For Me, The Only Way To End 2024, And See In 2025

Catching up with most of my kids and theirs in Hereford.

I wrote a post a while back about coming over from the USA and visiting my two families in Hereford, England.

That would be my number one family…my kids and grandkids. And my number two family…my ex SAS mates past and present.

Well again, although a flying (literally of course) visit of only a week to catch up with both, and tuck away a wee project that I’ve had in mind for a while now, we managed to carry out most of what was planned…even with two of the three of us traveling over managing to catch the flu. which we were determined wouldn’t spoil the fun.

A quick train journey to London to see one of my sons, yes it had to be Shepherd Market for the venue.

A mild…ish day to visit the cathedral and walk along the river.

So the number one aim was to catch up with my number one family…kids and grandkids. That carried on throughout the week until the very last night.

My wife and I drove to Malvern to settle the precise area of where my ashes would be laid…as in my recent poem: https://bobshepherdauthor.com/2024/12/22/lay-me-doon-on-a-malvern-hill-a-poem-by-bob-shepherd/

OK, the forward slope between North Hill and the Worcestershire Beacon Hill facing towards Hereford, the Black Mountains, and the Brecon Beacons. The spot reminds me of all of my loved ones. Sorted and happy.

Back to Hereford and meet up with my number two family.

On the morning of New Year’s Day if ever I’m in Hereford I’ll go to the SAS “Plot” at St Martin’s church and visit the old graveyard for the lads. Before the plot came about in 1974/5 some lads were buried with the people of Hereford in the main graveyard, such as Tommy Tobin and Laba for example, who were sadly killed at the Battle of Mirbat in Dhofar Province in Oman back in 1972. At that time I was a 17-year-old sprog defending RAF Salalah as a new member of the RAF Regiment.

I spoke with them all, some more than others, depending on how well I knew them.

For those fine young men who lost their lives in the Falklands War in 1982. St Martin’s church in the background.

Terrific and profound words on the gravestone of a friend who took my place at the jungle warfare school after my time there. I think of these well-chosen words often as I grow older.

And of course, the stunning cathedral’ window to the Regiment has to be visited each and every time I’m back in the city.

The week was coming to an end before we knew it…family number one was seen, loved and cherished. Some members of family number two…more dead than alive this time, mainly the lack of time, and mainly the fact that many are old, some are frail and we have the flu.

Humble apologies to those who I had meant to see but couldn’t for the above reasons…hopefully next time.

Lastly, having noted the place for me to rest on these beautiful hills…in powder form, we returned to Malvern to pay homage to someone we all respect, someone who put the Great into Great Britain…the composer Edward Elgar.

Many cities, towns, and villages claim Elgar for their own. Worcester, Hereford, and Malvern to name a few. However, Elgar is buried next to his wife in a graveyard in the Malverns…therefore in my view, the Malverns win. When we lived in Malvern, we had a young Puggle male…he was literally “barking,” but we loved him heaps. One day in the grey mist of the Malvern Hills I was calling out for Elgar…he was nowhere to be seen or heard. I bumped into a woman who was also walking up there. She was absolutely appalled at my answer when she asked me why I was calling for Elgar. “You called your dog after our great composer” she screeched. You can’t please them all!

To my kids and grandkids, you mean the world to me…most caught up with.

To my second family, dead or alive, you mean the world to me…most caught up with.

I love you all.