At the top of our little country lane there is a trestle table groaning under the weight of home made cakes. They've been baked by a neighbour's children (aided and abetted by mums and grannies) and are being sold in aid of Cancer Research UK. Having sworn off cakes for at least a month I resolved simply to give them a donation but once I saw the effort they had gone to with decorations, etc, it would have been rude not to sample them.
I arrived at the table as a group of passing ramblers stopped to survey the treats. The children, one of whom had rushed back home for a knife to cut the coffee and walnut cake, rapidly added up the costs as date and walnut slices, chocolate brownies and cupcakes with elaborate toppings of jellied fruit, hundreds and thousands and dolly mixtures were eagerly loaded onto paper plates and consumed greedily. Walking the "Leicester Round" footpath can give you an appetite!
What I wasn't prepared for were the tears that really wanted to slide down my cheeks. For some reason I found this whole tableau very moving. Was it the worthy cause that made me want to cry or was it the sight of these kids, giving up their Saturday, having worked hard for days to produce this impressive spread? I really don't know but I made sure they didn't see the batty woman from up the lane taking deep breaths and hurrying off with her plate piled high.
Returning a few minutes ago I asked them and their mother if I could take a photo and write a little piece about them for the Parish Magazine. They shyly posed while I took the picture and then, as other neighbours had arrived with purses at the ready, I hurried off. I hope they make a pile of money for the cause. Little endeavours such as these have long reaching effects.
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