Grandmother's House - 5 - A Strange Affinity

Before moving on to the last room I must pause here to tell you about my Nan's strange affinity with cats.  You see she never bought a cat and was never given a cat but cats she always had.

Shortly after her marriage a stray cat came to her door. She took it in and it remained with her for the rest of its life.  Within forty eight hours of its death another cat appeared out of nowhere and the same thing happened.  Thus it went on - within a couple of days of the demise of the last cat, another one would appear, sometimes at the back door and sometimes at the front. On occasion they would just walk in.  Some cats were old when they appeared, others were sick but whatever time they had left they lived it out with her.

With her gift of the second-sight and people coming to her for advice on all matters it is a sobering thought to realize that centuries ago she would have been classed as a Witch and possibly hanged.

For some reason that none of us ever fathomed, each cat had exactly the same name - "Tutney".  Where she got this name from we will never know but every cat that came received the same name from her, male or female it made no difference, although the cats were usually male.

Nan always had a cat on her knee as she held court at the kitchen table, her cats followed her everywhere.

The last Tutney never left her.  In her last few years, bedridden and with hardly any sight left, Tutney slept nearly all the time on her chest or stomach and she would stroke him for hour upon hour. He would only leave her to eat or to answer the call of nature.

Came the fateful day.  Aunt Bet who had so lovingly cared for Nan all through her declining years had to go into hospital herself, it could not be put off or she would lose her leg.  My Mother could not take Nan because there was no spare bedroom. In the end it had to be decided that Nan would go into hospital whilst Bet received her treatment in another. Everyone did their best to explain to her but  Nan begged and pleaded not to go, she wanted to live out the rest of her time in her own home and eventually pass away in the same room as her beloved Will.  Nothing could be done.  The ambulance came to take Nan away. Tutney went outside and sat watching her being carefully loaded into the ambulance, then he went back into the house, wandered around Nan's room as if taking one last look and then he left the house never to return or  even to be seen again.  Tutney had sensed what none of us could possibly know - Nan would not be coming back. 

Nan died within days, I think of a broken heart. She just gave up once she was forced to leave her beloved home.

No cat ever lived in or entered my Grandmother's house again.

 

Excuse me for wandering off at a tangent but I wanted to put this entry about Nan and her cats on before I proceed to complete the story of my Grandmother's house.

 

 

 

Grandmother's House - 4. You are reading the story, meet some of the cast.

Alas, I do not posses photos of Fat Agnes, Big Annie or Mrs. Tapp. You will have to imagine them how you will.

 

 

GRANDAD WILL WITH SON ALAN

 

NAN

ELLEN JANE

 

 

My Grandmother's House - Part 3

The Easy Chair by Waterhouse

So you left me last sitting in the corner chair listening to the highly entertaining gossip of my Grandmother and her cronies.  Before continuing on to the rest of the house I would like to take you back to the outside toilet. I have mentioned in Part One that my mother saw an apparition whilst out there so I will illuminate.

My Mother adored her Grandmother, Eliza.  When this incident happened Eliza had been in her grave for five years.  My Mother was expecting her first child and had experienced problems right from the outset.  She was in about her fifth month and still bleeding from time to time.  One evening she was at my Grandmother's house and experienced sharp pain.  She thought she was miscarrying and hastened to the outside toilet in horror and fear.  She sat there waiting for something to happen and ready to call for assistance from my Aunt Bet and Nan if she needed it.  The door she had left open and she told me she had stared out into the darkened garden .  She lifted her eyes skywards to the bright moon and scudding clouds and murmured a prayer that her baby be protected. Then she closed her eyes and let the tears trickle down her face. Suddenly she heard her name being called softly and thinking it was Nan she opened her eyes.  Standing in the full moonlight was Great-Grandmother Eliza holding out her hands. For some reason my Mother felt completely calm as she stared at the familiar loving face. She told me that although she did not see Eliza's mouth move she clearly heard the words "It is alright my dear, your son is safe, you have nothing to fear.  Another son will follow and when you think childbearing is done you will be surprised with the birth of a daughter, may God bless you."  Then, before her eyes, the figure faded to nothing.  Mum noticed that her pain had gone.  From that moment on she experienced no further problems and in due course she did give birth to a son, followed eighteen months later by a second son and over ten years later by me!

So, the gift of experiencing strange things seems to have passed down to me.

Nan also had the second-sight.  When first married she used to read the tea-leaves and was very good at it and very very accurate.  I think she must have been a genuine medium because she often gave "readings" to people without the tea-leaves. She never charged money, it was just something that happened naturally in the course of a conversation and many came to her for advice. She only stopped when a woman barged into the house one day and accused her of doing the "devil's work" and told her she would burn in hell.  She never did another reading. So maybe it is the Celtish blood, I really do not know but the three generations have had it and maybe generations before although it has not been passed to my own daughter. I have followed the example of my Nan and never gone looking for things or dabbling in what I do not understand.  The experiences that I have had over the years simply happened. You will be reading more of them in the future.

Now, we come to the upstairs. Really nothing remarkable, a carbon copy of the rooms downstairs.  No carpets on the floor, just linoleum, bed, a chest of drawers and a wardrobe in each.  I hardly ever went upstairs in the house because there was really no need.  There were a few occasions when I would go up with cousin Alan, six years younger than me and play with his toy cars but we mostly played in the street which was customary in those days.

As for my Nan's bedroom, I only ever went in there once and I cannot recall it as being a nice experience.  There had been a family party either for Christmas or New Year and the house was packed.  Everyone had far too much to drink and it got too late for everyone to go home.  So the men slept where they could, on chairs, on the floor, under the table whilst some of the women slept in the other bedrooms.  I was told I would be sleeping in Nan's room, but I did not realise I would not be sleeping alone.

