In the small stream of smoke

In the evenings, my drivers German policeman Andreas and German farmer Wolfgang turned off the Dempster Highway, parked the car and started collect the wood. They normally made a huge fire while I picked the dogrose's hips and infused it. We sit on the log and sip tea, gazing at the starry sky. It's Andrea's birthday next day. He was talking again and again about cigars he prepared for this special ocasion. - Real Cuban cigars! Could you just imagine? And it's exactly three, for each of us. - And partridges... exactly three. - added Wolfgan with delight throught the smoky hue of the fire's flame. My comrades killed some ptarmigans that day. It was very quick and easy to do. We saw the birds, stopped the car and started shooting. First bird fell down. The others didn't fly away. Second bird brought down. The others just looked at it and stayed where they were. We ended up with 3 chestnut-colored bodies and white feet. I looked at birds closely. In winter they camouflaged and changes its colour from brown to white.

I met these lucky hunters several days ago and we became friends. They said they don't think it was accidental that we met. They belive I brought them good weather and partridges. I think these guys knew and prepared in advance for my attendance. They had three caps, three plates, three spoons... everything in number of three in the trailer. They said they were sent to me for protection. Because who other than they would save me from grizzlies.

We saw more then several grizzlies already. First one - a small silver bear digged something very close to the road. He didn't like our close presence and growled at me at one moment showing his pointed fangs. The second - a medium size ursus was a comedian. He walked in the relax style. jiggling from side to side. Walked back and forwards the road and then stoped at the "Yukon - North West Territories" sign, stood at his back legs, leaned elbow at the sign's pole and started moving his ass from right to left, like he is dancing Caribbean Salsa. I coudn't stop laughing looking at him. It was unbelievable and very fanny. The third bear was big and serious. He moved through the tundra to the location we didn't know. He looked like the master of the taiga.

"It was my dream to come to Inuvik, to Canadian Arctic. - said Wolfgan putting new log and some twigs to the hungry fire. It spluttered. The tongues of flame started to play in the air, juggling flakes like circus prestidigitator. We felt smoky smell. - I've been on this highway with my wife five years ago. We nearly reach the town, but the weather became not good and we turned back. I was thinking about this journey all last years... And tommorow my dream come to life. Isn't it wonderful?"

My friends talked and talked and I thought: Isn't it wonderful that I'm in a such beautiful place, in a such delighted company. And also I thought about my friends in Yorkshire and in Russia: How are they there?

Wild and vehement beauty of Arctic

It happened at night, at the start of September, on the small lake not far from Inuvik, North West Territories, about 200 km north of the Arctic Circle. At first we observed the aurora borealis: a spectacular, silent explosion of light that looked like bright, violet line in the dark sky. And then the huge moon appeared. The yellow wonder highlighted the Earth and I was amased at how light it was compare to Yukon. It's 56 days of continuous sunlight in summer and 30 days of darkness in winter here. I came close to the lake. It looked like the round mirrow that was leaving laying at the darkness. It supposed to be snow already, but was not cold at all. The chill water, like ice tickled my ankels. I went deeper into the water. I promptly lathered the body with soap, looked around fearfully, groped for the bear spray, but didn't see any animals and recovered mine's temper. I thought: all bears must be sleeping already. Birds, frogs and crickets were sleeping too. Complete silence brooded over the lake and only foxtail or palm-grass whispered on the wind. It was so calmly, so peaceful, so magical, so beautifully round. The picture left me dazed with admiration.

I looked at my scratched, scuffed legs. They carried me through the many obstacles in Canada. They never complained or moaned. I felt myself absolutely beautiful even with the bruised legs like this. I felt myself heady, wildly, winy beautiful. I felt it in my whole body and soul.

I'm now at my apartment in Britain. The spider made its net in the corner of the room. A month has passed since that moment at the lake, but I still feel the fine aroma of Arctic. Wild, vehement beauty of it become part of me... I'm beautiful!

