TOTTIE HAS LANDED.

 

Tottie. I’ve landed, exhausted, 18 hours in a plane with hundreds of strangers is not my idea of fun, but then there really is no other way. Unlike Tom I really couldn’t splash out and go business class. I should have booked a seat but ended up right at the back by the toilets and no chance of sleeping. At Dubai I was sure my luggage would be lost, but miraculously it all appeared on the carrousel at Perth. I tried to take a leaf out of Tom’s book when packing but still ended up with two large bags, and somehow managed to stay under the limit. I know I’m only here for a month, but shoes take up so much room. Charley’s youngest daughter Nicky picked me up from the airport holding a large handwritten NADIN sign. I’d already been in touch with her and she hugged me like the long lost relative that I am. We stayed up chatting into the night, looking at old photos of Tom’s previous visits, and I can now understand why he wanted to make it out here again. I’m so excited to meet them all at New Year, and Charley has said I must join them on the trip over to Bremer Bay.

New Year, mid-morning. We’d made an early start and arrived at Kent Road just in time for coffee. They were all waiting on the front door step as we drove up, Lara Charley and father-in-law Tim, and two other visiting friends, but Tom was nowhere to be seen. I wondered if he’d done another one of his disappearing tricks, or had caught wind of my arrival and was now hiding in the walk in wardrobe. After hugs we unpacked the boot and Charley lugged my cases in. They had a house full for New Year so he popped my things into the first bedroom, which l thought might have been Tom’s since it had what looked like his latest needlework propped up against the wall. Once into the kitchen Charley shouted to Tom down in the sitting room that someone was here to see him. He struggled out of the chair and stood for a short while rubbing his hip before looking our way. It’s difficult to describe the look on his face, some sort of strange mix of delight and shock horror rippled across it in quick succession. A somewhat forced smile and look of embarrassment followed by, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Well that’s a fine way to greet a friend”, said Charley, and I began to question the wisdom of making my visit a surprise.  Tom recovered quickly with a large grin, and we made a rather awkward embrace as everyone looked on, obviously delighted by our reunion. Thankfully it was Charley who took over from there, explaining how the secret of my arrival had been kept, however I could see that a more expansive back story was required. Charley was all ready to whisk us off to the beach in the Land Rover for their traditional New Year’s Eve brunch, but it was Lara (a very wise and observant woman) who suggested that maybe we would like some time together to catch up. So, off they all went and left us to have coffee by the pool.

Tom. “What the fuck!” I knew something was up, but I didn’t see this one coming. Tottie in WA was simply not on my radar. I’d known about her looking into her family tree, but thought little of it. Now here she was. We sat in silence for several minutes out by the pool, while both of us wondered what to say. I thought she was going to burst into tears, but then all of sudden she roared with laughter. “The look on your face was priceless”, and I began to see the funny side of it all. Right from the start we’d been doing this ridiculously clumsy dance around each other, and it was time to get in step. So, yes; I’ve been on a female hormone treatment for the past 18 months, my body has changed shape, and at times my emotions were all over the place, torn between mourning the loss of my masculinity and embracing my newfound female side. Coming to terms with being a chemically neutered man is not easy. There is both anger and disgust in equal measure, but an overriding powerlessness to change what is inevitable if one wants to continue living. More than ever now I thought myself lucky to have done that work back in my mid-thirties on discovering what made me tick. However, I still felt ill equipped to deal with such an unexpected turn of event. Nobody thinks they are going to get cancer, why would they. We drift blindfold into the future rarely giving a thought to what is inevitable. Advanced age brings with it infirmity and illness. We become our own pill-popping parents, something we said would never happen to us, and yet here we are fighting for our lives, every day another miraculous blessing, or a determined struggle with the bum hand of cards we’ve been dealt. I can now look Tottie in the face and know she has always been a part of me, quietly hidden from public view. Remembering now how I loved as a child to go through that box of my mother’s old clothes, to twirl around and dance in a long frock, and later in life the pleasure I derived from putting on makeup for a party, and to be what we saw as being outrageous. The hormone treatment I’ve received has simply made me look again, and I do now see that as a positive thing. I can count myself fortunate in having this opportunity of experience. Tottie will always with me, we are one in the same person. I feel different for sure, but I also feel complete, wiser and more powerful, and nothing like that which society sees as being “A REAL MAN”. I hope that over the past year you have enjoyed reading about my adventures with Tottie, and will continue to enjoy the part she now plays in my life. We also hope you will continue to enjoy our creative output, be it with a needle, paintbrush or some other manual skill. No sooner had my latest piece come off the stretcher than another old section of blanket took its place. This time it is the turn of the tiny jetty that sits south of the Clannish stones. I’m part way into the drawing but still have little idea of what it will look like when complete. Much like my own life, I love the often random way in which it has developed.          

