked a cigarette. M and I managed to kick our penchant for a social cigarette with a drink or two six weeks ago. It will also be the year that, all being well, I qualify and become Mrs B. There will be some probable blog re-branding too, as Little Miss Rachel does not fit the life and times of a newly wed-to-be.

Globally there are great expectations from Mr Obama and from Mr Brown too, as he leads us through this period of recession. Personally speaking the drop in base rate and housing prices has brought nothing but cheers and I hope that we can all learn something about value and making do. A downwards looking economy coupled with being older and much more aware means that the world feels far far less certain than ever before.

In my mind's eye I see myself on the eve of 2000 with a boy I thought I loved (who knew at 17 that being in love and simply liking being loved could be mistaken for one and the same thing) preparing to take A-levels and leave home and start a new life at university and beyond, in a new century, yet somehow this NYE seems even more uncertain than that.

And so, as 2008 passes into 2009, M and I shall, for the first time since I have known him, spend the evening together, at home, quietly (with some decent champagne) rather than at a huge party and welcome in the new year in the way we hope to spend much more of the coming year. While for us there is much celebration to come in 2009 my thoughts are with others who do not or cannot share this.

And so, as 2008 passes into 2009, I shall pause a moment to remember Roderick and I shall think of my darling cousin and hope that she is able to find some comfort in the ending of her year and the start of a new one.

And so, dear readers, I know not what 2009 will bring to you but I hope that you have a peaceful and fitting end to 2008 and start to 2009 and I will see you next year.


(2006 and 2007 if you are interested)

The Silence at the Song's End

“What we were, we will become

As we give our heat to the desert sun”

These are the words which Nicholas Heiney used to describe death; in the summer of 2006 he committed suicide following a long but hidden battle with mental illness. The son of Libby Purves (one of my favourite authors and columnists and for whom I have had great respect since my early teens) Nicholas Heiney first came to my attention in Purves account of a family sailing round England in her book One Summer's Grace. Nicholas was 5 and his sister Rose 3. In reality, Nicholas was the same age as me. I was deeply saddened to read of his death last year.

Yesterday, Purves wrote a column in The Times entitled A Testament of Youth describing her son, his writing and the book that she and Nicholas' professor at his Oxford college have compiled from Nicholas' lifetime of writing. Called The Silence at the Song's End the book attempts to fulfill Nicholas' goal which was "to write something I could show to people". I have not yet had a chance to read this book but I have no doubt that Nicholas achieved this goal many times over.

This poem is one which has been featured in extracts from the book and is so moving it makes my heart hurt, for him, for the sea, for the Nicholas of One Summer's Grace, the family and with hope that wherever Nicholas is now he is able to be singing and sailing through eternity. (Read Frieda Hughes' response to this poem in Monday's Times here)

"The morning runs

on, a springtime secret

through the avenues

and avenues which lure

all sound away

I sing, as I was taught

inside myself.

I sing inside myself

when wild moments

slice some tender evening

like a breeze

that rattles gravel

and digs in the dirt

I sing, as I was told,

inside myself.

I sing inside myself

the one wild song, song that whirls

my words around

until a world unfurls

my ship’s new sail

I catch the dew

and set a course amongst the ocean curls

The silence at the song’s end

Before the next

Is the world"

Nicholas Heiney (1982-2006)