Haunted - Part 3

                        

We got to know Mr. J. quite well.  He was a mine of information on history and a published author of several books. Through him we came to know that after the bungalow was sold, the next people only stayed six months.  It subsequently changed hands several times - the owners only staying a short while until it was eventually left empty and then - we came along.

I felt bad when I married and left Mum there. Although things had died down a lot, as I related previously, the atmosphere did not lighten much and things would still go unexplainably missing.  She and Dad were to remain there for the rest of their lives but neither of them was happy. Dad suffered a coronary and together with the loss of his employment he became much quieter than normal and lost his spark. It was so hard on Mum. Both agreed that it would have been better if they had never seen the place.

So, Christmas.  The tragedy would explain why activitiy always seemed to peak at around this time of year , usually starting at the beginning of December and carrying on until new year. I told you that my Father was about to have his views on the paranormal changed forever so, looking back, I am not surprised that it happened as Christmas was approaching once more. It was about two weeks to Christmas when my Dad turned from a total sceptic into a firm believer.

One Saturday Mum and I wanted to go shopping for presents in the nearest town.  We wanted Dad to come as well but he refused.  He had no interest in it really.  So we went alone.  Dad asked us what time we would be coming back so he could have a nice cup of tea ready for us. He, he said was going to watch the sport on t.v., wrestling it was, I believe. We told him we would be catching the 5.30p.m. train and thus would be home at around 5.50p.m.  Off we set and  had a lovely time.

We were chatting together as we approached the bungalow and I happened to glance up and felt a pang of worry and concern.  The place was in total darkness.   I had expected to see the lounge windows lit (the lounge was at the front of the house) and the hall light on.  Even if he had forgotten to draw the curtains, then the light from the t.v. should have been evident.  Nothing.  My first thought was - power cut , but no , all the other properties in the road were lit. With him having had a coronary earlier in the year, I feared the worst.  Mum commented when we walked up the path on the fact that the place was in darkness. Really scared, I told her to wait, that I would let myself in and find out if everything was alright. I did not want her walking into some tragic scene. I know she knew what was on my mind. My hand was shaking as I put the key in the lock and turned it.

I entered the hall, all dark, all still, no noise.  I called out "Dad" - there was no answer.  I could see very little so I fumbled for the light switch in the hall and was glad to see it come on. Now, our lounge was directly behind the front door, you had to shut the front door to see into it.  Telling Mum to wait, I pushed the front door almost closed and peered into the lounge by the light of the hall.  Dad was in his armchair, just sitting there, not moving.  My heart was hammering against my ribs by now.  I called Dad again, no answer.  So I put the lounge light on and somehow this must have pulled him around.  He was ashen. "Thank God you are home", he said.  I kept asking if he was alright and he said yes, just to make him a cup of strong tea and indeed he did seem like a person in deep shock.  I called Mum in and she was frantic when she saw him.  Did he want the doctor she enquired, no I am fine, I am not ill he replied.

When the tea was made, the bags of shopping removed elsewhere and we had all calmed down, Dad told us what had happened.  He had watched the sport on t.v. just as he said he would then part of some old film.  He then decided to go and peel the potatoes for the evening meal. So he had quite a pleasant afternoon in his own way, doing his own thing and preparing  for us coming home.

Then he felt it necessary to pay a trip to the lavatory.  My father was one of those men who always took a newspaper into the "little room".  He would do the crossword and often finish reading the paper, all the little bits he had missed in the morning.  It was something of a joke in our family that we had to time when we wanted to "go" because he would usually disappear for well over an hour.  How he could have sat in there that long is beyond me..... it was so small, just the toilet itself, a tiny window up quite high and when you were seated on "the throne" just a closed door in front of you. 

Anyway, he had been in there doing what he had to do and happened to glance at his watch.  Seeing how late it was getting and how the sky was beginning to darken outside, he decided to get back to the kitchen to add more fuel to the boiler and prepare for our return.

Then, he said, it happened.  He opened the door and standing in front of him, as real and solid as himself, was a fair haired boy. Dressed in a sweater and short trousers, he stood and looked at my father.  My Dad, dumbstruck for a moment, thought that somebody had got in.  "Who the hell are you", he yelled and started to move forward. "But" he said, "as I moved forward, I walked right through him, yes, walked right through him"!  He told us he actually felt it, like walking through something that was solid and yet not solid, like wading through water and yet somehow not.  He could never actually describe what it was truly like.  But, my father was never one to make up stories, an honest man of high integrity.  All this took only seconds of course and he immediately swung around.  Of course, the boy had vanished.  However, from that day forward my father was a firm believer. If he put his keys down he would say "There you are lad, if you want them for a while you can have them, but please do not keep them long because they are important and we cannot keep replacing them." He no longer poked fun at anything paranormal on the television and if I had one of my strange feelings or unexplained happenings, he would sit and discuss it with me.

