Speedos? Nobody wears Speedos nowadays or at least that is what my wife said when I went to get mine out this Summer. P1120010
Date:Sep 18 2013, 04:12 PM
Subject:
RE: The End of an Era
Show full header
Dear Vols or Voles!
Firstly a big thank you to Mr Willis for his ramblings, amusing as ever. I request that I receive further ramblings as they make me smile and sometimes laugh out loud.
Thank you very much to all of you who came along yesterday to my farewell task and shindig, shame it wasn’t dry and sunny but hey ho we know what the weather can be like.
Thank you to all of you who contributed to my lovely gifts. In case you didn’t know I had a £130 (!) book voucher to spend at NHBS (Natural History Book Society), some lovely earrings, two huge mugs with animals and flowers on, two notebooks, a candle and a cuddly toy ie. Great Uncle Bulgaria from The Wombles, ooh and a cake that said Good Luck Liz. So I was thoroughly spoilt and rather over whelmed. I mustn’t forget I also had a very special present from Jock...it was in a dog poo bag which was decorated with stick on flowers and a good luck...I carefully felt and sniffed it first before gingerly opening it to find a long curled up....sausage...phew! So Jock ate his present to me!
I know I made an attempt at a speech (as you know I’m not very good at them and you lot don’t usually listen to me anyway!! J) and I hope I conveyed just some of the gratitude I have for all that you do. I should probably have said more but I might have started blubbing and I didn’t want to do that especially as we’ve had so many laughs and fun over the years for which I’m truly grateful. I will miss you all very much but will see some of you again (even next Tuesday as I’m coming along to the task at Flitton Moor to do a handover with Tim).
Thanks again for everything (it doesn’t seem enough but I hope you know it’s very heartfelt)
Take care of yourselves and each other.
Liz
Subject: The End of an Era
I’m sure the few sad people who put up with my nonsensical emails at the end of a day at SSNR will quite happily forego the tortuous ramblings of my mind as I write this homage to ‘Our Liz’;
It is with both deep sadness and great joy that we say farewell to the lady who has attempted to bring normality, nay sanity (and sanitation) to such a disparate (or is it desperate?) bunch of would-be do-gooders. Deep sadness because she is leaving us for pastures new (Wot was wrong with the old pastures I’d like to know?) [Actually I do, so no emails please, I’d never get chance to read them all].
Great joy because you can’t have high joy which is strange when you can have deep sadness. But I prattle. Great joy because she is moving on to new adventures, new challenges, new people (well that part’s easy considering how old some of us are, not that I’m speaking about myself you understand). But I will not say a new life, for Liz is not abandoning the old, not forgetting it, merely adding another exciting chapter to the wonderful story that is Liz Millbank. [Pass the tissues/bucket – delete as appropriate].
More often than not it has been Liz who has looked after us for the past six years. [I was going to say ‘was in charge’ but that would be pushing things]. Always reliable (15 minutes after the rest of us), Liz has known how to get the best out of us [the police call it intimidation/threatening behaviour], and always known when we’d had enough [the strong ones went home, the weak ones cried]. And if the stick didn’t work, then she’d use the carrot – what a nasty piece of vegetable that turned out to be!
And yet we learned so much. We have a lot to thank Liz for. We know how to cut things down (Moffatt excluding).We know how to start fires, although putting them out has always been a weak point. We can now survive the rigors of the wild where Ray Mears would be the stain on some furry animal’s chin. We know how to make fires out of things we’ve cut down. We can work under the most trying of circumstances. We know how to burn things we’ve cut down. We can sound convincing when we make up excuses, especially when we’ve cut the wrong things down and burnt them. We know how to hide in a newly mown field far away from the fire of things that shouldn’t have been cut down and burnt. We know how to hold our breath under water [whether or not there’s a boot on our chest], especially when surrounded by flames. We know how to shin up a tree in less than 10 seconds [just in front of a viciously carved vegetable], providing of course that it isn’t the tree that’s on fire. And yet despite all our failings Liz has never resorted to foul language, bad yes, but never foul, [well almost never]. We know how to be diplomatic to neighbouring landowners when they harangue us about cutting things down and burning them, or letting their horses eat our ragwort, [you didn’t think I’d not mention the ragwort?]. We know where not to drive land rovers in boggy fields and through this we know how to get out of sticky situations!
I’d noted so much more but someone burnt the piece of wood I’d whittled them on. And that’s another thing Liz has taught us to do in the woods!
And then there is Liz the councillor. Always knowing how to look interested, or wear dark shades. What to say and when to keep silent, but not be sleeping. She always knows the right questions to ask, the right feelings to express, the right time to walk away and find someone more interesting to talk to. In short, she has always made a person think for one small moment in time they were interesting and what they said and did mattered. And that means a lot to some of us dull, boring old{ish} .....(complete as appropriate).
So as Gerry Standing almost said to Sandra Pullman, the Eastern Voles say to Liz Millbank;
“We hate to say this, but you’re right to go. God knows we’ll miss you. These past few years we’ve felt that we’ve achieved something, and it’s all down to you. You’ve treated us better than any boss could (and quite often we didn’t deserve it). But you don’t belong here anymore. No, you belong out there where there’s more exciting stuff to be done. And we’re all big enough and ugly enough to cope. You’ll miss it. You’ll miss us. But there’s just one thing; When you walk out the door, don’t look back.”
Actually that last bit’s wrong. Look back. Look back and see a load of smiling faces waving you ‘Good Bye and Good Luck, never forgot, as we will never forget you, Joan.’