The Rain

I like listening the rain's song when globules of water patter against the wind screen of my car. This is the mostly remarkable in the driving rain when big drops make the methodic sounds. The rain punches it melody with tremendous gusto. It's something like: turum-turum-turum.

I adore driving when rain is pelting down. Two synchronized radial type arms - the windscreen wipers wipe the water. The blade is swung back and forth over the glass, pushing rain from its surface and creating additional effect to the melody. I switch on my stereo - one of not laud, harmonious albums. Roulade of music, pitter-pattern of rain, windscreen wipers clip-clop - I became absolutely relax. All my thousand and one small worries of life hide in the dark corners. The rain music shakes it off. I am fond of thunderstorm perturbation. I remember from my childhood evenings when me and my comrades - the other small kids sat trembling in the attick of the log house in the middle of the forest and felt an instinctive dread of the vivid flashes. We told each other the scary stories, heared a loud clap of thunder pealed overhead, saw arrows of lightning pierced across the dark sky and felt our hearts beat above the tumult of the severe storm. It was tremendously scary and brilliant. These memories are something that push me to fight my fears - firedrakes, something that boil the blood inside of me in danger.

I love to do sex in the car in the pouring rain. You look in the eyes of your partner and could see only him. The rain divide you from whole world in that minutes. It's also invites you to join for the grand performance and you join: turum-turum-turum. You could allow fancy to run riot. I enjoy sitting on the stairs of a conservatory and looking at the rain that penciling lines in the air with clear paint of water. I think about life. It runs as this rain - very fast. One second and rain stop. One moment and life... and you know you need to do, to vitness, to achive a lot off. You don't live forever. One of the most excited moments of my live was running under torrential rain in the small port town called Stromness. It's on Orcney Islands, in UK. I was caught in the rain entering the town and making my way through. The deluges of rain was streaming down the cobblestone pavement in torrents. The rain was falling aslant. I could heared the roar of the torrents, the dash of rain on the town's windows. I was saturated, but I was all in the fluster. The energy shoot a way out of me. I thought: I'm alive. And then, already in my room I could hear the commotion of a storm, a stiff breeze roughing up the ocean, the tiger of the the azure deep. I again in the car listening the patter charms of the rain. I'm alone. The rain is pouring - it's great. If there were no clouds, we should not enjoy the sun. - Hi rain, how do you do today? Where have you been? What have you seen? Whom have you challenged? Have you seen someone in the rain looking for me? - turum-turum-turum

Abandoned village.

To the memory of my grandfather: Akimov Ivan Grigorievich.

“The most recent census found that of Russia's 155,000 villages, 13,000 have been deserted, and another 35,000 have seen their populations dwindle to fewer than 10 inhabitants.”

“Do you miss Russia?” - somebody asked me. “Yes” - I answered. “What do you miss the most?” - asked somebody again. “My village” - I said.

It’s a small village - just four houses surrounded by fields and forest. It’s situated 200 miles from Moscow, in the Tverskoy region. My grandmother and grandfather bought a holiday-house there 25 years ago. Grandmother was originally from this area. That was why they chose this place. I remember my grandmother asked: “ Vany,” she called her husband this. “Can you stop the car?” Grandmother went off from the car and stood for a long time looking at the carpet of wild flowers, ocean of yellow fields, ribbon of narrow river, and line of green forest… Why do I like this place? It’s difficult to explain. It’s all together: feels, sounds, views, smells, memory, style of life… When you are in the city you are always running somewhere, like a hurrying harrier. In the village you can stop and look round. You can take time and spend it doing something enjoyable. You can do lots of things that in the everyday life you haven’t time for. When you are in the city you haven’t time to sit on the stairs of a conservatory and listen to the rain or look at the stars at night or go out for a walk to admire the views. I enjoy doing it. I like walking and looking at the sunset when the sky changes its colours – blue and red and yellow and purple. And after in the still of night I love looking at the stars, trying to find a falling one. Moon is also my close friend. Sometimes it’s lighting for me like a huge spotlight and sometimes it’s hiding in the clouds like a skulking spy. If you get up early in the morning and go out to the field you’ll find yourself soon in the middle of a twinkle carpet or a crystal miniature city. Of course it’s just a field, but use your imagination and look down. You’ll see the dew on the scarlet grass like strings of pearls and spider webs that stretches like glittering cotton. It gives me the creeps then I look at this fantastic “city-carpet”. Do you know how loud the sounds of crickets are? When they start their concert you have the feeling of millions, billions, trillions of little violins playing round you. Some people hate this sound. They have enough of the noise every day of their lives. But I find it very relaxing. Just sit and listen! I also like the frog’s orchestra with the conductor dragon-fly in the pond, and the song of the nightingale. Of course it’s all very sentimental and silly. But it’s that I love to do as a relief from the effort and stress of everyday life. Sometimes in a busy bus I close my eyes and the village appears like a ghost. Or sometimes a similar sound or smell brings me back to the familiar place. And I feel warm and safe myself.

