In April last year I made a decision that I wanted to dedicate time to doing what I could to help Japan, and in order to do that I had to make some changes to my working life — working twelve-hour days and seven-day weeks doesn’t leave much time for anything (or anyone) else.

And guess what, I loved the life that earning less gave me.

I don’t necessarily mean “working” less, but earning less — I am talking about a reduction in personal income for whatever reason, the adjustments you make because of that, and the way your life, values, choices, and relationships change as a consequence. For a variety of reasons a lot of people are facing the possibility of earning less money, and, unlike me, probably feeling that it is not their choice. And there are probably people who love to work all the hours they can, but feel generally annoyed because they feel they don’t have more money to show for it. Whatever money people have, it never seems to be enough — and now we are living in a world that encourages us to buy stuff we don’t need and pay for it later, it is no wonder so many people aren’t really living life.

My epiphany came from a rejection of the material — suddenly I didn’t want any of the things that I was in the habit of buying. I wasn’t even that materialistic to start off with — I’ve never had the urge to own property and I’m not impressed by fancy clothes or restaurants. But my make-up bag did resemble a small branch of MAC, and I couldn’t pop into an IKEA without deciding to revamp one room in the house when all I wanted was a candle.

I think I can trace it back to the day after the earthquake — putting on makeup and using the special shampoo and conditioner that maintained those funky fuchsia pink stripes I so loved just seemed like utterly pointless things to do. When I left my writing holiday in Saipan and arrived in England a week later all I had was a bikini and a few sarongs so I borrowed a pair of jeans and a couple of tops from my sister-in-law rather than buy suitable clothes — they’d been sitting in the bottom of her wardrobe for months. She asked me if I wanted a couple of fancy tops in case I went out anywhere nice — but going out somewhere nice was on the bottom of my list of things to do. I wanted to spend my time giving talks to schools and collecting items to get back to Japan, and all I needed for that were jeans and a top with the Japanese flag on it — that became my uniform for six weeks.

Throughout those six weeks I couldn’t shake off thoughts of people who had lost everything in the tsunami and odd feelings of guilt kept creeping in — I still don’t quite understand that. At the time I thought that it was just a phase, and it wouldn’t be long before I’d be looking forward to plastering on the makeup again, and getting back to my favourite high-heeled boots. But it didn’t happen. I liked getting up in the morning and putting on the same “uniform.” I liked sticking my hair back in a ponytail and putting on a bit of eyeliner, mascara, and lipstick as opposed to giving myself a mini-makeover every morning. I didn’t have to think about what to wear or how I looked, and instead just thought about the job in hand — what could I do to help Japan somehow, even just a tiny bit.

I didn’t even care about my home or my savings anymore — in the weeks that followed the earthquake my then-husband called me from Japan panicking about the rent and credit card bills so I sent him my bank cards and told him to take what he wanted and give notice on the house because I didn’t plan on living there again and didn’t care about the money I’d saved. Those things suddenly seemed to complicate life rather than enhance it.

And when I originally wrote this blog entry back in December, eight months after I made the decision that I wanted to somehow do things to help Japan and decided to make my personal income very low on my list of priorities in order to do so, I reflected on how my life had been enhanced in so many ways.

When you’re living on a strict budget, it’s actually really easy to decide what to spend it on — you work out what the important things are and stop caring about everything else. Eating has got to be number one, and I found that I had the time to shop for fresh food and to prepare healthy meals. Fruit and vegetables are cheaper at the little shop in town rather than at Tesco round the corner, which is great because I love to walk and the staff are really friendly, and I’m supporting a small, family-run business. One lipstick, a mascara, and an eyeliner is really all I need, so I didn’t need to spend a fortune on makeup anymore and instead gave away all that expensive MAC stuff I had to a teenager studying to be a makeup artist and would otherwise never be able to afford to buy it. Shopping became a very simple task that involves just the necessities and the odd bottle of wine.

Paying for a place to live was an interesting one — as I wanted to visit all these schools there wasn’t any point in having a permanent place to live. If I was going to stay in hotels then that would mean earning more money or using a portion of the donations which was absolutely out of the question as far as I was concerned. So I stayed with friends and family as I travelled around. This gave me a very rare chance to spend quality time with people I hadn’t spent time with in over fifteen years — I was a part of their family, helped out with their kids and dogs, cooked with them and for them, and laughed and cried at things that had happened to us all in recent years. If I’d felt bound to a mortgage or a rental contract, I wouldn’t have been able to do this.

