Naughty Or Nice?
Camping passion and a racist Mother-In-Law.
In the December of 1982, having just broken up with my then girlfriend, I felt like I needed to get away. A change of scenery if you like. Fortunately, I had a few days off work due and thought it would be good to try a bit of wild camping.
I took my bicycle and a heavy backpack, with everything I would need for three nights in the wilds of the Yorkshire Dales. A friend had told me about some woodland, on the outskirts of Grassington, and marked it on my OS map of the area. It took me just over an hour to cycle the nine miles from Skipton train station to the woodland.
I set up camp in a small clearing and set a small fire. By the time I settled down to a mug of coffee and a cheese sandwich, dusk was just setting in. That was when I first saw her. She appeared, as if by magic from the darkness beyond the fire one can never see into. Standing there, staring at me.
My heart slowed down, after the initial shock and I asked her;
“Hello, who are you?”
She didn’t answer, just looked over my camping set-up and then fixed eyes with me again. I broke my sandwich in half and offered her some.
“Are you hungry? Would you like some?
She stared at the sandwich for a few seconds and then, suddenly, almost startled, turned her head to look towards the tree line in the darkness, as though she heard movement. I heard nothing. The fire shimmered on her back and it looked like she was dancing.
I stood up and walked towards her, she turned back to look at me. My god, in this light she was so beautiful. I reached out to touch her and she didn’t seem to mind. With just the slightest pressure of my hand, I was able to guide her closer to my tent and the fire.
Over the next hour or so, it transpired that she couldn’t talk. Well, what I mean was she couldn’t speak my language. As the evening went on she came closer to me and, after a while, I tentatively reached out to stroke her gorgeous auburn hair. She seemed to like it and snuggled closer to me.
I don’t want to sully this story’s retelling with crude details of our lovemaking over the ensuing two days, but she was a very gentle lover and accommodated my every whim.
On the final morning, I woke up and she wasn’t there. Rather sadly I packed up my tent and camping gear, picked up my bike and prepared to leave. At that moment there was a rustling of leaves behind me. I turned to see her standing there and my heart leapt.
The dawn sunlight beams, piercing through trees lit her up in such a way that she looked like she was dancing. I thought I would die of love, there and then. I took a step towards her, my dancer, and suddenly there was a further rustling of leaves on the other side of the clearing. We both turned to see a small herd of reindeer, just standing there, fearless, staring at us. The large buck at the head of the herd had a very bright nose, I noticed.
“Oh my god”, I thought, “it’s like I am in a dream”.
I turned back toward her, and she to me. She took a step in my direction, hesitated, and looked deep into my eyes.
After she re-joined the herd the clearing fell silent, except for the pounding of my heart, tearing itself apart over love lost.
We always have a large group for dinner on Christmas day. There are the ever-present me, my wife and her Mother. Added to that, my wife’s three children, from her previous marriage, and my two sons from mine. Then there are my wife’s three siblings, one brother-in-law, three nephews and a niece. Sixteen in total.
Christmas day, for me, consists of cooking, the end.
My Mother-In-Law, a 92-year-old Palestinian, had a debilitating stroke 18 years ago and, as she has worsened, moved in with us so she can be cared for properly. The one thing she is good for is our favourite annual Christmas dinner parlour game.
“HOW MANY RACIST THINGS WILL SHE SAY THIS YEAR?”
The rules are we all write five statements, we think she might make. You get two points for pure racism and just one point for xenophobia. It’s a bit like Othering Bingo.
Anyway, my wife always wins, because she sits next to her and gets her all worked up about the marginalised groups she has on her bingo card.
Merry Christmas to one and all X