A bit of a grave day, victorian humour, a mountaineer’s grandad, two dear departed socialists (real ones) and a very old Quaker

Continuing from yesterdays outing where I set out to visit Mobberley in Cheshire to walk to grave of my late wife Katy, I passed through the village centre and the old traditional graveyard surrounding the church, most of the graves were ancient and packed tightly together, I knew the mountaineer George Mallory who died on Everest in 1924 had been born here so I looked around for evidence of his family, one of the first graves I spotted had an amusing message shown in the first image, I don’t suppose he thought his wife would follow him so quickly. Round the back just by chance I found what I thought to be the grave of Mallory’s father, I had forgotten he was the son of the parish rector. When looked at the photo later I realised this was his grandfather and the grave of his father Hubert Mallory is the one behind. I was amazed there does not seem to be any reference to George the man who may have been the first person to stand on the highest point on earth who made the fatal mistake of not getting back, anywhere in the village. I continued on for a good while forgetting what a sprawling place Mobberley is, I had an excellent lunch and a pint in a pub and continued on to Graveyard Farm. It is the site of an ancient Quaker burial ground and a modern woodland one, Katy was buried here in 2005 and our best friend Julia head to head in 2008, I don’t believe in an afterlife but I like to think their spirits if that is the right word are down there chatting putting the world to rights. The Quaker plot is sad, unloved and overgrown there is no more than three or four gravestones still to be seen, one day the ground will swallow them all up unless someone digs them out again.

On the way back I was taken by all the warning signs on the gates of the large country houses, from the unimaginative ‘trespassers will be prosecuted’ to my favorites ‘slow children and animals’ and ‘Warning if the guard dogs are loose stay in your car’ it made me glad I live in France.

The small god of football

A fine day in Manchester so I went for a walk into the Cheshire countryside, with a view to having a few pints a pub lunch and popping round to see Katy and Julia’s graves all goals were achieved but more about that along with photos tomorrow.

I was still buzzing with the win over Rochdale last night, walking along I mused over the support the FCUM crowd gave to the players. This guy in the photo stood behind us and for the whole of the 94 minutes shouted instructions and support from 100m to our players and abuse to theirs and officials alike, he never gave up.  Maybe I thought he is possessed by the small god of football and without his guidance Norton would not have wrested that ball from the grasp of the keeper, who knows?

Late entry

I was trying yesterday to attempt a panorama image of the Pyrenees a combination of 3 different exposures of 12 separate photos, I tied up my hard drive which chugged away for hours resulting in not being able to do anything else. The resulting image was disappointing in the end so I put it in the trash. I will have another go today, todays 1st image is one of the 12.

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