Malcolm
Speedos? Nobody wears Speedos nowadays or at least that is what my wife said when I went to get mine out this Summer. P1120010
Date:Sep 18 2013, 04:12 PM
Subject:
RE: The End of an Era
Show full header
Dear Vols or Voles!
Firstly a big thank you to Mr Willis for his ramblings, amusing as ever. I request that I receive further ramblings as they make me smile and sometimes laugh out loud.
Thank you very much to all of you who came along yesterday to my farewell task and shindig, shame it wasn’t dry and sunny but hey ho we know what the weather can be like.
Thank you to all of you who contributed to my lovely gifts. In case you didn’t know I had a £130 (!) book voucher to spend at NHBS (Natural History Book Society), some lovely earrings, two huge mugs with animals and flowers on, two notebooks, a candle and a cuddly toy ie. Great Uncle Bulgaria from The Wombles, ooh and a cake that said Good Luck Liz. So I was thoroughly spoilt and rather over whelmed. I mustn’t forget I also had a very special present from Jock...it was in a dog poo bag which was decorated with stick on flowers and a good luck...I carefully felt and sniffed it first before gingerly opening it to find a long curled up....sausage...phew! So Jock ate his present to me!
I know I made an attempt at a speech (as you know I’m not very good at them and you lot don’t usually listen to me anyway!! J) and I hope I conveyed just some of the gratitude I have for all that you do. I should probably have said more but I might have started blubbing and I didn’t want to do that especially as we’ve had so many laughs and fun over the years for which I’m truly grateful. I will miss you all very much but will see some of you again (even next Tuesday as I’m coming along to the task at Flitton Moor to do a handover with Tim).
Thanks again for everything (it doesn’t seem enough but I hope you know it’s very heartfelt)
Take care of yourselves and each other.
Liz
Subject: The End of an Era
I’m sure the few sad people who put up with my nonsensical emails at the end of a day at SSNR will quite happily forego the tortuous ramblings of my mind as I write this homage to ‘Our Liz’;
It is with both deep sadness and great joy that we say farewell to the lady who has attempted to bring normality, nay sanity (and sanitation) to such a disparate (or is it desperate?) bunch of would-be do-gooders. Deep sadness because she is leaving us for pastures new (Wot was wrong with the old pastures I’d like to know?) [Actually I do, so no emails please, I’d never get chance to read them all].
Great joy because you can’t have high joy which is strange when you can have deep sadness. But I prattle. Great joy because she is moving on to new adventures, new challenges, new people (well that part’s easy considering how old some of us are, not that I’m speaking about myself you understand). But I will not say a new life, for Liz is not abandoning the old, not forgetting it, merely adding another exciting chapter to the wonderful story that is Liz Millbank. [Pass the tissues/bucket – delete as appropriate].
More often than not it has been Liz who has looked after us for the past six years. [I was going to say ‘was in charge’ but that would be pushing things]. Always reliable (15 minutes after the rest of us), Liz has known how to get the best out of us [the police call it intimidation/threatening behaviour], and always known when we’d had enough [the strong ones went home, the weak ones cried]. And if the stick didn’t work, then she’d use the carrot – what a nasty piece of vegetable that turned out to be!
And yet we learned so much. We have a lot to thank Liz for. We know how to cut things down (Moffatt excluding).We know how to start fires, although putting them out has always been a weak point. We can now survive the rigors of the wild where Ray Mears would be the stain on some furry animal’s chin. We know how to make fires out of things we’ve cut down. We can work under the most trying of circumstances. We know how to burn things we’ve cut down. We can sound convincing when we make up excuses, especially when we’ve cut the wrong things down and burnt them. We know how to hide in a newly mown field far away from the fire of things that shouldn’t have been cut down and burnt. We know how to hold our breath under water [whether or not there’s a boot on our chest], especially when surrounded by flames. We know how to shin up a tree in less than 10 seconds [just in front of a viciously carved vegetable], providing of course that it isn’t the tree that’s on fire. And yet despite all our failings Liz has never resorted to foul language, bad yes, but never foul, [well almost never]. We know how to be diplomatic to neighbouring landowners when they harangue us about cutting things down and burning them, or letting their horses eat our ragwort, [you didn’t think I’d not mention the ragwort?]. We know where not to drive land rovers in boggy fields and through this we know how to get out of sticky situations!
I’d noted so much more but someone burnt the piece of wood I’d whittled them on. And that’s another thing Liz has taught us to do in the woods!
And then there is Liz the councillor. Always knowing how to look interested, or wear dark shades. What to say and when to keep silent, but not be sleeping. She always knows the right questions to ask, the right feelings to express, the right time to walk away and find someone more interesting to talk to. In short, she has always made a person think for one small moment in time they were interesting and what they said and did mattered. And that means a lot to some of us dull, boring old{ish} .....(complete as appropriate).
So as Gerry Standing almost said to Sandra Pullman, the Eastern Voles say to Liz Millbank;
“We hate to say this, but you’re right to go. God knows we’ll miss you. These past few years we’ve felt that we’ve achieved something, and it’s all down to you. You’ve treated us better than any boss could (and quite often we didn’t deserve it). But you don’t belong here anymore. No, you belong out there where there’s more exciting stuff to be done. And we’re all big enough and ugly enough to cope. You’ll miss it. You’ll miss us. But there’s just one thing; When you walk out the door, don’t look back.”
Actually that last bit’s wrong. Look back. Look back and see a load of smiling faces waving you ‘Good Bye and Good Luck, never forgot, as we will never forget you, Joan.’
Malcolm