Home and Country: Sarah Todd

“I’M in the pink,” is a phrase that is proving impossible to stop thinking about because of my grandmother’s uncle. He sent a fascinating series of postcards back from the front in the First World War which we’ve been looking at recently. In nearly every one he tells his family he’s “in the pink”. The poignancy of some is beyond belief. In one breath he tells of “going into the trenches tomorrow” but in the next he’s using this chipper language to tell them not to worry. He survived all the horrors of war, but invalided home he was killed by a piece of farm machinery.

It’s really made me buck my ideas up with regard to the bland “fine, thank you” that automatically tumbles out whenever my wellbeing is asked after. Here was somebody hundreds of miles from home, not knowing whether he’d live another day, and he could remain upbeat enough to describe himself in such a jolly way. I’ve not actually used “I’m in the pink” yet, but have made a belated New Year’s resolution to do so.

Our son has beaten me to it in adopting more colourful phrases. He’s started saying “dear”. He should probably be roosted for being cheeky, but it’s so funny to hear him. The other night he was asked how many fish fingers he wanted and replied, “three please, dear”. It’s not just to me… A woman in the newsagent’s gave him the change for his Beano and he said “thank you, dear”.

We haven’t a clue where he’s got it from, but it’s brought back happy memories of my late friend Bill. Whenever we were out on a job (he was a photographer) he’d say “just one more, dear” if he wanted another shot and it was a woman he was snapping. If we stopped off for a bite to eat on the way home, he’d say “thank you, dear, that was smashing” and so on.

I can’t think our offspring are old enough to really remember Bill, let alone to have picked-up on his lively language, too lively for a family newspaper. Perhaps he’s heard me reminiscing.

For the many who have been kind enough to write in with information about West Highland White Terriers, our daughter had her birthday last weekend. In fact, we side-stepped the dog ownership thing with a trip to London instead to see War Horse. Wonder if “in the pink” is in the script?

Many readers sent super photographs. One told of how they’d fancied a Westie but because of her husband working on a farm and all the muddy fields, they went for a darker-coloured Cairn Terrier. Their photo of Penny is next to the birthday girl’s bed while she continues to work on us.

“You’d be well on the way to buying a pony for the same price,” we advise.

“Lovely birthday cake, dear,” chips in her brother.