Into one standard double bed piled little me, Nan, Aunt Bet, my Mum, Big Annie and my older female cousin.  It was a nightmare.  I was between Nan and Aunt Bet.  Now, I was a very skinny, underweight child although you would not think so to look at me now and there I was with these two enormous people either side of me.  I must have looked like a sardine between two whales.  I never got anysleep that night I can tell you.  I was so afraid that one or the other of them would roll over onto me and I would be squashed flat. They also both snored heavily and the aroma of alcohol hung heavy in the air.  I clutched the sheet tightly in my hands and prayed for morning to come.  I have never spent such an uncomfortable night.  That is the only time I recall being in the master bedroom.

Some of the happiest times, when the house rang with the most laughter, was when Bill came home.  Bill was Nan's eldest son and the apple of her eye.  I think it broke her heart when he chose a life at sea and was away for very long periods.  She loved my Mother of that I have no doubt but not the way she loved Bill. Although my Mother was the oldest child, her twin brother, Robert, had died at the age of fifteen days.  Nan had so wanted a son and had called him Robert after her beloved Grandfather.  In those days when boy and girl twins were born and only one survived it was invariably the girl.  Maybe girl babies are just that bit stronger.  Anyway I think Nan for some reason blamed Mum a little that she survived at the expense of Robert.  So, although she loved my mother and tended her well, when Bill was born he became her favourite. They also had a special bond in that they shared the same birthday - 6th August.  They were so alike Nan and Bill, they resembled each other in looks, had the same sense of humour, they had a really special bond.  My Aunt Liley was always annoyed when her husband Bill, coming home on leave, would always visit his mother first. It does seem strange but Bill knew how much his mother loved him and would be so anxious to see him, especially after Grand-dad died.  That was just the way things were.  I have never met someone as outgoing and friendly as Bill was.  He was a man who truly lived life to the full and wrang every drop of pleasure he could get out of it.  He was the sort of person who, when he walked into a pub and nobody knew him, within about ten minutes he had the whole place in gales of laughter.  He had so many stories to tell of his life at sea and his experiences and he always had a fund of jokes.  It was him that brought home Nan's parrot. He always had a parrot of his own. You should have heard those parrots swear!  Well, they had been on board ship for months flying loose in his cabin and they learned the language of the seamen. When people became his friends they stayed so for life.  He had the rare gift of being able to get on with everyone.

So there was always great rejoicing and celebration when Bill came home, sometimes in the house and very often in the pub or various pubs because we all ended up going from one pub to another during the course of the evening.  I was too young to be allowed inside so I sat on the steps with a glass of Lemonade and a packet of crisps but I could hear all that went on.  I loved Bill very much and I know he loved me.  The last time I saw him was at my twenty-first birthday party.  He should have gone to his own daughter's party as my cousin and I shared the same birthday but he insisted on coming to mine pointing out that Joan had already had her twenty-first so he was not going to let me down.  I danced with him most of the evening and he made me feel like a queen.  I have a funny story to tell about Bill but will save that for another entry.

Another regular visitor to the house was Ellen Jane.  She was Nan's youngest sister and two sisters more unalike you could not find. Whereas Nan was large, Ellen Jane was very tiny indeed.  She was what would be called today a "special needs" child.  The last of a large brood something went wrong during her birth.  She remained very childlike and suffered bad epileptic seizures.  In the days when she was born there was little in the way of treatment so when her father uprooted the family to England, she was at first cared for at home but as her sisters married and departed, she was placed in an institution where she was to live out the remainder of her days.  However Nan was very fond of her and had her for long stays, usually several weeks in the summer, visited her regularly and on at least one occasion took her back to Scotland for a holiday.

So there were always people coming and going from Nan's.  She never travelled the world but the world came to her. Her house was never empty and I always felt so safe and happy there.  I preferred my Grandmother's house to my own where I did not have a particularly happy childhood.  I think Nan sensed that I was unhappy and she made up for it in whatever way she could.

In the next entry I will tell you about the last room and my memories of that.  Until then, dear readers..................

to be continued............

My Grandmother's House - 2

 

Before going farther I will try and describe my Nan to you. She was of only middle height but very round and plump. She was the only one of her sisters to be over-weight probably because they made what were then assumed to be "better marriages" although none of them was as happy as she was.  She had never been what you would describe as a pretty woman but she was caring, intelligent and popular.  Her accent was almost pure East End London although now and again a little Scottish burr would be recognisable.  She never lost her love of her Mother country, adored the skirl of the pipes and always kept Hogmanay having persuaded one of her neighbours to "first foot" carrying a lump of coal.  Her crowning glory was her hair.  She always wore her hair tightly coiled in two "buns" one over each of her ears with  a hairnet to keep all in place.  It came as a wonderful surprise to me then when, one day during a conversation she suddenly took off the net, unhooked all the countless pins and let her hair fall.  I was stunned, it was thick and lustrous and reached right down to her behind!  I could never understand after that why she always kept it up -  practicality I suppose.  Maybe it was loosened only during intimate moments with my Grandfather. What is more, not one grey hair was to be seen, in fact she had only a very few grey hairs up until the day she died.  I decided to grow my hair from that moment but, alas, my locks would never descend farther than my shoulders no matter what I did to them so after a few years I abandoned the idea. Nan also had very strong views, especially on politics.  When she eventually came to possess a t.v. and a politician she particularly disliked appeared, she would throw something at the screen and yell comments.  Thankfully her aim was not very good especially as her eyesight deteriorated.