Going out for special occasions was one I think some people might struggle with — it was a dear friend’s 40^th last year and her surprise dinner was not within my budget, but she seemed to care more about the fact that I wrote her a long, and very personal, poem as a present instead. I would never have had the time to do that before. And Mr W and I went out for dinner once our first six months of being together — I just couldn’t (and still can’t!) be bothered to dress up but instead prefer to sit at home over a candlelit dinner we’ve made together, wearing the shirt he’s worn all day, fluffy socks, and a pair of knickers.

So I have found myself thinking about these different “mothers” in my life, and also about the mothering roles that women I know play in the lives of the children around them.

I think of friends who are raising their own children, some with the children’s father, some with a partner who has taken on that role, some with their own complicated situation, and some alone. I think of how hard they work to keep everything going; not just in their children’s lives but also in their own lives — jobs, hobbies, friendships, relationships, and surely their own sanity. I remember the years my Mum worked and worked to provide for her children; sacrificing her own interests, friendships, and chances at romance until we had left home.

I think about the women who try to help to fill in the gaps along the way — the aunties and mums’ best friends who are always there, with open minds and open arms, both for the kids and the mums. I think about my own aunties and even though they weren’t around very much, I have fond memories of them. My glamorous Auntie Sylvia in Wales, with her stunningly coiffed hair and the beauty spot she had permanently tattooed above her lip mesmerized me as well as impressed me with its shock value when we went to visit. And my equally glamorous Auntie Lesley far away in London, immersed in the arts and all forms of artistic expression; the person who taught me how to shimmy before I had anything worth shimmying.

My thoughts also turn to the mothers I know who have lost children — I think of Julia and Jane and the daughters they lost, and I also think of my oldest school friend who lost a daughter almost twelve years ago. Surely in looking at the cards on the mantelpiece this week there is also the thought that they are one card short. I am moved at the thought of their pain, but also moved at the thought of their strength.

And I think about the women who are raising children who are not their own — who, for whatever reason, find themselves mothers to children they never expected to mother. I especially think of the woman who raised my two eldest nieces and did a far better job than their birth mother was sadly ever capable of doing. I will forever be grateful that this woman, not even married to their father at the time, welcomed two little girls into her arms and her home, and devoted herself to loving and caring for them just as if they were her own. Those two little girls are now all grown-up and are the kind of daughters anyone would be proud of.

Happy Mother’s Day, Jo. And thank you.

When I was in the UK the last time, which was before my most recent trip to Japan and also before my month on Oshika, I watched everything I could about the earthquake and tsunami. If there was anything on TV then I had to watch it; any links to videos posted by Facebook friends — I watched them all. Sometimes they made me cry but sometimes I felt numb with disbelief — by watching the tsunami over and over again, and listening to people talk about their lives, I guess I hoped to gain a better understanding — although I do wonder if there was also a need to put in perspective the way that my own life fell apart last year?

Last Sunday felt strange — thinking about where I was when I heard about the earthquake, the hours spent stuck on high ground in Saipan while watching the tsunami footage online, and the “aftershocks” in my personal life that came from that moment onwards. Also thinking about the aftershocks in the lives of my friends — even though the earthquake affected none of us in the same way that the people of Tohoku were affected, we were all still affected one way or another. And then of course thinking about the very real impact on the people of Tohoku, and especially thinking about the people on Oshika.

I know of friends in Tokyo who joined large gatherings of people to have moments of silence together and found comfort in that. I know of other friends who gathered with loved ones at home and found comfort there. And the people of Ohara lit candles all the way up the steps to the shrine and found comfort there. I wasn’t sure how I was going to feel but had known that I would be in the UK, and would want to hide away somewhere by the sea so Mr W took me to North Devon for the weekend. I woke up early on Sunday and went for a 5K run mostly through sea mist, and wearing my Japan t-shirt as I always do when I run in the UK. I came back to find Mr W still in bed but checking the news on Japan on his iPhone; I couldn’t read or look at any of it.

In stark contrast to my previous visit to the UK, now I can’t watch anything about the earthquake. Family text me when there is something on British TV (as there has been recently with the anniversary last Sunday) but I have no desire to watch any of it. It’s not that I want to block it out or pretend it hasn’t happened, or that I have “disaster fatigue,” because I think about Oshika and the people on it every single day. It’s just that it’s too upsetting to watch what happened on TV now that I know the people to whom it happened, and their own individual stories. I see Kameyama-san, the Ohara fishermen, Saito-san’s little daughters, Mrs Sasaki holding her mother-in-law, and Onodera-san saving his wife, and I feel like this all happened to friends of mine now. I can’t watch it from a distance anymore, yet I am completely comfortable in the middle of the aftermath when on Oshika — it does not bother me one bit.