As you understand I grew up in the city, but every summer I spent in the village. I can say that I was a lucky child. There were several children of my age in the every house of the village. We were playing from the early morning to the evening. We built cosy houses and superb castles from old blanket and dry branches. We cooked delicious salads and appetizing soups from wild flowers and dirty stones. We baked cakes and tarts from road sand and pool mud that were unbelievable tasty. We organised concerts and performances for our parents where we were modern artists and popular singers. We dressed in the old clothes and coloured our faces, imagining ourselves beautiful princes and powerful kings. We set up our own competitions where we judged each other like stern umpires. And in the evening was time when we sat round grandmother who told us the stories from old times, from her childhood.

It was stories about this area and local life. Grandmother told us about Christmas time. She said that just her family had a Christmas tree and that they decorated it with sweets and apples. And on the Christmas day kids tried to win these sweets, dancing and singing and doing different kind of tricks. I just imagine my grandmother dancing and singing… The little actress of Christmas. That’s what she said about herself. “Little Tony, the actress of Christmas.” She told us about local food. They made homemade cheese with big holes inside. They boiled the milk and after used a special pressing machine. Grandmother said that it was the best cheese that she ever had tried in her life. They also made homemade sausages. They used several kind of meet that mixed all together. They filled this mixer inside of intestines, and smoked it for several days in the fireplace. I close my eyes and again imagine the pressing machine for cheese, the smoke equipment for sausages… It is so unusual, so uncommon and so unique. Grandmother also told us about her family. Her father was a good-looking man, very cheerful, light-hearted and sunny. That was why people in the area call him “Garden”. Garden because the garden in spring is very lively, fresh and bright. “Look, Garden is walking,” they said. And that was why when my great-grandfather came to get passport, he said that his second name is “Garden”. My grandmother’s second name was also “Garden”. My great-great-grandfather was a Tsar groom. Grandmother said that he was the best tsar groom. It made her feel proud. The Tsar’s favourite horse was very nasty and great-great-grandfather was the only man who could harness it. He had a secret. Then he harnessed this “devil-horse” he usually used a big metal tongs. He used one hand for holding the horse’s nose with the tongs and used another hand for harness. He was a very strong man. He probably could harness any horse. He also said: “Happiness is not a horse, you cannot harness it”. I think he also was a clever man. Grandmother didn’t tell much about her mother’s family. All that I know is great-grandmother taught languages. I have a picture of her. It’s dated 1916. A woman in the nice dress, curled hair at the forehead, high lace boots and a watch on her arm stays in front of the studio wall. Many people said that I look like her. It makes me feel happy: to think I have something in common with this woman on the yellow picture. Unfortunately it’s the only picture I have left after my great-grandparents. All other was destroyed in the fire. Grandmother said that her family was richest in the village. Many people were envious of this. So one man wrote an accusatory letter and sent it to the communists. At the same time one woman in the village heated the bathhouse. She wasn’t very careful. A fire started. The village was burned. My grandmother’s house was also burned. The next day when the communists came to arrest the family and send it to Siberia they didn’t find evidence of wealth. All that they find was ash. Even the big gold box with the jewellery inside – the family treasure disappeared in the fire or became a little gold river that penetrated underground. It’s a strange to think about, but it’s true all the same. The misfortune became happiness for the family. Just because of this silly woman the family avoided arrest. If she hadn’t heated the bathhouse that day, I wouldn’t be here to write this now. A silly woman can change history. I don’t really believe that all grandmother’s stories were true. I already say that for me it was something unreal, fantastic and dreamy, like fairytales. But it was what grandmother told. It was the kind of thing she liked to tell. There were lots, lots of stories. One off her interesting stories was about abandoned and lost village. It was situated in the middle of the forest. She lived there when she was a little girl before the collective farms formed. The government wanted people be to all together and working all together in the collective farms. That was why people from my grandmother’s small village in the forest moved to the bigger one. Lots of the other small villages were left too. Fifty years later grandmother tried to find her old village. A place can get very deep into your bones. And when you leave it behind, you leave part of yourself. She said that her father liked unusual trees and he had lots of trees like these round the house. “If I find unusual trees in the forest, I find a place where a village was before,” she said. But, of course, she didn’t find anything.