SURPRISES.

 

Tottie. I can’t believe I’m actually doing this, freedom from work and flying to Western Australia. I’ve never been out of Europe, and to be down under during their summer has got to be experienced even with all those spiders and snakes. Charley has insisted that I stay with them in Bunbury and that I keep my arrival a secret from Tom. I can’t wait to see the look on his face.

Tom. There's something afoot, I can tell. Christmas day was fine no nasty surprises there, too much food and insufficient discipline to resist it, but Charley just loves a surprise and I think it has something to do with our planned trip to Bremer Bay. I’ve had a look on line, and the latest thing on offer was whale watching day trips. That's eight hours at sea, fifty miles off shore and the Southern Ocean can be rough. I really don’t want to spend a day feeling sick with a boatload of whale hunting tourists. I may have to grin and bear it. Another piece of my artwork was hung shortly before Christmas, a present from Charley to Lara for their 25th anniversary. The needlework still life I consider to be one of my best, and I’m delighted it now hangs in their home. There are quite a few other works here, which makes the place feel even more like a home from home, but it’s the back of the kitchen door, a piece of artwork in itself, where my height is recorded along with the children and other friends that really places me here.

   

TOTTIE AND ME.

 

I thought I might have heard from Tottie by now since I’d given her my address before leaving. She must have worked out her notice, and she had mentioned something about researching for a book. Most likely she’s gone into hibernation for the winter and I can’t blame her for that. I suppose I was a bit grumpy during the summer months with her constant dropping in, but now I find I quite miss her showing interest in what I’m up to. I had hoped in my absence she might head down to London and do a little article on my latest show, but not a word. Then I tell myself, why would she be interested beyond her work? I think I was reading too much into this friendship and yet she was full of questions about Charley and his family.

My visit to WA is already half way through, the time has been well spent with this my second family. The sketch pad is filling up, the stitching is my constant companion, and I even managed to sell a few of my old paintings that remained from previous exhibitions I’ve had in WA. A trip down to Walpole and the giant Tingle trees meant I could once again say hello to these most impressive of trees.

 

I have in the past spent hours sitting quietly sketching them, and during one very still early morning I could swear I heard them talking in a low mumble. This time I felt sure they knew I had returned, and yet I hear you ask could know that. Well if I felt it that’s good enough for me. I knew from the outset this trip would be a great mixture of emotional reunions and equally difficult goodbyes, but I am so glad I took that opportunity when it presented itself as doable. I feared that the heat of summer would increase my hot flushes, but they seem to have been within bounds, and there has always been the pool or ocean to cool off in. Hopefully in the New Year I will have plenty of opportunities to swim again in the cooler Southern Ocean when we head off to Bremmer Bay for a week. It must be fifteen years since I’ve been there, the first time I stayed on the campsite and received my first experience of a bull ant bight, not one to be repeated. Later trips gave rise to several oils, all of which  sold.

Christmas is likely to be a much larger gathering than I’m used to, and a big contrast to a quiet day without presents, spent with my brother in Cornwall. Hear the decorations are up; lights on the tree and presents under, wreaths at the windows and homemade Christmas pudding hanging in the larder. The organisation has been ordered and a drive to keep things simple is our goal. Thankfully the temperature that are now in the mid 30’s are due to abate and drop back to a pleasant 24 on the day.

Meanwhile I continue stitching and am nearing the completion of another rather complex stump work ticking sampler. I am constantly trying to push the boundaries and this example is the first that has taken on a totally symmetrical form. The initial idea was to have two birds perched on the entrance post of a house, but since the stitching of these samplers is a slow process the chances are that it will always become complex as all good samplers should. 

      

SUN, SLEEP, SPIDERS AND STITCHING.