Maybe it’s because I found so much love and laughter and beauty during my time in Oshika, that I have found that these are really the things that bring strength when dealing with unimaginable loss, pain, and destruction. It is the laughter of little kids asking you to read the English on the clothes that were donated to the temporary day-care centre, the hugs and smiles from an old fisherman whose mother’s body still hasn’t been found, the cackling of the fisherwomen as they tell saucy stories to each other despite having lost their husbands.

When you strip away everything — money, homes, personal belongings, even access to food; all you are left with is the human spirit. How we treat each other, how we talk to each other, how we smile at each other, and how we hold another person in our arms — these are the things that keep us going when all else is gone.

And these are the things that the people I met in Oshika are so good at — maybe this is why in the middle of wasteland and piles of debris they find the strength to rebuild their lives. And along the way, give strength to those of us who have the privilege of helping too.

It’s a relationship that has been important to me for over twenty years.

But now that Mr W’s children know that our relationship is moving into a different stage, suddenly the most important relationship in this slightly complicated but very modern situation, to me, is no longer the relationship I have with Mr W. But instead it is the one I have with his kids. And I didn’t quite realize it until I saw his daughter’s reaction to our news.

We could immediately see that Little Miss W was very happy to know that I’m no longer just “Daddy’s girlfriend” but something that was in her eyes, more permanent. But we made it very clear to her that we didn’t expect her to think of me as a stepmum or call me stepmum or anything like that — we told her that I’m still Caroline and I’ll always be Caroline. Personally I think it’s up to the children to decide whether someone is their step-parent or not; it doesn’t matter what the legal relationship might be. And if these kids never feel comfortable thinking of me as their stepmum, then that’s totally fine by me — what they want to call me is up to them (although I really hope it doesn’t contain any four-letter words).

I’m a little oversensitive and possibly overly worry about the children’s happiness and comfort with me in their lives, and that comes from my own personal experience — my father got married for the second time when I was a teenager, but unfortunately my relationship with my stepmum was constantly overshadowed by my own guilt and conflict. As I found that there were things I liked doing with my stepmum, or grew to like her as a person, I felt utterly disloyal to my own mother, and that inner turmoil was very hard to cope with. All I really needed was Mum to tell me that it was OK to like Dad’s new wife, but given the circumstances of Dad leaving us for her, it would have taken an unbelievably strong woman to be able to do that — truly putting children first is much more difficult to do in reality than it is in theory. So you can understand that I’m a little sensitive and don’t want the children to grow up feeling that same conflict that I had.

I guess the fact that I don’t have children is an advantage in some ways — I may not know what I’m doing with them all the time, but honestly, which parents do? But I do know that Mr W’s children will always be the only children in our life together. They won’t need to feel insecure or in competition with any other little ones either now or in the future because there won’t be any (unless you count my two furry ones). Daddy isn’t making a new family anywhere else. I see the fact that I have never wanted my own children as a good thing too — I have made a conscious decision to marry someone with kids and with that I am making a promise to love and care for them as much as I love and care for their Dad. Someone who long ago decided not to have children doesn’t take that kind of commitment lightly.

But those are all conversations to have with the kids in years to come, if it becomes necessary. Last weekend, I was nervous about sharing our news with them, but Mr W has such a lovely relationship with his kids that I should have known there was nothing to worry about. Little Mr W is still too young to know what’s going on but his sister was over the moon about the thought of being a bridesmaid (“Can I have a little heel, please?” “Do you think I’ll look better in pink or purple?” “Is anybody else going to be a bridesmaid?”). I was so relieved that she seemed happy, but I did secretly worry whether this excited eight-year-old fully understood what was going on and whether she was really OK with it. I needn’t have worried, as I soon found out.

As “Daddy’s girlfriend” I had tried to stand back a little when the children came to visit. Conscious of the short amount of time Mr W has with them, I was keen for them to just spend time with their Dad so would busy myself with things like making meals and clearing up — that way he wouldn’t have to waste precious time on things like that when he could be doing stuff with the kids. I hadn’t planned on any of that changing but as the weekend went on, it became apparent that Little Miss W had decided that I had to now be a proper part of her family; insisting that I did everything with them, linking arms with me as we walked along the road, and even snuggling up to me on the sofa before bedtime.

And the final seal of approval arrived just a couple of days later in the mail, in the form of a handmade card with a huge heart on it, and the words “Daddy and my soon-to-be stepmum …. There’s love in the air.”

It looks like I’m going to be a stepmum.

GPlus Media will be developing a new website for Being A Broad, maintaining the existing services for foreign women in Japan, as well as creating more services for members and sponsors alike.