Two years ago my husband and I spent three weeks in a village. It was an exciting time for both of us. We went to the forest for walking, to pick up berries and mushrooms, and went to the river for fishing. We enjoyed nature and each other. The best season to pick up mushrooms is late summer and autumn. But even in early spring you can find early mushrooms hiding from you like rabbits between brown leaves. The season for berries is middle summer and autumn. My favourite berry is blueberry. I like it with sugar and milk. Mushrooms are nice fried with onion and potatoes. There are some interesting inhabitants in the forest too: bears, mooses, wild boars and beavers. Nearly every day my husband was walking and looking for hiding birds and animals. He carried a gun too. Of course he didn’t want to kill any animals or birds. They are so beautiful. I think the gun gave him a feel of power or protection. I joined him several times but after he said that I am walking like an elephant – I started stay at home or walk by myself. “I want to see a moose,” he said. “I don’t need elephant near me.” It was a challenge for him to find and see the moose. He’s spent many hours walking through the forest, crawling in the swamp and slowly freezing in the bushes in search of them. One day he came back home and looking like a cat who swallowed the canary. “I saw him!” That’s the end of the world! Before in the village we made many preserves by pickling, salting, drying and conserving. I am very good at this. I know several tasty recipes. For pickling cucumbers, for example, you choose small vegetables about five centimetres long that you stand in a jar or wood cask like boys standing toy-soldiers inside a metal box. You put horse-radish, garlic, dill and leaves of blackcurrant between the cucumbers, like a sales-assistant wraps souvenirs in the paper. You boil water – about 500 millilitres. You place in the boiling water two spoons of salt, several doves, several black peppercorns and several laurels for making a salt liquid or salt solution. You pour this salt solution into the jar with the standing “soldiers-cucumbers” and leave it uncovered for a day. Next day you pour out of the jar the salt liquid and reheat it. You sink again vegetables into the hot liquid and leave it in a dark, cold place. In a month you have sharp, spicy cucumbers that you can eat with other food. My grandmother taught me this recipe. I am really proud I take something from her. That time that we were in the village while my husband was looking for the moose and other treasures I made some preserving – mushrooms in vinegar with added spices. It was lovely.

Time doesn’t stand still. Eight years ago people from the first house moved to a bigger village. Our village was too isolated for them. Grandmother died six years ago. Our house has changed. The second and third houses were left several years after. The lady from the first house became too old to visit village. Another family built a new holiday-house just near Moscow. Grandfather was the last man who regularly visited the village and this year he died. The summer when we were at the village was the last time that I saw him. When my sister called me and said that he died, I thought: “What’s a nice man gone”. I also thought: “What would be with our village?” It’s still on the map, but nobody lives there anymore. This summer my sister visited our village for one day. She said that robbers had been in the house. They had broken the roof to come inside and then broken the door that connected the corridor and the room. What would be with this place in 50 years? Maybe I, like my grandmother, will tell my grandchildren about happiness but an abandoned and lost village.

