Enough about the men. Let's talk about the Mothers-In-War at #HerefordMilitaryHistoryFestival.
In conversation with one man guaranteed to advocate for women in history - the wonderful, @MattLewisAuthor . Prepare to meet some bold, brave women! Tickets at https://t.co/uBikq9psqB
At seventy-nine, I live alone.
And for the first time in my life, I feel completely at peace.
When people hear that, I notice the look in their eyes. A softness. A kind of pity.
They ask gently:
“Don’t you get lonely?”
“Isn’t the silence hard?”
I always smile.
Because living alone is not the same as being lonely.
My name is Angela. I’m seventy-nine years old, and I live in the same apartment that once overflowed with noise — children running through the hallway, doors slamming, laughter from the kitchen, voices talking over one another at dinner.
I was a wife.
I was a mother.
I was the person who remembered everything.
Appointments.
Birthdays.
Groceries.
Medicines.
The small invisible tasks that quietly hold a family together.
I gave my life to the people I loved, and I do not regret it. But I also carried a tiredness I never spoke about.
Then my husband died.
After that, everyone worried about me.
“You shouldn’t live alone.”
“You need someone to take care of you.”
“You should stay with your children.”
I know those words came from love.
But hidden inside them was another idea:
that a woman my age could not possibly enjoy solitude.
That silence must mean sadness.
At first, even I wondered if something was wrong with me for liking the quiet.
Then one morning, standing by the window with a cup of coffee in my hands, watching strangers hurry through an ordinary gray morning, I realized something that changed me completely:
I had not been abandoned by life.
I had finally been returned to myself.
Now I wake when my body is ready.
I cook what I want.
I rest when I’m tired.
Some days I speak to no one at all — and yet I feel full, not empty.
I read.
I walk.
I watch old films.
I sit with my thoughts without rushing to escape them.
The silence no longer frightens me.
It comforts me.
My children have their own lives now, and that is exactly how it should be. I raised them to become independent adults, not lifelong caretakers of my happiness.
Of course I still feel nostalgia sometimes.
I miss certain voices.
Certain moments.
Certain versions of life that no longer exist.
But nostalgia is not the same thing as regret.
What I feel most now is peace.
The peace of no longer needing to prove anything.
The peace of having spent decades caring for others and finally learning how to care for myself.
The peace of understanding that solitude can be a gift instead of a punishment.
So when people still ask me,
“Angela… doesn’t the night scare you?”
I answer honestly:
No.
Silence is not my enemy.
It is my home.
And here, at last, I feel free.
A bricklayer in East Yorkshire has spent 35 years putting up barn owl nest boxes on weekends. This year, the region saw 308 owlets hatch.
His name is Robert Salter. He's 56 and does bricklaying full time. In 1990, he saw a piece on the news about a man in Lincolnshire installing barn owl boxes, and decided he'd do the same. He started with five.
He now has more than 350 boxes scattered across fields, farms, outbuildings, and trees in East Yorkshire. Every June, he takes four weeks off from bricklaying and visits them with his wife Sue. Scrambling up ladders, ringing chicks, cleaning boxes, repairing the ones the weather got to. He's a licensed bird ringer for the British Trust for Ornithology.
In 2024, the region ringed 95 owlets. In 2025, the count was 308. The Barn Owl Trust says that nationally, this year was "pretty poor" for barn owl breeding, but east Yorkshire is the exception, and it's the exception because of one man with a ladder.
The barn owl population in the UK was estimated at 4,000 pairs in the mid-2000s and crashed to roughly 1,000 by the early 2010s. The species is still recovering.
Most of conservation is one person who refuses to give up.
@anniegarthwaite I love your posts, Annie, they are so interesting and informative.
I keep recommending your brilliant books too. Looking forward to joining you in the line up for Norwich in just 10 days time xx
#OTD 1465: Coronation of Elizabeth Woodville. She and Edward IV had married secretly some months earlier. Her coronation marked her arrival on the public stage. But her queenship and marriage ended in tatters when, after his death in 1483, Edward was revealed to be a bigamist.
We are incredibly sad to hear that RSC Honorary Associate Artist Michael Pennington passed away at the age of 82 yesterday.
A Shakespearean to his very bones, Michael’s long & distinguished career with us spanned an astonishing 50 years.
Our thoughts go to all those who knew him
@anniegarthwaite Oh Annie! You will take the best of memories with you and will be ready for new ones I don’t doubt. Hope you get a wonderful buyer without too much delay 🙏xx
Speaking about the deep contradictions in human nature, Japanese actor Hiroyuki Sanada said:
“Some people dream of having a swimming pool at home, while those who have one barely use it. Those who have lost a loved one feel a profound sense of loss, while others often complain about the relatives still in their lives. Those without a partner long for one, while those who have a partner often fail to appreciate them. The hungry would give anything for a meal, while the full complain about the taste of their food. Those without a car dream of owning one, while those who have a car are always looking for a better one.
The key to happiness is gratitude—to truly see and value what we already have, and to understand that somewhere, someone would give everything for what we take for granted.”
An algorithm’s watching me, I am not certain why,
It sends advertisements for things I do not want to buy,
It makes me feel uneasy, that upon me it has preyed,
And if I could locate it, I would whack it with a spade.