Caroline Pover, who founded Being A Broad in 1997, said, “After many years of knowing key members of the GPlus Media team, I am very excited to be working with them. They have the expertise and enthusiasm necessary to take Being A Broad forwards, and I am looking forward to having the time to focus on Tohoku-related activities as well as an increasingly long list of books I have wanted to write for quite some time!”

GPlus Media CEO Peter Wilson said, “We are excited about the opportunity to be part of the Being A Broad community. GPlus Media will leverage its resources as much as possible to support and strengthen BAB’s mission of providing information and inspiration to foreign women in Japan.”

BAB Editor Danielle Tate-Stratton will continue to create the content that foreign women in Japan have come to rely upon for information and inspiration in their lives, and Helen Metcalfe joins the team in organizing social and professional events for members and their friends. Helen is originally from the UK and has been living in Tokyo for almost one year.

BAB BRUNCH Sunday March 11th 1pm
Helen’s first event will be a brunch for foreign women at Roti in Roppongi on Sunday March 11th from 1pm — a great opportunity to get together with other foreign women, tell Helen what events you’d like her to organise, and perhaps have some company on what is no doubt going to be a rather emotional day for many. Helen says, “I’m looking forward to this new role with BAB, and I’m hoping to organise lots of fun events for you ladies! Summer will be upon us before we know, so there’s so much we can do — BBQs, picnics, parties, seminars, so much to choose from!” Email helenmet1975@yahoo.co.uk to RSVP or to let her know about your future event ideas. The brunch will be on a pay-as-you-go basis.

The day after I drove back from Oshika I picked up Sandie, who I hadn’t seen since May last year. She remembered me but I felt a bit like someone who’d just adopted a child and had no idea what to do with it. It was a little overwhelming actually — I have lived out of a suitcase since March and not had to be responsible for anyone or anything else except myself since May. I have such a bad habit of not giving myself time to rest and I could have done with a couple of days to myself before throwing myself back into Tokyo, with a dog, while crashing at a friend’s. I didn’t have one day off for the entire month I was on Oshika — it didn’t feel tiring at the time but I realized I was exhausted when I got to Tokyo. Constantly being upbeat, speaking in and listening to Japanese, and not really having anyone in person to share my thoughts with (which weren’t always as positive as my blog was!) was actually quite draining although it didn’t feel like it at the time. But no, silly me always thinks I can just keep going!

I had lots to do in Tokyo actually — getting Sandie’s quarantine documents ready, catching up with friends, sorting out some business matters, and giving a couple of informal talks about my month in Tohoku.

I’ll write a long, detailed account of what you need to do to get a dog from Japan to the UK a bit later because I think it will be really helpful for other people who don’t want to use a pet consultant. The Japanese quarantine office at Narita is the most efficient government office I have ever had to deal with — they operate on a 24-hour basis, and guide you through the entire process including checking all your documentation for your destination country. You can do it all yourself but you cannot fly a dog into the UK without a pet consultant (this is a regulation imposed by airlines and not the UK itself) so if you don’t want to pay up to ¥700,000 per dog then you have to fly them somewhere else and make other arrangements for the remainder of the journey. I am flying to Paris (Air France just lets you check in your dog with your luggage) where my brother-in-law is meeting me and he will drive me to Cirencester. It will probably be a seven-hour drive but we have been looking forward to it because we are very fond of each other and rarely get the chance to spend so much time together.

I didn’t leave enough time to catch up with friends on this trip but I plan to be back in Japan in May and will be sure to leave more time for Tokyo. I have always been the kind of person to make sure I find time for everyone, and to not be very good at saying “no,” so usually run around constantly trying to meet other people’s needs. With the new way my life is moving — three months in Japan and three months in the UK etc. etc., and with my desire to spend most of my Japan time in Tohoku — it’s just not going to be possible to keep up that level of social interaction! I suspect the group of people close to me will become smaller as time goes on, but with the Internet nobody ever feels too far away these days. When I did catch up with friends it was interesting to see what changes are going on — quite a few people have left or are leaving, most of whom were toying with the idea before the earthquake anyway. Some are doing something similar to me as they move towards living in two (or more) countries and have made changes to their work to enable them to do so. And there are some who are staying in Japan and for whom life hasn’t changed that much on the surface, but are still coping with significant levels of a mostly emotional impact since March 11^th as they adjust to a new kind of Tokyo life.