P.S. This winter my friends and I spent New Year in my village. The village came to life again. After we undertook a trip to the Archangelsk region using local roads and staying in traditional rural villages. Many of them are very picturesque and pretty but they are shrinking in size or abandoned altogether. Most people migrated to towns and cities because the collective farms broke up, wages fell down, no job left and there is nothing to do. Schools, shops and post offices closed. Life is ebbing out of the Russian villages. The villages are dying off. What would be in fifty years?

01/2005

Stolen diary

From February to April 2003 we undertook a trip to India and Nepal. Unfortunately at the end of our journey in Daramshalla (North India) my unique diary with detailed description of our expedition, with sketching of landshafts and buildings, with dried plants between the pages was stolen. To repeat now that I already wrote, to rebuild my diary again is not possible because of my changing feelings at events and places. So I want to give an account of my travel and describe: what has happened and how did my diary come to be stolen? I will start from the start.

Nepal, Pochara.

It was the last day of our trecking. We came back to Pochara. Hungry, tired but really proud of the track we had made. The weather was excellent and Annapura again showed us her white head and I couldn’t believe that just several days ago we were meeting the sun rising at the foot of this beautiful mountain in Annapura Base Camp at a height of more then 4000 metres. And again we were in Pochara looking at Annapura from the distance, walking through the streets and thinking about our travel.

It was seventh week of our journey and we had already visited lots of places in India and Nepal and did lots of activities: we explored the land of Sam Sand Dunes of Indian desert by walking in our own company without any guides, looking for different birds and animals. We ate the food prepared on the fire, slept under the starlit sky. We saw many beautiful cities, among them, golden sandstone Jaisalmer with crenellated city walls, romantic Udaipur, that is also called 'Venice of the East' and ‘pink Jaipur’ that has such name because of the ochre-pink hue of its old buildings. We admired historic and architectural places such as: Chittaurgarh Fort with its unbelievable victory towers, patterned Dilwara Jain Temples, impressive figures adorning the walls of Ellora and Ajanta Caves, shining Golden Temple in Potan and that morning we completed a treck in Annapura reserve…

Our money was finished and we stopped near the first bank. The sun was shining brightly, playing on the screen of cash machine, so I pressed a wrong botton and instead of 30 dollars received 300. My eyes became round in perplexity. But, what is done cannot be undone.

India, Dharamshala, two weeks later

This lovely, small town in the North of India became a home for the Tibetan government after China occupied Tibet. The town is located on the mountain so most hotels and cafes are on the top, then administration buildings, ministries and library are at the bottom. That morning we were going to the library for a meditation lesson. The road went down through the small forest and usually takes 45 minutes. In the middle of the way we met an old monk who stopped. As we draw level with him he shook his walking stick in front of me. What did it mean? After we reached the library we appeared that the lesson would be in three hours.

Four hours later I was going back after the meditation lecture on my own. My husband decided to spend time reading his book and stayed in the hotel. I was walking and thinking all the way up about him. Why does he hate Indians?

“What time is it?”, asked somebody.

I raised my eyes and saw an Indian guy. Being absorbed in my own thoughts I didn’t noticed him standing on the cliff.

- What is the time?, asked somebody again.

I answered but the guy didn’t understand or made a sign that he didn’t understand. He grabbed my arm like he wanted to see my watch and suddenly threw chilli into my eyes. Then he pushed me from the cliff. He pushed me more and more, farther and farther from the road. I nearly rolled down with him through the bushes and sharp stones. From the first second I realised that I was in trouble and started screaming as loud as I could, hoping that the monks who were walking behind me would hear and help. But it was all that I did. The guy was quite slim and not tall at all. But he acted so confident: grabbed my arm, threw chilli to my eyes, pushed me from the cliff, was all the time under me… My scream made him nervous and next moment I saw a big stone under my head. In one-second time stopped and I imagined this stone hitting my forehead and blood all round me and me lying here in the bushes quite far from the road, far enough for nobody to see me.