Her weight was, of course, the result of her diet.  As I have said previously - they were poor people. So the cheapest fatty cuts of meat were purchased and the fat was not skimmed off in those days but saved to eat cold on thick slabs of bread or used to make gravy another time.  She cooked the most wonderful suet Steak and Kidneypies, treacle pudding, Spotted Dick, all types of delicious cakes and pastry emerged from her kitchen along with thick brothsand stews. Everything made with either lard or suet.  Butter was a luxury. She cooked what she could afford to buy. She was very partial to Jellied Eels and the East End favourite of pie and mash. She also liked her drink, they all did.  They were not drunks you understand but they got their pleasure where they could and this was mostly  at the pub which was their only regular outing.  Nan loved her Guinness and never drank less than two bottles per night and frequently more.

When she was in her forties she had a stern warning from her doctor.  He told her that she had a "fatty" heart and unless she changed her ways she would not see her fifties.  Nan had no truck whatsoever with doctors, to her they were all "quacks". The doctor told her to change her diet and start eating more salads and fresh fruit.  Red rag to a bull those words were. She went home enraged and yelled to my Auntie Bet - "Salads 'e says, bloody salads - salads aint food, salads is decorations!"  Such greenstuffs were not readily available in those times.  People could grow some salad stuffs from seeds in their own little plots but Nan did not have the room and to buy in shops then was almost unheard of.  So she never did eat her salads but carried on in her own sweet way with her  eating and drinking and lived to the ripe old age of ninety.

Here I must say a word about Aunt Bet.  When Nan's youngest son, Alan, married Bet they moved in with my Nan as Grandad was already sick by that time.  Bet was a real character in her own right.  She stood over six feet in height and had to stoop when coming in through the door, a big beefy woman with a very attractive round face and large laughing eyes.  She had a great booming laugh that would rattle the ornaments on the mantlepiece but she was as gentle as a lamb and one of the kindest people I have ever had the privilege of knowing.  She was the daughter of a Canadian serviceman who disappeared back off to Canada leaving her mother and the children.  I have often wondered what height he must have been as, at one time, a brother of Bet's was listed as being the tallest man in England at around seven feet tall.  Bet stood head and shoulders over her husband who relied on her for everything.  I never knew Bet when she did not have thewhole of one leg bound up due to Diabeticulcers that would not heal yet she worked hard from morning until night, holding down a job, raising her son, doing a lot of the household cleaning.  Life never got Bet down.  When she eventually passed away, the church could not hold the number of mourners and many had to stand outside.  Would that we could all be so loved.

 

Now we come to the back room which, for some reason, Nan always called the kitchen but, of course, it was not.  I think because she practically lived in there, prepared the vegetables there in the winter, it was easier for her to call it the kitchen.  Just a square room with a large sash window overlooking the back yard, a small fireplace, a large plain table and an assortment of chairs.  This was where my Nan held court, just like a queen surrounded by her minions.  I have explained how my Nan until very late in life, never closed her front door.  You did not need to in those days, people would never dream of stealing from their neighbours.  So, early in the morning the door would be left ajar and anyone who wanted to visit would just walk in - and in they came.

The regulars were Mrs. Tapp, Fat Agnes and Big Annie.  I must explain here that I am not being  politically incorrect.  Fat Agnes was exactly what she was called and she used to refer to herself as such. "Yoo hoo, it's only Fat Agnes" would come the call.  Big Annie was so called to distinguish between her and Fat Agnes as they were both very large ladies.  So they would gather around queen Nellie.  Fat Agnes, Big Annie, Mrs. Tapp, Aunt Bet, my Mother, often a couple of older female cousins of mine and sometimes other neighbours whose names I cannot now recall or never knew. Mrs. Tapp was the exact opposite of Agnes and Annie being very tiny and birdlike.Then the gossip would commence.  As for little me, I was well supplied with comics and sweets and was told to curl up in a comfy armchair in the corner where I was expected to see and hear nothing.  Little did they know that I learned more about life and people sitting in that chair than I have ever learned since.

It would start quietly enough, discussing what had beenin the newspapers, what everyone had been doing since the last gathering, then the juicy parts would start.  A piece of gossip about somebody local.  Mrs. Tapp whose  favourite topic of conversation was Mr. Tapp's "waterworks" ( I was always intrigued by Mr. Tapp but I never did get to meet him although in my mind's eye I  imagined him as having lots of metal pipework dangling from his trousers) was slightly deaf so often things had to be repeated as the old girl said "Eh? "Eh?"  Mrs. Tapp was always called Mrs. Tapp even by Nan who had known her for countless years, so I have no idea what her first name was.  Mrs. Tapp also always referred to her husband as Mr. Tapp and never by his Christian name. Every so often all eyes would turn to me to make sure I was occupied.  I soon learned how to appear as though I was oblivious to the world whilst my ears continued to flap. "Holy Mary, Mother of God" would issue from Fat Agnes and she would hastily cross herself when a particularly spicy story emerged from one of the party or sometimes "Jesus, Joseph and Mary."  Of course, when it came to Fat Agnes's turn she always started by saying "Of course, I am not one to gossip" before launching into stories that seemed  far worse than any of the others. So I found out who had run off with somebody else, who was having an "affair" who had come out of or gone into prison for some misdeed, who had been fired from their job, who was "on the game" i.e. the local prostitute etc. etc.  When discussing "female parts" or operations the voices would all drop to a low whisper but I always got the gist of it even if I did not always understand.  If a newcomer arrived halfway through, the whole procedure had to be gone through again with Fat Agnes making the same interjections. All this washed down with copious cups of strong tea and large slices of fruit cake and Nan, in her element, holding sway over all.  This cast of colourful characters gave me an education that money could never buy.

to be continued...........