I had some business matters to sort out too, especially concerning some very exciting developments for Being A Broad, which will be announced on March 1^st. I am moving my work life toward spending the three months I am in the UK on writing and the three months I am in Japan on Tohoku-related activities, but I still have some business projects I am taking care of. I have a long list of books that I have wanted to write for quite some time now, and think that my time in the UK would be well spent getting those done. I will continue to work with the British-based schools that have made Oshika something they want to support, but know the time has come when I need to get my head down and finish off the books that are in production, and then get the next ones started. I think the English countryside is a lovely place to get writing in!

I also spent time in Tokyo giving talks on my month in Tohoku. I was invited to a retired Japanese gentlemen’s home to talk to his friends about my time there. They had all been very supportive in sending goods and money and following my blog, and I was given a lovely “welcome back” party. I was only supposed to be there for 90 minutes but ended up staying for three hours and really enjoying talking about what I had seen and experienced. I did something similar with some of the mums at Ohana International School, who had sent lots of items up for me to distribute, so it was lovely to be able to tell them first-hand what had happened to their donations.

I have been invited to give a talk in London on March 7^th, as part of a week of lectures and events to mark the first anniversary. I had been asked by two different organizations to give a talk in London on the actual day — March 11^th, but when I was asked I suddenly realized that I didn’t want to be around anyone on that day. I’m not sure if I’ve paid much attention to myself during the past year and, maybe selfishly, feel that perhaps I need to. I hadn’t thought about what I would like to do on the 11th but suddenly realized that all I wanted to do was hide away somewhere with Mr W, but definitely by the sea. It turned out that Mr W had somehow known what I needed without me telling him, and had secretly booked that weekend for us to stay on the North Devon coast.

It is a very brave man who not only thinks he knows what I want but goes ahead and acts on it too.

The past seven weeks we have been apart while I have been in Japan have not been quite as awful as we had anticipated. We have attempted to Skype almost every day and that has made things much easier. He has loved reading my blogs as well as hearing about everything when we have actually had time to talk properly. I needed a lot of strength, in different ways, to be in Tohoku for a month, and he gave me so much of it — I felt his presence in everything I did there. He has been patient and supportive as he watched me on my adventures, and I know he would never dream of trying to stop me having them. Maybe that’s one of the nice things about having been friends for over twenty years — you know just how much certain things mean to each other and wouldn’t want to change that.

When I first went to the UK for the six weeks in March and April last year, it was for Japan. When I went for six months in June it was mainly for Japan but also for me. This next trip is for him.

Yesterday’s English roast dinner Japanese-style went even better than I had imagined — somehow I found a way to make my favourite Sunday roast dishes without the use of an oven. And a lovely person in Tokyo sent up some stuffing which was a first for everyone. The vegetables I could get were potatoes, carrots, cabbage, peas, broccoli, and onions. I usually roast each of them in their own sauces but instead had three gas rings to work with — the carrots were steamed in fresh mikan juice and ginger; the cabbage was stir fried with bacon, onion, and peas; the onions were sliced and marinated overnight in olive oil and balsamic vinegar then sautéed instead of being roasted whole; the “roast” potatoes were boiled then sautéed in oil and lots of salt and pepper (these were the highlight of the meal for everyone — 8kg of potatoes were consumed!), and the steamed broccoli was covered in cheese sauce and breadcrumbs then finished off with a blowtorch in lieu of a grill!

I fried lemon-marinated chicken breasts and salt-and-pepper-covered steak then sliced the meat into thin pieces. I made gravy with all the vegetable stock and meat juices (with loads of red wine and an OXO cube that someone sent up from Tokyo) and I showed people how we pour the gravy over everything, although actually I quite enjoyed watching people dip their vegetables and meat in the “sauce” Japanese-style. Everything had to be chopstick-friendly, as I haven’t come across a knife and fork for the entire time I’ve been here!

And to go with everything were four boxes of real English beer that the Hobgoblin very kindly sent up — they went down a treat! So did the trifle with half a bottle of rum in it — I warned everyone that there was loads of alcohol in it so most of the old women stayed away but I spotted Takako-sensei sneaking a bowl to take home with her, which really made me laugh.

The kitchen was the kind of chaos that I love. Anybody’s who’s seen me in action in a kitchen knows that I like to use every single pan I can get my hands on and then just pile everything up in the sink — I didn’t expect anyone to clear up after me but two of the Ohara boys cleaned everything as I went along, including the three pans I burned. It took me at least an hour to work out how to control the power of these gas rings. And at the end of the evening I was surprised to find five old ladies cleaning the entire kitchen (including the floor) to a level of which even my OCD boyfriend would be proud.

Saito-san’s youngest daughter, Haruka, was fascinated by what English food looked like so she spent much of the time hanging out with me in the kitchen, tasting everything and taking photos. I think Abe-san and Takako-sensei took pity on me when they saw I was doing everything by myself because before I knew it they were right in the middle of it all and somehow knew exactly what I wanted doing with everything — they were absolutely brilliant.