“What do you want?”, I asked.

But in that moment the guy took off my belt bag and released my arm. He ran away one way and me in another. It was the happiest moment of my life. I was free! I was alive! I was just robbed.

I don’t know why I did it but several minutes before the accident I took all my money, about 200 dollars, from my belt bag and put it into my pocket. So after the guy ran away with my bag I stayed with my money. I imagined the face of him when he opened the bag and found all my treasures: diary, sketching of landshafts, dried plants, Russian passport, air ticket to Moscow, several credit cards, handkerchief, brush and other things that can be useful just to the owner. In two minutes I crawled to the road and saw a monk. I ran to him but he just looked at me, understanding that something bad had happened but didn’t understand English and was probably thinking: what must be, must be. In a second I saw a European guy. He was more active: asked what happened, gave me water to clean my eyes that were hurting, offered his help in catching the robber.

In a minute I saw my husband who was coming to meet me. We visited the doctor who looked at my eyes. In fact, my glasses saved them. Next was the police officer who said: “we never get accidents in Dharamshala”.

In an evening I again visited the police station to take a copy of the robbery report. The policeman said that I must change my story and say that I lost my passport and air ticket without mentioning a robber and an attack.

“I don’t want to change anything”, answered me.

“In this way you’ll be spend three months here until we don’t find this bandit”, said policeman. “Ok, I’ve got time”, said me.

After this he gave me the paper that I wanted and a first accident was mentioned in Dharamshala.

Deli, one week later

In Deli we visited the Russian embassy and received a letter that let me returned home. We got another Indian visa and restored my air ticket. For the last two weeks of our journey because my husband’s money was finished we were using money that stayed in my pocket after the robbery.

What else can I say? What must be, must be.

Some information about our journey

The Bean

Somebody made a gift to a girl from my company. Unique, personalised present was a bean. “Grow Your Own Name Bean Plant” – was written on the box. Within the gift-box was a terracotta-style pot that contained some compost and a bean that had been laser etched with a name. The name of my colleague is Amanda. “Amanda” appeared on the bean. I don’t know why, but Amanda didn’t keep the bean at her desk. She brought it to her good friend Susan, who was our receptionist. Maybe it was because Susan was very good with plants. We had several huge palms in the office and Susan looked after them perfectly. The palms were green, healthy and impressed all visitors entering building. The company where I worked specialises in the transport and storage of gas and oil and was involved in building a new pipeline. It was a big project. Many people - may be a thousand employees were involved in removing and storing top-soil, creating the trench for the pipeline, welding the sections of steel pipe together, lifting pipes into the trench, reinstating the ground above and at the end restoring the local landscape to its former appearance. It’s pleasant to be part of such a big and important project, a project that delivers imported gas to areas where it is most needed. You realise yourself quite important too. “I am part of the team” – I could say with proud view.

(Although all events mention here had real place all names are changed)

Most of the staff who worked for the pipeline lived locally and had temporary contracts until the end of the work. Our office was temporary too. Even the office was a short-term building, it looked great. Our survey engineer made a project for this super construction. Big, accurate kitchen and dining area, high ceiling, clean toilet rooms made you feel comfortable inside. I enjoyed my room too. It was for two people: my boss and me, light and quite. My boss liked listening classical music. He introduced me to the structure and beauty of tremendous tunes. Bach, Mozart, Beethoven, Chaykovskiy were together with us, helping to build the pipeline. I even sometimes imagined myself in the Orchestra Hall or Opera House at the piano recital or great concert of famous operatic singer.

