Yesterday I planned to go to The Scarecrow Festival at Wray, an annual event with a fair which takes place in a little village in the Lune Valley a few miles North of us. The sun was forecast to shine late afternoon so on our way there we stopped by to see my Mum and Dad.
Dad had a hip replacement 20 years ago and sometimes it pops out, he generally manages to pop it back in but not this time… so his afternoon included a painful and worrying time while we considered what to do, a 999 call, a visit from two lovely young female paramedics carrying a bottle of Entanox and a stretcher, a ride in an ambulance, a lengthy wait in A&E, an X-ray, a general anaesthetic, his hip relocated where it should be and a weekend break he hadn’t planned in the local hospital. My poor old Dad.
My Beloved and I then went for a walk in the sunshine, but only in the local park, Williamson Park; built and given to the citizens of Lancaster by a local Philanthropic Mill owner, it was laid out in the 1860’s to make work for the mill workers laid off due to the cotton famine during the American Civil War, an early form of poor relief.
It stands high above the city and can be seen for miles, particularly the Williamson Memorial; a folly built by James Williamson, son of the philanthropist, in memory of his second wife Jessie, I believe the third wife spent her entire married life trying to get him to tear it down. Thank goodness she didn’t succeed.