Loads of people started turning up — people I swear I had never met before but word had got around that everyone from Ohara was welcome. I’d had no idea how many people would show up and worried in case nobody came but in total there were about 40 people. The Ohara boys couldn’t believe how many people were there — I don’t think they had quite understood what I had been doing on Oshika when I wasn’t with them but last night they did. Utsumi-sensei who runs the temporary preschool that I visit every few days was there, along with her daughter and granddaughter, and some children from the school. Kameyama-san came along, as did the Sudas who run the gas station, and the Sasakis of course. Then there were the Ohara boys, and people I didn’t know well but to whom I had given either Valentine’s chocolates or some clothing or other donated items.

Takahashi-san kept saying over and over again that he had been surprised when he walked in to find so many people he didn’t know. He said he just loved the fact that people from different parts of the peninsula were all brought together, and how great it was that they could share ideas and experiences. It made me so happy to know that they were all having a wonderful time getting to know each other, and I stayed in the kitchen with Abe-san for most of the time, cooking one thing after another as Haruka and her friends took the dishes out. I had to go out and tell everyone not to wait but to start eating, and that we would do a kanpai later.

When it came to the kanpai, one of the little girls from the temporary preschool came forward to give me a homemade envelope filled with messages from the children who couldn’t make the evening. I opened the first one and started blubbing so thought I’d better put the rest away for later. Then Abe-san asked me to say a few words.

It was hard to know what on earth to say about my month here — there is so much to say, and I feel so grateful for this incredible experience. I have been welcomed into people’s homes and lives, and they have allowed me to help them in whatever small ways I could. I have had the opportunity to convey the love and care that so many people in other parts of Japan, and indeed the world, have for the people of Tohoku, and I hope I did them proud with the ways in which I chose convey that love and care.

What I hadn’t expected though, was to have gained quite so much for myself personally while being here and to now have such incredible memories — I have used a chainsaw, driven a digger, cut down bamboo, been out on a fishing boat, opened oysters fresh from the sea, spoken Japanese almost exclusively for a month, washed car windows in a gas station, gone without washing myself for four days, hung my underwear out for all to see, munched fish bones with the best of them, and jogged over broken roads and alongside wild deer. I have seen the most beautiful sunsets in my life, and spent time with beautiful people. It would have taken forever to explain my feelings about my time on Oshika, so instead (with the help of Hanako’s translation) I kept my words simple …

“I came here for a month because I wanted to help and give you something, but instead, I think you gave me so much more.”

Bratton Fleming Primary School, Northowram Primary School, and Notre Dame RC School, all UK-based schools, paid for the first project. The Ohara fishermen needed a special kind of water pump to be able to start this season’s wakame fishing, commencing next month. The water pump can be shared by several fishermen and also by the local farmers, so it was nice to be able to buy something that a group of people can use, and just in time for the season to start. Saito-san drove Abe-san and me into Ishinomaki to a special store where you can get all sorts of equipment for fishing — they took ages searching for exactly what they needed, which I was pleased about; I wanted them to take their time and not feel rushed or pressured at all. They found exactly what they needed, checked with me about the price, which was within my budget, and we headed off to pay. Saito-san then invited me out on his boat with them as soon as the weather was good, which I was absolutely thrilled about, so a few days later six of us got into a tiny four-seater boat with an engine that kept dying (I thought surely he doesn’t do any fishing on this thing and wondered whether I should have bought an engine instead) and was relieved to find out that this was just to get us to his actual fishing boat, which was much more impressive! I stayed out of the way on the boat as there were ropes everywhere and the side of the boat was so low it was easy to see how someone could fall overboard. I was happy watching how they attached new buoys to the oyster ropes, posing in the lovely bright blue fishing outfit they gave me to match theirs, and just being out on the ocean. They actually harvested some oysters then and there, which was a treat to watch — the rope was attached to a pulley and the oysters dragged into some kind of device, which then detached the oysters from the rope, landing with loud crashes into the baskets waiting below. I kept thinking about what an amazing sight this would be for the children who raised the money for the fishermen.