 

 

I’d fallen asleep out under the veranda, into the nonsense dreams of magic realism, and as the sun moved round one side of my face roasted. I’d done that earlier in the year when stitching in my studio during one of those rare days when the sun shone from a cloudless blue sky. Here in the far south west corner of Western Australia sun is the norm, so when I went in for my blood test the one thing that stood out as being different was my very low level of vitamin D. Half of what it should have been coming out of an Australian winter, but then I had just come out of a Hebridean summer. So, sun and vitamins is on the menu and I imagine the same could be said for all who survived the non-existent summer of 2024. I’ve put my feet in the Indian Ocean, and hope soon to undergo a total immersion. The pool at Charley and Lara’s is a great place to cool off and take the weight of my aching hip.

 After one refreshing dip my eye was drawn to the yellow center of a succulent plant and realised it was a superb yellow spider, probably a species of the orb weave spiders. Other more plentiful orb weave spider are to be found down in the chicken run, where they create their extravagant webs complete with extensive larders.  

The one constant in my life is my stitching and to that end I’m well on the way to completing another in the series of piers and jetties from Lewis and Harris. The latest is Gob Shilldims at Holm and I’ve managed to cram in both the large pier and small jetty. As usual with this series of embroideries I’ve taken a lot of liberty with the drawing so as to maximise the coastal features. Unlike the previous embroidery of Bable, where the crofting strips form a focal ark, here the land and single track road forms a central focus that leads to the pier. The vertical form would normal signify a statement of sorts, but here the road provides a story line that takes you through the restricted fenced in pier, past the concrete walled boat storage area and peat cutting, sweeping around the bay and up the hill towards Holm. Knowing when to stop has been an important part of these embroideries, as much as the restriction of colour. The structure is complete and there remains only few more hours of stitching the coastline and adding some colour to the boats.

 I’ve bought a landscape format sketchbook and pencils last week, and am looking forward to spending some time sitting, sketching places that have become very familiar to me over the past two decades. I started with a twenty minute drawing of North Point, just off Cave Road west of Margaret River. The rocks here are a rich orange ochre, set against an intense deep blue sea and featureless sky, hence the high horizon. I’ve often been asked by friends why I choose to visit Australia since my interests seem to be bound up in history. The western world still regards Australia as a recently discovered place with little history. How wrong can one be, when evidence dates Aboriginal occupation of these lands to 50,000 years? The three centuries of western occupation have proved disastrous for the environment and the mineral wealth of Western Australia continues to fuel prosperity with equally devastating consequences. It’s a vast land and there remain many wonderful sites. During the Christmas week this part of the coast will be flooded with tourists and so I hope to see as much as I can before the crowds arrive.          

HOME FROM HOME.

 

Tottie. Just received Tom's latest embroidery on my phone today and it lifted my spirits after difficult day. I’ve handed in my notice, had enough of Bill’s sarcastic jibes. He was off work for ten days with a chest cold, but I’m sure it was that new strain of covid, and I like to think it was me who gave it to him. It was bliss not having him prowling about the office, and since everything is covered for the Christmas issue I’ve had plenty of time to follow up on the family tree research. Found some interesting stuff, but most interesting of all has been the connection to Charley Nadin, in that we share the same Great Aunt Emily, and that is also where the family name of Cranston comes in. I emailed Charley and he seemed more intrigued that I knew his old mate Tom than the family connection to Aunt Emily. Filled me in on how they met squashing pennies on the railway line in Cambourne, while doing A levels at Technical College. They lodged together and studied Maths, Physics and Chemistry. He also mentioned that Tom’s mother was an excellent cake maker, and they would stop off for tea on a Friday afternoon on the drive back to Liskeard. I found myself wondering about my own lack of friends from school and college days. Too busy following a career, and look where that got me, stuck in an office with wobble bottom Bill. I now have a months’ notice to work out before I can escape this place, and Bill seems determined to make that as difficult as possible. It started the day Tom left for WA. Something about me missing my snowflake.

Tom. A home from home, familiar and safe, but in saying that my eyes picked up on all the little changes during my four years absence. The most obvious was the growth that trees and shrubs had made, as well as those that hadn’t made it through summer droughts. There’s a new bypass being built around Bunbury and the scaring of the landscape is horrific. It has caused damage way beyond the movement of earth. The work is far from complete and we can expect massive traffic problems come the Christmas break, but once Bunbury is bypassed it may well be the making of the place. While others sit in queues during the Christmas break I’ll be ambling between pool and beach.

