|Hello again everyone, |
I'm writing to you from the Minho at its most idyllic. (If indeed it is possible to be either more or less idyllic!) Everything is just perfect in Ponte de Lima: the air is cool enough in the evening for a good night's sleep, it's sparkling clear and fresh in the mornings and pleasantly warm, but not too hot, at midday. All around us, trees and flowers are bursting into bloom. Great mounds of red and pink rhododendrons and azaleas adorn suburban gardens; walls everywhere are dripping with purple wisteria; the narrow road, where there is nowhere to stop and take a picture, between Lanheses and Ponte de Lima is lined with bushes so laden with white blossom that no green can be seen. I hope you are envying me: you jolly well ought to be. We are so lucky to be here.
I have a couple more stories for you today, both about people rather than places this time.
The first is about a notable figure in this area.
The other isn't about a specific person. It is the personification of a problem in Portugal and the solution to it. Some of you may remember the £10 passage from the UK to Australia in the 1950s. People took it for much the same reason as the Portuguese leave today. In similar circumstances today, what would you do?
I hope you will enjoy these two short stories.
My very best wishes