The second project was paid for by a combination of individuals and organizations — Iwao Nishiumi, Minoru Iketani, Eri Sato, Emily Downey, Natsuko Lobo, Naoko Fukai, Ken Fujioka, Jacinta Hin, Marcus Yeung, Stephen Gill, Tracey Thredgold, Ashley Thredgold, Max Thredgold, Sam Woodgate, Rika Meynell, Sainsbury’s Leamington Spa Staff, and King Henry VIII’s Sixth Form all paid for walls that the Sasakis needed for their wakame processing facility. The walls were delivered on Friday, just a couple of minutes before I popped over to say hi to them. They were thrilled. Mr Sasaki was talking to the delivery guys outside while I went inside with Mrs Sasaki. She showed me the invoice and apologized because it was a little higher than they had thought (¥170,000 instead of ¥140,000) but I had ¥150,000 for them so gave them that — she was very touched and visibly moved. We all had a coffee together and I started making a move to leave. We tried to work whether I could find a couple of hours on my last day here (Monday) where I can help hammer in a few nails with Mr Sasaki, but in the meantime we had a huge hug. Suddenly Mrs Sasaki started sobbing — really big sobs that broke my heart and actually still bring me to tears thinking about it. Her husband stroked her arm to comfort her and she apologized for being so emotional but by that time I was crying myself so we ended up having a laugh together, although I had to pull over once I’d driven off but was out of their eyesight. It was truly lovely to be able to help them and I hope that one day, all of those people who paid for those walls, get the chance to give Mrs Sasaki a hug too.

The third project was paid for by Yuriko Miyazaki and Andrew Robinson, and by another individual in memory of Joan M Dwyer. This was for my new hero, 72-year-old Kameyama-san, the only person on Oshika who is building his own house. He has worked so hard, all by himself, to the ridicule of so many others, and has built a lovely home for his family without knowing a thing about carpentry. He is such an inspiration and I think people like him deserve a break. The first time I visited him he was a bit withdrawn and reluctant to tell me what he needed but eventually told me a few practical things. I subsequently visited him a few times, each time bringing him something different — some clothes I thought he would like, a stove heater I knew he needed, my toolbox from Tokyo, some chocolates on Valentine’s Day. Now he doesn’t stop chatting to me, although I swear he’s not speaking Japanese because I don’t understand anything he says, but he laughs non-stop and that makes me laugh so somehow we manage to have fun together. He drove me to a recycle shop in Ishinomaki the day before yesterday, so we could kit out his kitchen — we got the biggest fridge I have ever seen (and it was worth it just to see his smile), a gas range, a microwave, a sink and cupboard unit, a kotatsu, and a small home shrine. It came to ¥85,000 and I had budgeted ¥100,000 so I gave him the remaining ¥15,000 to pay for an electrician/plumber to help him set it all up. The recycle shop staff loaded up the back of Kameyama-san’s truck, and held everything down by ropes. They redid everything when I told them we would be driving on Oshika, which has lots of windy roads and hills, but I wasn’t convinced that the massive fridge would still be upright by the time we got there (if it made the journey back at all). Kameyama-san’s driving didn’t help things — he actually went right through a red light with traffic coming from every direction and me shouting “aka aka aka,” which made him laugh even more so we ended up just laughing together the whole way back. Watching Kameyama-san and his friend unload everything, put it in a wheelbarrow, push it down a hill, over a tiny bridge, and down another hill (this time covered in mud) to the house was a sight I will never forget. We all agreed that the fridge wouldn’t make it so I came back the next day with strongmen Seiji and Hiroyuki, except it had snowed in the night so now the fridge had to make that journey but in the snow — watching these four men carrying the fridge all the way to the house was hilarious. I love the way that Kameyama-san finds fun and laughter in everything he does, and it was such an honour to be a part of it.

So thank you again to everyone who was part of these projects, and thank you to the people who sent petrol money. I still have about ¥350,000 coming from the UK to allocate, and will be back again in May to look at more projects, but was very happy to be able to find projects for the money I brought here with me on this trip. As well as the lovely friends I’ve made here, I’ve made a lot of contacts who now know the kinds of projects I’m looking to support — something that can make a real difference to someone’s home or work, costs a relatively small amount of money, can be completed quickly, and that I can see firsthand and be able to convey back to the people who paid for it. I think it is so important to let people know what happens to the money they have donated, and I hope that my blog has kept people informed. I have made plaques with the donors’ names on them (here are the first two and the third is on its way), and they are being placed on the water pump, the Sasakis’ walls, and in Kameyama-san’s kitchen — you can rest assured that your kindness will never be forgotten. I truly hope that during my time here, you have grown as fond of the Ohara fishermen, the Sasakis, and Kameyama-san, as I have.

The first time was quite unexpectedly, yesterday, when I was out delivering Valentine’s gifts to everyone. I saw a couple huddled around a fire just up a little hill and ran up to them with my basket. I immediately recognized the woman as someone I had met when I came here for the first time in May. I had thought of this woman literally every day since then and couldn’t believe that I had come across her again.