 The weather has been mild and no great heat waves this far south. I’ve had time to acclimatise but have also been found lacking in vitamin D. Well, that’s hardly surprising after last summer. I have just completed the Toucan ticking sampler. The background sample stitching is the final stage which does mean working the design around the foreground. Not very logical, but then logic has seldom had any relevance in the way I approach the creative process. This particular ticking sampler has been made using a Sainsbury’s tea towel as the support.      

 

      

 

           

 

 

 

IN FOR THE LONG-HAUL

 

Tottie: I thought I better call in on Tom once more before he heads off for WA.  After this year’s non-summer I can’t blame anyone for wanting to top up on the vitamin D. I found him packing what seemed to be an impossibly small bag, but then he explained that he already has clothing over there. I couldn’t even imagine getting what I need just for an overnight stay in such a small bag. Two pairs of shoes would have filled it, and instead he’d got it stuffed full of drugs and wool. I sort of admire him for making the effort, and I suppose only he can vouch for the sanity of it all. There’s more than a little bit of me that is jealous. I looked his friend Charley up on line, and I think there must be a connection. Charley’s second name is Cranston, which also happens to be my brother David’s second name. The world is a very small place, never more than six people removed from anyone on the planet, but I think there might be a blood line link.   

Tom: I’m sure at some point in our lives we’ve all done the packing of bags, whether just for a few days holiday, or a total and definitive change of scenery, and if you’re like me it’ll take several attempts, trying to figure out what is rational. There’s always the, what if the weather, or if I get invited out. Do I really need that other pair of shoes, or even a pair of wellies? Thankfully the South Western corner of Australia at this time of year means my wardrobe can be cut down to hand luggage only. A change of underwear, a pair of shorts and a sun hat, the rest is medication, fabric and wool for my stitching. The medication takes up half the space and in order to avert suspicion I included a print out of my diagnosis along with my visa. The fabric and wools will allow me to continue my embroidery and to pacify the creative urge within me. It is hard to explain just how intense this need to create has become. I feel there remains things that I must do, work I must complete while I still have the strength and the willpower. It is this more than anything else that keeps me alive.

 The ferry to Ullapool was running half an hour late and the long drive ahead of me seemed to suddenly get a lot longer. Being one of the first vehicles on I was directed to the side where I could be sure of being one of the last off. It happens every time. The drive east to Inverness is basically a case of joining the queue and follow the leader. The A9 is notorious for bad accidents and it seemed to take ages to get down to Perth. At what time of night was I going to arrive, still a long way from the border and then the entire length of the M6 to negotiate? I sipped on the thermos of coffee, eating up the miles while munching my way through the tin of homemade flap jacks. I arrived at my destination, Atherstone at 7.30 and slept like a clubbed horse. Wednesday was a day of rest before pressing on towards Milton Keynes on Thursday. I’d made the decision to do the delivery to London on the Friday and with the aid of a satnav all went smoothly. Saturday another day of rest before heading back into London on Sunday morning by train. This was the first big test having to lug my little trundle bag up and down stairs from Euston Station. Feeling like a fish out of water I struggled and politely declined help from two young women. It is only when help is offered that I realise just how decrepit I must look. When showering that morning I was horrified by the monster I saw in the mirror. That can’t be me, and yet who else can it be. Blubber hanging from my gut, chest and legs, even my face looks puffed up, unrecognisable. Aging is not an attractive process and when accompanied with medication and increasing infirmity the changes are shocking.  I met up with Charley, Lara and the girls that evening and the following morning was picked up on the dot at 5.35 for the drive to Heathrow.

 We all arrived within minutes of each other and from that moment on I simply followed my vastly more experienced host through the maze of airport check-in. Business class is so very different and in the quiet calm of the lounge we had breakfast. Long haul flights are punishing on the body, but having that extra room and being able to lie down made a huge difference. I also had my stitching to distract me, and it was much admired by the air hostesses with no mention of my lethal sized embroidery needle.  

 There was a six hour stopover in Dubai before the final longer leg, and I was again reminded of the vast horror of such places so very different to our little Stornoway airport. I dosed between film and let my mind wander back across the decades to when the girls were little and life was about playing on the beach.