 

 

My Grandmother's House

 

Writing about Johnny brought so many memories back to me of wonderful days in my Grandmother's house.  She loved Roses which is why I have chosen the picture above. Whenever she went into the garden she would always smell the Roses which grew on the only two bushes she had, one pink and one yellow. She also loved Irises which she always grew in memory of her baby daughter, Iris, who lived for only two weeks. Apart from that Lily-Of-The-Valley was much loved as well. She decorated her garden, as you know, with seashells, pieces of brightly coloured glass and unusual pebbles. Well, it was not so much of a garden but a yard.  Down one side she had an enormous chicken run.  I have never since tasted eggs like the ones she got from her birds. They were delicious probably because she fed them on household scraps, they had earth to peck in and sunlight to shine on them and she talked to them.  Even though they were eventually destined for the oven, they all had names.  This seemed strange and heartless to me at the time but Nan believed in giving her birds the best life she could before they rewarded her with their meat.

Her name was Mary although for some reason everyone called her "Nellie" and I have never found out why. She had a tough upbringing.  One of several children she lost her Mother when she was just thirteen and she had to bring up her younger sisters and brother whilst the eldest children had to work to supplement the family income. Shortly after the death of her mother, her father uprooted the family from Scotland and settled them in the East End of London - thus Nan was removed from her Aunts who helped and supported her.  She was not close to her Father and twice ran away from home. On the second occasion she was fifteen and ran off with a Magician to be his "glamorous " assistant.  They had not got far when Great-Grandfather dragged her kicking and screaming home.  She moved out of the house shortly afterwards and took a room in a boarding house.

I have no idea how she came to meet my Grandfather although it is thought he lived in the same boarding house. Well, life is life and she found herself pregnant at the age of nineteen - a great disgrace and stigma in those days.  She was thrown out of her lodgings and tried to return home only to have her Father slam the door in her face. She never forgave him.  Happily things turned out and she and Grandfather married.  Then the second of her tragedies hit her, she gave birth to twins but the boy, Robert, lived only a few weeks.  The other baby was my Mother and, although sickly, she defied the odds and survived. She went on to have two more sons and little Iris whom, as mentioned above, died in babyhood.  Then, at twenty, she suffered the loss, in mysterious circumstances, of her Father . Although there had long been a rift between them it dealt her a dreadful blow and haunted her for the rest of her life.  Later, she had to deal with the loss of her youngest brother and his five year old son within months of each other from Tuberculosis.  Life was much tougher in those days.

So Nan learned to make do and mend.  She could take the plainest ingredients and turn them into a feast. She could make a pound stretch a very long way, she hated waste and utilised whatever she could to make her little home cosy. They were poor people living in a poor district but she had her pride.  Being poor did not mean being dirty.

It was a small terraced house in a street of terraced houses with hundreds of identical properties throughout the area but it was her pride and joy.  On the other side to the chicken run she had her flower bed which she tended with great care and made as pretty as she could.  The rest of the yard was just bare earth, it became a swamp in the winter but in the summer she would spend as much time out there as was possible.  She would sit at a little tablet to peel potatoes, chop carrots and push fresh new peas from their pods.  I loved to help her with the peas although I ate more than ever got into the pot!!

The one thing she hated, we all hated, was the outside toilet.  In those days people just did not have their lavatories inside unless they were middle-class or above.  It was an object of terror for me especially at night-time.  There was no electric light out there.  Once you left the kitchen via the door to the yard, there was only blackness.  Outside the back door and along in front of the toilet was a wooden verandah to keep off the rain.  You had to feel your way along the walls until you reached the toilet door then pull the door open and enter the black interior.  It was like being underground.  Just a huge wooden seat facing the door but luckily it did flush.  Hanging next to the toilet was a wad of cut up newspaper which you had to use for the necessary.  Well, I told you Nan was thrifty!!!  When I was very little it did not worry me because Mum would take me , but when I got older I would hang on until I was in agony rather than go out there.  Can you image sitting on a cold wooden seat, facing a closed door where only a small diamond shaped hole let it in the air???  You coud hear bushes rustling, the wind rattling things around, vague shadows thrown by the moon.  It made it even worse later on when Mum told me she had seen an apparition out there (yes, I must have inherited it - she saw things as well). I learned as I grew older,  to go to the toilet at the Railway Station before entering my Nan's, then not to drink much so that I would not have to go to that place!

There was one place even worse and that was the cellar.  Houses now do not have cellars and I cannot say I am sorry. The cellar was accessed through a door in the kitchen. The kitchen itself was bad enough, stone floor, always freezing cold.  How Nan's poor parrot stood it out there I do not know but the bird cage was on a marble-topped dressed in front of the kitchen window.  The poor bird must have frozen in the winter and how it stood the steam from the washing and cooking I do not know but "Polly" lived to a ripe old age being as gentle as a lamb with women but ripping to shreds the hand of any man that dared try and touch him/her. 

The cellar.  Once you opened the door your were confronted with very steep steps leading to darkness.  The cellar was where the coal was kept.  No central heating then just coal fires.  The walls by the steps were white-washed to throw some little light but once you got to the bottom. - stygian blackness -  and the cellar went around a corner.  I used to be send down to get a bucket of coal.  I trembled every inch of the way.  Whilst hastily shovelling the coal I was always imagining that "something" would creep around the bend in the cellar and get me.  Obviously it never did but oh how I loathed and hated that place.  There was also always the fear that the cellar door would slam and you would beshut in the darkness.  I have never liked confined spaces and I think it must stem from then.

to be continued

 

 

Johnny - A Personal Memory

Love Locked Out by Anna Lea Merritt.