One of the reasons I felt a little lost when I first arrived here on this trip was that almost everything had been cleared, including what was left of people’s homes, and the people who were living in them had also disappeared. Three weeks ago I looked at the wasteland and wondered what on earth I could do to help. I had naively thought that some of the people that were etched in my memory might still be in the same places. There were two women in particular that I had secretly hoped to find again and to see for my own eyes that they were doing OK, and I have carried that secret hope of coming across them with me the whole time I have been here.

When Andrew Abbey and I had come here in May we had found this lady and her adult daughter just off the road, living under a big plastic sheet attached to half of their home, surrounded by debris. The daughter was totally bored so went right for a box of children’s toys and games, pulling out a Winnie the Pooh book, saying she was thrilled to hear that it came from England because she had always wanted to have an English boyfriend. I told that story and showed a photo of her with that book, alongside her mother, in every single school I visited in the UK. That very same photo is on the homepage of my website.

The daughter had been extremely cheerful in May but I remember the mother being expressionless and clearly in shock and exhausted. They both stayed in my mind for different reasons. I cannot explain what it felt like yesterday to come across the mother, proud to tell me that her daughter has a job in Ishinomaki, lives in a temporary home, and that they are both doing just fine. I also can’t explain how it felt to give her something not because she needed it this time but because it would make her smile. And she truly did smile. I invited her and her daughter to my “English food party” next Sunday and I really hope they come. I then tried to explain to her that I had thought about her and her daughter every day since May but suddenly realized I was going to burst into tears so instead rushed off waving goodbye and kept the tears for the car.

At the end of my day delivering Valentine’s goodies I decided to get some red wine and abandon my self-imposed January/February alcohol ban (I do this occasionally when I know I’ll need to sleep really well, have a lot of energy, be mentally alert, and prepared for a lot of activity). Mr W and I love our red wine nights in so I thought I’d like to have a drink with/for/to him on Valentine’s evening. So I popped over to the combini to see what they had — only one kind, no choice, and less than a thousand yen. My kind of wine shopping! Onodera-san (one of the Ohara boys) was there, and as I took the wine to the counter to pay he grabbed it off me and insisted on paying. Of course I said he wasn’t to, but he said that I had given presents to everyone on Oshika that day so he was giving me a present. So I insisted he came back and drank it with Hiroyuki and I.

At some point in the evening Onodera-san’s wife came up in conversation — Hiroyuki knows about my strokes and it turns out that Mrs Onodera had two brain haemorrhages when she was 43, one of which left her blind. I can’t imagine how terrified she must have been during the earthquake and tsunami. Mr Onodera told the story of how he was at the port working in a wakame processing factory when the earthquake happened. He immediately headed back home to his wife because he knew that a tsunami would come. He found all the furniture had fallen down so moved it all out of the way to find his wife. He found her on her knees, gripping on to either side of the kotatsu, with her head tilted downwards. She was in such a state of shock that he had to say her name five times until she responded, and finally he managed to lift her up and guide her up the mountain just in time before the tsunami hit their home.

Mr Onodera then talked a little about how he had cared for his wife since she went blind — he never goes out in the evening unless one of his children are there. Throughout the evening Mr Onodera kept rearranging my jeans that were drying next to the fire, and said that he was an expert because he does all the laundry at home (bear in mind that this is an extremely traditional community where gender roles are very old-fashioned, although the women here seem tougher than any women I’ve met before in Japan, and the men seem nothing but respectful toward and about their wives). He talked about how much he takes care of his wife.

Hiroyuki then talked about when his wife was in a car accident and subsequently in a wheelchair for two years. He talked about how much he took care of her during that time and we all talked about how you take care of each other, and what love is, and what marriage means — actually a lovely topic of conversation on Valentine’s Day! Although Mr Onodera and Hiroyuki weren’t to know but taking care of a sick spouse is a bit of a sensitive topic for me — unfortunately my ex-husband didn’t do very well in the care-taking department when I had my strokes, and he’s the first one to admit it. It’s not that he’s a bad person at all but he just doesn’t know how to take care of other people, and I know that when I think back on that period when I was so seriously ill, I still feel really upset about the lack of support. I’ve forgiven him otherwise we couldn’t be friends, but it is still very painful to look back on.

So I was feeling a little sensitive when Onodera-san started talking about how he loves taking care of his wife, and it wasn’t because of any sense of obligation or duty. Instead he said very simply, “She is my wife. I love her. She is my heart.” Pretty soon all three of us were crying.

As Onodera-san said goodnight he hugged and hugged me, and had tears in his eyes again as he said, “This has been the best Valentine’s Day ever.”