I was also reminded that I was now Tottie free. She wanted to know Charley’s address so presumably I’ll get a Christmas card.   

  

      

 

           

 

 

 

DISCUSSION OR ARGUMENT

 Tottie reporting for the Western Isles Wanderer, but for how much longer, is the question uppermost on the rest of the office staff’s minds. I’ve had a real week of it, not all bad. The boss had me off doing a tour around several producers of gin on the islands. A dream job you would think, and yes my tipple of preference is a G & T, but by the end of a four day tour I was convinced you could make gin out of anything, and it wouldn’t surprise me to hear someone was now producing Ye Olde Bootlace Gin in a stunningly beautiful designer bottle. I tried to keep an open mind, but I’m from the juniper generation, when gin was gin and yogurt was natural or nothing.

I never realised how fascinating a family tree could be, and I’ve already discovered an entire branch of the family I had no knowledge of. Unfortunately the boss caught me trawling through the 1905 census and today a written warning landed on my desk. I can’t see the problem as long as I do the work, but then he’s a bully and likes throwing his weight about, of which he has plenty to spare. They don’t call him Wobble bottom Bill for nothing. Last night I dreamt I’d discovered someone drowning on Garry beach. There was frantic splashing going on but it was only a few yards out. When I took a closer look it was old Wobble Bottom himself sinking slowly into the sand, and I just watched as he disappeared beneath the waves. I’m thinking it might be time to move on from WIW, do a bit of free lancing, or maybe try my hand at writing a novel. I’m sure I’ve got a cold coming and should probably take a day off, but I can imagine what Bill would make of that so perhaps I’ll just show up and breath a few of my germs over him.

 

Tom; I’m not sure what the difference is between a heated discussion and an argument is, but I certainly had one of them with Tottie. She’s become one of my very few sources of news from the outside world and this week she was full of excitement at the possibility of Tesco opening on Sundays. “At last we’re moving into the 21^st century”.

I freely admit I probably lost my cool. I understood when the Sunday ferry crossings started particularly for members of families working on the mainland wanting to return home at the weekend, but are we that wedded to supermarkets that we can’t survive a single day without them. They’re open from six in the morning to ten at night, six day a week for God’s sake! I was on a roll and there was no stopping me. I’ve never seen the attraction in shopping although I still prefer my own choice when it comes to fresh fruit and veg. Who am I kidding? Apart from bananas and garlic most of that is pre-packed, so I might as well get it delivered.

Meeting up with Tottie mid-week for a coffee has made a welcome interlude, a wee brush with the outside world, but after today that might require a cooling off period.

She said it was time people were released from the tyranny of Presbyterianism. I knew what she mean, but that’s not what Tesco are talking about, and how long before the Coop follow suit. Not content with losing our village shops; there were at least three in Tolsta before supermarkets arrived, and now we are being made to get rid of everything that makes our island different in the name of progress. It’s not progress, its money. Must we be bowing down to worship at the altar of Tesco.

Typical of Tottie, she had the last word trotting out that well-worn phrase that I’ve come used to hearing from other friend, “We can’t all be like you Tom”, adding “If you had your way they’d be closing the churches on Sundays as well”. Snookered, my only escape was to complain about the price of the coffee that would be costing more than a month’s supply of medium strong, freshly ground, Italian inspired coffee. She came back as quick as a fly to a rotting corpse, “Yes Tom, and you bought that at Tesco”. We sat in an awkward silence looking out across south beach as the ferry came in to dock.

“Anyway this coffee’s rubbish” I resumed trying to move on.

“A bit like this conversation then” she fired back with a large grin.

I held up my hands in mock surrender “OK, you win, Tesco wins, truce. At least out at New Tolsta I will be able to remain oblivious to the delights of progress and the 21^st century. I paid and she returned to the office. The following day I got a text from Tottie, “Off work, got a stinking cold”. “SNAP!” I texted back. The reply was almost instant, sharp as a razor, “Yeah, and I could only have caught it from you, or Tesco, or both”. 😄 For once I was pleased to see that emoji. Having spent the past two days tucked up warm in my studio, the latest needlework of Pabail Pier on the Point peninsula is nearing completion. As usual the pier has taken centre stage and the bay framed by the crofts sweeping down from the village, and out to sea the distinctive shape of Eileen Mor Phabail that ensures we can be nowhere else.