Regular readers will remember my owning up to taunting Old Bill, along with other children in a previous entry. Please remember we were very young then and children en masse can be monsters.  As I grew and matured I began to learn things and this is about the person I think I learned the most from.

His name was Johnny.  When I was about ten years old he and his family moved in next door but one to my Grandmother in London.  He was four years older than me.  Johnny and I used to talk across the garden fences and now and again his mother would bring him into Nan's.  His mother, you might ask, at fourteen?  Yes.  You see Johnny had Down's Syndrome although it was called by a much worse name in those days.  He was particularly badly affected by it and had a lot of trouble with his speech but to the amazement of everyone, he mastered my name.  In fact, apart from his mum, I was about the only person who could understand what he was saying so I would be his translator.

Johnny loved life, Johnny loved everything and it was him who taught me that there is beauty in everything however mundane. "Pretty" he would say as he caressed a flower with his stumpy fingers or brush it softly against his cheek before handing it to me. "Pretty" he would say as he picked up a pebble or a piece of seashell my Nan used as decorations in her garden. "Pretty" he would say as he placed into my lap his latest collection of finds - maybe a dead insect, a bird's feather , a snail shell or handed me a posy of wilted Daisies. Through him I came to see things in a new light.

Johnny loved to hug and he hugged everyone - me, my mother, my nan, my aunt, my uncle.  My nan always had her front door open and an endless procession of visitors would call.  Johnny would tightly hug each newcomer.  You could see the obvious disgust on some of the faces - usually if they did not live close by and knew nothing of him.  Johnny never saw the disgust, he just saw love.  They were people and people were made to love as far as he was concerned.  He did not judge whether they were old or young, fat or thin, tall or short, kind or mean, they were loved just the same.  He taught me not to judge on appearance but always look into the soul of a person. 

Johnny was never unhappy although I was unhappy for him as I came to realise that he could never marry, never have children and Johnny loved children. His elder brother and sister both had youngsters and although he was not allowed near the babies, his face beamed with joy.  It seemed so cruel to me that a being filled with so much love would never be able to share it in the truest sense of the word.  I also knew, through overheard conversations, that his siblings had made it plain that when something happened to the parents, neither of them wanted Johnny and he would have to go into an institution to live his life forever behind thick walls, shut away from the flowers and sunshine.

Johnny had other health problems and now and again would be sick in bed when I visited my nan.  I missed him, it was never quite the same without him, but he always came bouncing back.  "I wuv ooo Jeannette" he would call across the gardens to me.  I answered - "I love you too Johnny" and I meant it.  I had learned to see past his disability, past his speech defect.  I saw him for what he was.  A unique and wonderful, kind and gentle human being.  I saw his soul shining through and that soul was beautiful.

I have always tried since those far away days, never to judge a person until I get to know them, never to judge by appearance and always to look for the good in people.  Of course, being human, we cannot like everyone, there are unpleasant people in this world, but I would never judge by disability, colour, religion, size or anything else.  To do so would dishonour Johnny's memory and deprive myself of knowing some very special people.  All my life since then I have seen beauty in little things.  I can never see the dew on the roses without thinking of Johnny nor pick up a stone without thinking "pretty".

As for Johnny, God had other plans for him.  He died in his sleep when he was twenty-one years old.  A light went out. The whole street, the local shopkeepers, dustmen, postmen - they all grieved for this bright star that had been extinguished. He had touched so many lives and hearts in his brief life.  I still see his beaming smile in my mind.  I shall always be grateful that I knew him and I loved him and that he loved me and everyone else.  I  am proud that I was the only one that had the honour of being called his "girlfriend".

Sleep well Johnny.

 

 

 

A light-hearted poem

TELEPHONE

When A. Graham Bell invented the 'phone

He gave the world a blessing

Conversation worldwide would sing down the line

Instant contact with no messing.

So there it sits by night and day

But what a bitter pill

A fine invention, aye indeed -

But we can't afford the bill!!!

Thank you

Just wanted to say thank you to the people who joined in the spirit of things and added to my previous entry their own stories of how they met their other halves. It was nice reading their tales.  Thanks everyone for the nice comments.

Him And Me

Today, dear readers, I have decided to share with you the story of how my beloved and I met, because it was not strictly conventional.  Our meeting came about as the result of a dare, yes that's right - a dare!

Whilst I was away on holiday my parents had decided to move much farther out of London and had already set things in motion by the time I returned   So, I had to leave all my friends and start over in a new area.  From a thriving social life I moved to a place where there was no cinema, no dance-hall, no youth group - nowhere I could make new friends. Also, having become sick of commuting, I took a local job, so I was living and working in the same area. My social life hit rock bottom.

Then a middle-aged friend of my Mother, called Grace, told me I should put an advertisement in the newspaper under what is commonly known as "Lonely Hearts".  I just laughed. She had been widowed twice and had met her third husband that way.  Anyway, each time she visited she said the same thing adding, on the last occasion, I dare you.  That did it, I knew she did not believe I would do it so I want ahead.  As I dropped the letter in the mailbox it suddenly occured to me what I had done and I felt more than a little nervous and a bit stupid.

About ten days went past and then the postman came to our door bearing a sack of replies!!!!! Took me several days to work through them.  Some were instantly discarded.  After a long process I eventually got down to about twelve.  Of those twelve I put four into an "only if I am desperate" pile.

So, I replied to the remaining eight giving my telephone number but no full name or address.  They all contacted me and I have never been wined and dined so much in all my life. I had a marvellous time. This might make it sound other than what it was.  I kept all the relationships strictly platonic and just enjoyed the company.  I would see how it panned out.  Well, eventually I came to know that, nice though these men were, I had not found the one for me (not that I was seriously looking for anything more than friendship then).  So one by one they fell by the wayside and it was back to the old life.  Then I remembered the "desperate" listand had a look.  Oh well, I thought might as well try a couple.  Yes, my beloved was one of those.

