We're on the move again, courtesy of Mr Ryanair. At least, for the outward journey. The return in about a week will be courtesy of Mr Rianayr. I never thought of this when I was writing about palindromes last autumn.
There are clues to where we're going in the photos.
We're going to see my mother for an interim visit before her 100th birthday celebrations in December. Apparently you don't automatically receive a telegram of congratulations from the Queen these days. You have to apply for it, I expect enclosing your birth certificate.
Her birth certificate will reveal that her middle name is Hilbrë, not that there's any secret about it. She was so named after a sandbank, or maybe a low-lying island, just off the Wirral, which was a favourite place of her parents. I've never been there.
Yesterday a cousin brought me from Silverdale, in Cumbria, the Methodist Hymn Book which had belonged to my paternal grandfather, a man I never knew. (At least, he wrote his name inside it, over the previous owner's name, which you can just make out as 'D.East 1915') It has a hymn-tune in it called Rimington, which was written by his uncle, so my great-great uncle. This tune, to the words of Jesus shall reign, where'er the sun, was sung at a Lancashire Fusiliers drumhead service after the capture of Jerusalem in 1918.
This great-great-uncle also wrote a hymn-tune called Stopper Lane. He was inordinately fond of the dominant 9th. Musicians will know what this is. It's the harmonic equivalent of Cadbury's Creme Eggs.