I had one small plant in my room. It was given to me on my birthday by one of my colleagues. I’m not very good with flowers. I adore them, but don’t understand. I think, only if you really communicate with flowers they do become nice. You need love and care about them as well. I have no idea what exactly I did wrong, but the plant became pale, bleak, like mental patient of psycho hospital who was kept in four walls without fresh air and freedom to breath properly. “What a terrible colour” – exclaimed me and called Susan. She didn’t do anything particular, but plant became better. “I will care about this flower now,” – I thought. In a short time leafs appeared on it. “Look, your plant gave new babies” - said Susan pointing at three sprigs, like sharp spears peep out of the ground. It was magic.

But most magic was what happened with the bean. The reception room, where Susan worked, was located near the entrance to the office. It was not only Susan’s room as the fax machine stood there and every time somebody needed to send fax he or she visited Susan and of course we could watch the bean when we were waiting for the paper to go through. It’s only several seconds, but you could see a lot in this time. I think everybody looked at bean. I suppose it was because nothing changed in the room except this not so ordinary, green string overran the wall. The bean looked different every day. After the bean was placed in the pot, watered and put on the table near the window it started to grow. In a few weeks the shoots started to come through. Then the bean emerged from the pot and shook off its nut shell. Soon leaves started to grow: one, two, three… Susan replanted the bean in a bigger pot and the green stick with several leaves enjoyed it. Bean probably imagined itself to be a fairy tale magic bean and started rising and rising, higher and higher. New baby-leaves appeared at that time every day: four, five, six… Name “Amanda” was missing now – it’s disappeared after the leaves became bigger. But the name was not important any more. Bean became important. I often couldn’t believe how quick it grew. It was simply a super bean, not in the league of others. The biggest excitement was when we visited the reception room after the weekend. Bean had increased in size by about ten centimetres in this time. Was its aim to reach the sky? Susan even placed some marks on the wall showing what kind of progress bean had been making. You could hear at reception: “Look, here is measurement of bean on the first of June and here on the sixth. Good result”.

The project progressed meanwhile. It was not only big, but difficult project. The pipeline crosses below watercourses, roads and rail lines and went across archaeologically and ecologically sensitive areas. It also passes National Park area’s. There was a big environmental problem on the section crossing under the river. We had problems with the weather as well. “You simply can't wager on the weather in England” – said some people in the company. One day rain started and continued, continued, trying to make in the middle of Britain big swamp and turned our workers into tadpoles. We joked sometimes pointing at our French Project Manager who came back to the office covered in mud: “People who work in Britain should never be afraid of rain”. It should also be stated that the company supported workers very good. One good turn deserves another. People worked very hard. It was a nice atmosphere in the office as well. I will never forget our parties. It must have cost a lot to the company but made people happy and closer to each other. The pipeline became longer and longer, like our bean. Our Project Manager could tell looking at the survey map: “Look here is measurement of pipeline on the first of June and here on the sixth. Good result”. Bean and pipeline grow together day after day, section after section.

Soon the project came to an end. “Once the pipeline is in the ground, we will be paying particular attention to restoring the local landscape; returning the topsoil, replanting hedgerows, restoring dry stone walls... Within a matter of months, the signs of our presence will start to disappear and by next summer, the path taken by the pipeline will be extremely difficult pick out” – was written in the report. The company started to dismiss workers. I remember Amanda was crying. She was told her contract would end in October and was not expecting it to happen one month early. Amanda was a nice girl with shining eyes, worried about everyone. She worked in the Safety department. It was better to keep your mouth shut with Amanda and not tell her about any problem you may have. If not, Amanda would assail your difficulty with enormous eagerness and handle your problem until all invincible obstacles would push aside. She was victorious against any obstacles. “Look, I’ve organised it already. Come on. It would be good for you” – she usually said, persuading you. One day Susan said she is leaving. It was sad to hear this. You get used to people and then miss them. Susan likes backing. It amazed me, as Susan was all the time on the diet and did not eat any cakes at all. But she loved bringing cakes for everybody to try. Susan left and no more chocolate bars or delicious scones, no more smile from Susan at reception. What’s happen with her now?