He picked me up one evening from nightschool. I will be totally honest because Mike knows how I felt.  My heart sank, he was not my type at all. Not the sort of man I was usually attracted to but..........he had a beautiful car!!!!  I can imagine some of you being shocked and thinking how mercenary I sound but you must remember I was living in a little village and this was a long time ago.  I saw absolutely nothing wrong in having a drink with him and at least one drive in that gorgeous car.  So, off we went.  Out into the middle of nowhere, unlit country lanes.  I had the horrible feeling that I had come across a pervert and this was going to be the end of me, perhaps violated and murdered in some isolated spot.  However, he pulled over, stopped the car, and proceeded to tell me about his life , his unhappy marriage (he was divorced) and asked all about mine and then, like a perfect gentleman,  took me for a drink and then drove me home.  I thought he was rather sweet.  So, we started seeing each other a couple of times a week.  Three months later he asked me to marry him. I refused.  He asked again and again. I always refused.  He said he would never give up. I told him I  would not marry him if he was the last man on Earth. I liked him but nothing more. He started coming around nightly, I never had a minute to myself.  I started to feel suffocated and considered telling him to get lost.  Then Mike suggested going on holiday as he had been telling us for some time how lovely the Isle of Man was. He explained we would need a driver because none of us drove so it was agreed that Mum Dad, myself and Mike would go for two weeks, hire a car over there and he would chaffeur us around.

Well, we had a very long journey to Liverpool to get the Ferry.  On the way to Liverpool Mike and I had an enormous row.  Neither of us can remember what it was about but when we stopped on the Motorway for something to eat, I told my Mother that was that -  when we got back I was dropping him, he was getting on my nerves.  She remarked that this was going to be some holiday with us not talking and gloom settled over the whole party.

We made the mostof things and after a couple of days, the atmosphere became more relaxed  as it does when you are on holiday - that is until I had a row with my Mother whilst having lunch in the hotel.  I stormed off, fed up with the whole thing and sorry I had agreed to go in the first place.  Mum came to my room in a huff and said she and Dad were going off for the rest of the afternoon. I sat in my room feeling very miserable and then came a tap at the door.  It was Mike.  I let him in and we talked and talked.  Then he asked me once more to marry him and the strangest thing happened.  Suddenly, I could not imagine life without him, could not imagine never seeing him again.  I said yes. When my parents got back we announced to them in the bar of the hotel that we were getting married to which my Mother replied "But you don't even like him!" Mike bought the ring next day , we came back from holiday engaged and we married five months later. Mike told me later that he always knew I would say yes one day.

This December we celebrate 34 years as man and wife.  Placing that advert was the best thing I ever did. I could not have a more wonderful husband.  Strange how fate works........    P.S. I have posted a wedding picture above.

Well, dear readers, would any of you like to share how you met the love of your life? Go on, I dare you!

 

 

Our Brush with Royalty

This was such a proud day for us.  Becky had attended College taking a course in Business Studies.  She obtained high marks and was chosen by her College to represent them all at a ceremoney in Birmingham.  As you can see, she was handed her Diploma by HRH, the Duke of Kent. She was very nervous but he was very nice and put her at ease. I do not think our chests could have swelled anymore than they did.

This is our only claim to "knowing" Royalty.

God's Love

I do not usually put two poems on one after the other but wanted to put this one on today. I know lots of people in Journo land have problems, myself included. Yet we have our faith. I wish all my blogger friends a peaceful Sunday and a calm and healthy week ahead.

GOD'S LOVE

How great is the love of God

Who hears our every word

Who knows our every need

And shares our every deed.

How great is He who understands our pain

And when we fall, He raises us again.

He knows the darkest recess of our soul

And struggles with us to attain our goal.

He dries our tears when'ere we weep

And guards us in our troubled sleep.

He sends us each day fresh and new

And when we laugh, the Lord laughs too.

How great is He who made the world

And sent His son, a little child

To promise, when we cease our strife

That we shall have Eternal life.

How great then is the love of God

Who hears and knows our every word.

God bless you all.

Poppy - A Poem

She is not made for tight bouquets

Nor bridal wreath nor floral sprays,

No crystal tube of water contains

Her dwindling days.

She does not yield the heady perfume of the rose

Which clusters round secluded bowers

Nor does she exude the sickly sweet attraction

Of exotic Orchid flowers.

Her head erect amid the standing corn

She holds her scarlet petals to the sky

A flaming star -

The simple flag that waved on Flanders meadows

Staining the countryside around blood red

As if she sucked from muddy earth beneath her

The vital fluids of the countless dead.

Crying for humanity, black-eyed in deepest sympathy.

Now laid on cenotaphs and tombs

In sad remembrance, every passing year

Of those young men who marched away to battle

In happy comradeship that understood no fear.

A simple flower

That holds the veneration

Of every mourning nation.

Yet, she is more than this

For t'was her fiery blush

Inspired the artist to take up his paints and brush

And daub her crimson glory,

Spread thick on canvas sheet

Remembrance of cloudless, azure skies

And Summer's sultry heat above the yellow corn

Reflections of a golden age re-born.

Hung proudly now on stately gallery walls

Both to delight and to enthrall

The mind and eye of each and every

Culture hungry soul that passes by.

Poppy!

What other bloom is there which does and can

Bring both sadness and joy deep into

The heart of man at the same time -

She is sublime!

How drab this tired old word and poor

If silken, scarlet Poppy was no more.

 

                                                               Copyright 1999

 

 

Happy Friday

Oh joy, Mike and I looked after Nathan today as Becky wanted to go shopping for a present for Dean's Birthday next week.  It was the first time we had him to ourselves and we relished every moment.  A little nervous at first because someone else's child is a great responsibility and it is so many years since we had anything to do with a baby.  Amazing how it all comes back automatically, feeding, changing, playing.

Mike proudly took Nathan down the road in a pram - the actual pram that Becky was in herself.  We kept it all these years and it looks as good as new.  Of course this type of baby carriage is long out of fashion because  of the life styles of people today. They simply are not practical to lift in and out of cars but you cannot beat them for comfort and Nathan is in it every time he comes to visit.  It was  lovely to watch the proud "Grandy" push his Grandson off down the road. It also gave a strong feeling of continuity that Becky was in that pram and now her son is in it.

Nathan is starting to give little smiles and his eyes are everywhere.  He was as good as gold, a real little angel.  He has very long fingers which they say is a sign of being artistic. He is the image of his Dad. Well, if he turns out half as loving, caring and considerate as his Dad, he will not go far wrong. If he has his Mum's intelligence as well, he cannot fail.

He was with us for several hours and we had a lovely and blessed time.

 

Sally

Following on from yesterday's entry - here is a poem I wrote for my Mother. Actually her name was not Sally.  Her name was Ethel but she hated it so much that, in her teens, she started calling herself Sally and that is what she was to everyone except her parents and brothers for the rest of her life.

SALLY

She was "Sal"

A good time gal, a roaring twenties child.

A flapper who was flighty

Changed her boyfriends nightly

And drove her Father wild.

She was "Sal" - always in trouble

And frothy as a bubble

And fooling like a clown

Til she met a man, quite sober

Who really bowled her over

And Sally settled down.

He was a "toff", she was "East End"

There did not seem a much worse blend

But to confound their families' fears

She was his bride for fifty years.

He was her pride, her whole delight

And the fount of all her joys

Soon to compliment their union there

Were born two little boys.

War came, they were divided

And many miles apart

They wrote their daily letters

Each in the other's heart.

On leave he came, a joyful time

When love renewed it's song

And out of war sprang life anew-

A girl child came along.

The years passed by and they grew staid

Before they knew, came middle-age

But "Sal" still loved to laugh and sing

And try her hand at anything.

She became "Sal" of the dramatics

And there indulged in antics

Playing mostly maids

But she would sell the programmes

Or maybe do the "props" when she

Wasn't on the stage.

Old age came and quietened Sally's song

But she never lost the twinkle or the smile

As she sat in her old chair

And brushed her greying hair

The young "Sal" sparkled through

Once in a while.

The world did not stop turning,

There was no National mourning

When Sally ceased to be

But I miss her golden laughter

And always will hereafter

For "Sal" was "Mum" to me.

**************************************************************

Always in my heart Mum, still miss you . I shall always miss you. xxx

 

I Gotha

This story might seem to be at the expense of my Mother who was very embarrassed at the time but  who came to view the whole thing with hilarity  down the following years.

Mum, Dad and I were on holiday enjoying a wonderful Seaside break. We had a nice hotel with full board but one day my Father decided to treat us to something special.  He had spied a quite exclusive restaurant and booked us in for our evening meal.  So, at the appointed time we dressed in our best togs and set off.  It was one of those restaurants where everybody looked when you walked in, conversation was either non-existant or very hushed.  It was the sort of place my Mother dreaded!!!! She was much more of a Sausage, Egg and Chips person in a greasy spoon cafe.

We were shown to our table by a very haughty waiter and , duly settled,  we all decided on a mixed grill - plus all the trimmings - lovely!   Now, I have to point out that a couple of weeks previously Mum had been fitted with a complete upper denture and was still getting accustomed to it.  The meal came on enormous platters and we all tucked in.  About a third of the way through the meal my Mother started pulling the most peculiar faces as she struggled with a grilled Tomato.  I was the only one who seemed to notice so I quietly nudged Dad under the table and when he looked up I indicated Mum with a movement of my head.

He asked her what was the matter. To which came the reply "I gotha theed" "Pardon," says my Father.  "I gotha theed" she said louder this time.  Dad still puzzled said, "Sorry I cannot make it out, what did you say?"  My exasperated Mother lost her rag and yelled "I gotha theed" at the top of her voice.  At that very instance, her upper set left her mouth at high velocity, performed a graceful arc through the air and landed directly atop the steak of the man sitting at the next table!!!!!!!

Now, my father was a very staid man, never given to displays of emotion either in private or in public, but on seeing the flying teeth he let out a loud guffaw and then started laughing at the top of his voice. "Shuffup" said my Mother.  He laughed louder.  The more she said "Shuffup"the more he laughed, then I started to laugh.  Poor Ma, there she sat with a napkin pressed to her mouth whilst we rocked with laughter until the tears rolled down our cheeks.  Shocked diners, horrified waiters!! We had lowered the tone of the establishment.

The man at the next table was first aghast but then composing himself he picked up the offending dentures with his napkin and in a very dignified fashion he presented them back to my Mother at the same time telling my Father that he did not think there was anything funny as his dinner had been ruined.

So, we never got to finish the dinner. Mother was too embarrassed to remain so Dad not only had to cough up for our very expensive meals but also for a replacement  for the man at the next table. However, Dad was still laughing as he paid the bill and still laughing when we got back to our hotel.  My Mother said she would never eat out with him again but, of course, she did even though it took awhile.............