I was still working. My main duty during the project was Invoices. Normally you receive Invoices after a specific job is complete. I was very busy at this time. I was also busy because my boss was sent by the company to a different place to do other work and I was on my own. One day I was told our office would be taken away and all staff who left must move to another small building. All temporary buildings are going to be taken away one day. You knew it, but it’s still very sad to leave used place, especially if you like it. I walked through the building – it was full of sweet memories, many sentimental things were still there, like little candy vending machine on the kitchen. We have great fun with it. It was a small metal machine that stood on the table. It had drop-through coin mechanism accepting twenty pence coins. All you need - to put money in the coin slot, slide the handle and out come about fifteen glazed nuts. But we found a trick. If to turn one shrimpish screw underneath the machine - machine would give you more sweets. Our engineer worked it out, but guy who own machine didn’t know it. A person of great intelligence could find ingenious solution.

It was a moving day. Everybody started packing and moving furniture. All doors became open. Suddenly I heard the screams coming from the main hall. It was a bird flying around inside the building being unable to find a way out. She winged a way through the air like little feathered fighter aircraft making some girls scream: “A-A-A a terrible bird, take this bird out. A-A-A”. It was very hard to watch the bird hit the windows. Bird became very stressed and mad loosing the freedom. Soon small softling fell down. Still breathing body was thrown off the window. Bird didn’t fly – one of her leg was broken. I thought if Susan was there she would defiantly take this bird to veterinary. I remember one day Susan showed me a rabbit she’d picked up off the road. Rustic rabbit was bumped by car and Susan couldn’t drive away without helping him.

Next day I saved several birds trapped in the building again. I opened windows and made birds free. I found bean that day as well. I haven’t been at work at Susan’s final day. I took ten days holidays and Susan left when I haven’t been in the office. I came back later, entered reception. Room looked empty. I couldn’t see bean. On this moving day bean appeared to me again. It was in the corner. It was dead. Plastic pot was turned over; emarcid, dry leaves looked brown and withered. I couldn’t believe to find our great, super bean in such condition. Nobody cared about it any more. Bean had gone with Sue.

Three guys come to my room and said they are here to move all my files to container outside. It was pimping, corroded, cold container, but there was not enough space in the new building for all documentation. While moving the cabinets to the container, the workers made a mistake and mixed all the files. I corrected mistake putting files by right order in correct cabinet, but it was sad to see such chaos round. During many months my boss and me really care trying to do job properly. Some people in the company criticised my boss for using old, prehistoric methods in work, but he was very accurate and all job was done unexceptional. When he left I tried following way we worked keeping everything ideal. But what would be when I left? Who would care?

I saw one more colleague very upset yesterday. It was Frank. He hasn’t been temporary worker and been with the company for more then several years. But project finished, company didn’t need Frank any more. Frank was given a month’s notice. Before Frank was very enthusiastic about his job and really worried for pipeline. He came to his boss to talk but boss didn’t look to be care and able to help. He had so much on his mind or may be he turned traitor. Nobody cared and good feelings of Frank towards the project died. Frank was an important part of the pipeline, one of its leaves. He said he was thrown away like used clove. Frank still need to finish his work - important part of the job he did. Will he finish it now? He also said he would go to court and make lots of trouble. I think main boss after this probably would think: “this guy are simply bossing up the whole show”.

I felt very sorry for Frank and a bit guilty because my boss phoned me and said the company giving me a bonus for good job. It’s not much, but very pleasant. Thank my boss for his kind thought of me. I am leaving the pipeline with good feelings being really proud for the job I did. Today is my last day. I tried to complete all important moments, explained other girl that she need to do to maintain my job. I left her with some Invoices that already were paid but not input in our database. Suddenly one idea appeared in my mind: “Will she input them or may be just throw them away. I hope she will. I hope the people who really care for the pipeline will bring the project to the end. After all, any business no matter what it is: bean cultivation or construction of the pipeline, family relations or two business partner’s communication, stamp’s collection or child-rearing practice will be successful if there is somebody who caring for it.