Of course, the problem had been a tomato seed which had wedged itself beneath her upper plate.  She had tried to remove it by face pulling and might have succeeded -  if I  had not drawn attention to it.  She was actually trying to say, as you will have guessed no doubt, "I have got a seed"!!

Right until the day she passed away, if things were a little quiet or conversation was exhausted one of us only had to say "I gotha theed" and we all cracked up.  Oh memories.  Happy days.

** Hope you like the picture of Mum taken long long before the above incident.  She would be so proud to think she is on the internet!

 

Under The Lamplight - another haunting tale

I shall call him Old Bill. To all the children who lived in our long street he was the "Bogey Man".  You know how cruel children can be and how spiteful.  You see Bill was not like other men.  For a start he lived totally alone after the death of his parents. Secondly he had been very badly scarred during the war and was disfigured. He rarely spoke, never ventured out after dark and always wore the same clothes.  A heavy tweed coat that went down to his ankles, his army boots which he still kept polished to a high shine.  He shuffled along with his head down most of the time.  Adults would sometimes greet him and he would mumble a reply but none of those adults explained to us children about him or why he was the way he was.  So he became the figure of our taunts when we saw him and we would terrorise each other with stories about him. 

Well, we all grew to adulthood and as I hardly ever saw Old Bill I never gave him much thought.

I was coming home from the cinema where I had gone straight from my employment in London.  I would have been about nineteen at the time. I was humming to myself as my stiletto shoes tip-tapped up the long road that led to my home thinking about the movie I had just seen, looking forward to the weekend.  My house was about three quarters down the road and we had a street lamp very close by.  Not one of the orangey ones we have today but cold white light.  Still some distance from my home I happened to glance up.  Fear clutched at my stomach. Standing underneath the light, totally still, was Old Bill!!!!.  Thoughts raced through my mind.  What was he doing there? Why was he out after dark?  Although an adult (or nearly so in those days when the majority was 21) I had still retained my fear of old Bill.  When there is a gang of you........well safety in numbers -  but when you are alone......  Then it struck me that to get to my house I would have to pass him.  I could not bear the thought of it,  I just could not do it.  So, I slowed down. Maybe if I walked very slowly he would be gone by the time I got there.  So I lingered around as long as I could.  Bill stayed where he was.  By now all sorts of horrible thoughts were racing around my head, maybe he was waiting for me!!!!!!!

I decided the only thing I could do was to cross to the other side of the road and pretend I lived in another house.  So that is what I did, I crossed the road, walked a few steps along the road and walked into someone else's garden.  I stood there, hiding behind the front hedge.  I waited and then I looked.  Old Bill was still there although he had seemed to turn his head and was looking in my direction as though he knew what I had done and exactly where I was.  You can imagine that now my heart was racing and thumping in my ears, my hands were sweating, my mouth dry.  What the hell was I going to do?!!!!!!!  It was getting later and later and I knew my parents would be worried and yet nothing on this earth would induce me to walk directly by him.

I was also worried that someone might come out of the house or come home from somewhere and I would have to explain what I was doing in their garden.  I was also desperate for the toilet by now.

I tried rationally to work out my options.  I decided there was nothing for it but to try another ploy.  If I took off my shoes I could run as far up the road as possible, past my own home but on the opposite side and then I could come back from the other direction and get safely indoors.  That is what I did.  I slipped off my shoes and set off like a Greyhound as fast as my feet would carry me.  Out of the corner of my eye I could still see him although I tried not to look.  As I came level with him I could not help myself.  Yes, the familiar old coat, the shine on his boots, even the gleam of his sparse hair from the hair dressing he used. I could almost smell him. I thought my heart would burst as I sprinted past.  When I thought I had gone far enough, I looked around. Gone.  There was nobody and nothing under the lamp.  Now, breathless and scared as I was, the logical part of my brain was still working.  I was very puzzled.  He lived about eight doors down from me in the other direction, the direction I had just come from.  How could he with his shambling gait have made it to his own house in the short space of time it had taken me to run to where I was????  Oh God, perhaps he had ducked into a garden, maybe even my own and was waiting there for me having worked out what I had done!!!!!!! I waitedand waited - nothing.  In the end I had to decide to try and get home.  So still shoeless I re-crossed the road and keeping as close to the walls and hedges as I could I made it to my front gate.  I could see there was nothing in my garden to alarm me.  As I was fumbling for my key my Mother opened the front door - obviously worried about the my lateness.  What a sight must have greeted her- panting, breathless, white, shoes in hand, the feet of my stockings in tatters.  Anyway I dashed by her, took the stairs two at a time and went into the toilet to relieve myself.  I had a shock when I looked in the mirror at how panic-stricken I appeared.  I splashed my face with cold water and after a few minutes to compose myself I went back downstairs.

My Mother, of course, asked me what was the matter.  I sat down with her and very ashamed explained.  I told her about my childhood fears of Old Bill and how although I had never given it much thought I had obviously not lost them.  I told her I felt such a fool for being afraid of him.  It was my Mother that then went white.  She told me I could not have seen him, I argued I had .  She told me very quietly that when she went to the shops that morning she had bumped into a neighbour and during the course of the conversation the neighbour mentioned that Old Bill had died ten days previously from pneumonia!!!!!!  Then I really started to shake...........

****************************************************************

This story is absolutely true and happened in just the way I have described.  Why Old Bill appeared to me I shall never know.  Did he just want someone to know that he was no threat?  Did he just want to say goodbye to someone, anyone?  I shall never know the answers.  All I know is that he was real and solid as he had always been in life.  Just writing this story I have relived it all again as clear and and strong as all those years ago.  Bill, wherever you are, I hope you found the peace you never found in life and for all those children who taunted you, including myself, I apologise.