How strange it was.  He had experienced nothing in that bungalow except the taking down and arranging of the pictures.  He had thought Mum and I were silly in believing the place to be haunted.  Mum and I only heard the sobbing, the groaning and caught fleeting glimpses of "something" and it turned out that the one non-believer, the one person who said there was a rational explanation to everything,  was the one person to encounter the spirit on personal terms. He never forgot it.  In fact it gave him comfort.

Years afterwards, when he was dying and I went to visit him in the hospital and we had a long and in -depth chat about our feelings for each other, we both knew that the end was near.  He told me that he had no fear, that he knew for certain that this life is not the end, that some part of us goes on, some energy, soul, call it what you will.  I am glad he felt like that.

As for the bungalow, well when Dad went we sold it of course. The new owners only stayed for a short while.  It changed hands a couple of times over the years.  Then it was bought by a friend of a friend of mine.  I asked my friend to find out if they were happy there and related our story. She made discreet enquiries and apparently all was well. They stayed for two years before having to sell for work re-location purposes.

However, we drove past there just two weeks ago, Mike and I still live quite close to it.  The people in there now are having an upstairs built, so the roof is off and the structure is growing upwards by the day.

It is said that spirits do not like alterations and that structural changes often bring about a recurrence in ghostly activity. One can only hope that the spirits lie easy now.  Time will tell..............

Thus ends the story of our haunting.  As I sat next to my Dad in the car on the way to my wedding, I looked back at the place out of the window.  I was so very glad to be leaving, so glad to be starting a new life with Mike.  Little did I know, dear readers, that I was leaving one haunted home only to walk straight into another one!!!!  Ah, but that is another story.

On a lighter note, I would like to wish you all a very Happy Halloween.

If you are having a party then be careful with the old alcohol

And remember to include your pets

Hope nothing goes bump in the night for any of you!

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Haunted - Part Two

By the next morning I had decided to vacate my bedroom and move into the third bedroom which was tiny, so tiny that you get only get a bed in there.  All my clothes and my dressing table had to remain in the other room but anything, to me, was preferable to feeling that cold hand again.

Strangely, my Father still would not accept that anything paranormal was going on even though he had seen the pictures lined up against the wall with his own eyes.  I have mentioned in previous entries that he was a very down to earth man and could only deal with things of this world.  Maybe he did not want to know, maybe he was afraid of something he could not understand, but to him there had to be a rational explanation.

Someone mentioned in comments on the previous entry that these goings on were poltergeist activity and in a way they were but not like in cases you have probably read about.  For instance we never saw things moved around, never had things thrown at us or whizz across the room. No, it was much more subtle than that. It did affect us though and badly.  It was as if the negative engergy was draining us and things started to go badly wrong in our lives.  For instance there was the death of several of our relatives (this, of course, could just have been normal and would have occured anyway). However, our health began to suffer.  All of us were plagued by one thing after another, we seemed to have endless bad luck.  My father was a partner in a firm.  The firm crashed for reasons I will not go into but Dad lost a considerable amount of money, nearly everything.  Then he developed crippling arthritis that came on and developed so rapidly that the doctors were dumbfounded.  Mum developed dizzy spells and ulcers.  I went down with one complaint after another and was very ill for quite some time.

I hated to be left alone in that place when Mum was out shopping and I was sick in bed.  Even in the daylight. Then I experienced a new thing.  I kept hearing deep groans and they were the groans of a man, a man seemingly in deep despair.

Mum tried desperately talking to Dad with the aim of getting him to move but it was impossible. With his loss of funds we could not afford to move and Dad said he was too old to go through all of that again anyway.   He never heard the woman sobbing, the groaning of the man and put the loss of objects down to our carelessness. No, here we were and here we were going to stay.

I had kept a couple of close friends from the area in which we used to live and they would come down, independently for weekends.  However, after a while neither of them wanted to come.  They said they felt so depressed afterwards and never comfortable when there despite our friendship.

Mum decided this could not go on.  She had a word with our local Minister. Unfortunately, he did not believe in anything of the other world and could not or would not help. She decided the only thing to do was to try and find out something about the history of the place.  In a very tactful way, she spoke to the near neighbours. They could provide no information.  Most only knew that the place had been uninhabited for quite some time, several had not been there much longer than we had.  However, one of the neighbours told us to contact Mr. J. who lived at the other end of the street.  He was the longest resident and might know something.

It was difficult for Mum to approach a total stranger so she struck up conversation with him in the street one day. He turned out also to be the local historian and , as we were both interested in history, she managed to wangle us an invitation to his house to discuss the general area.  After polite chit chat, cups of tea and a short lecture on local history, Mum asked him if he knew who had been the previous occupiers of our property.  His reply was that a very sad story was connected with that place. He then related the details.

Apparently, our home had at one time belonged to a couple who had been married quite a few years but had never been blessed with children, so they decided to adopt. After going through all the procedure and being on a waiting list, they eventually managed to adopt a little boy.  Mr. J. reckoned he would have been about six years old at the time.  Naturally they doted on the boy, he was the light of their lives.  His mother was very protective, too much so. In fact she wrapped him in cotton wool.  Mr. J. said he was a cheeky little boy, always up to pranks but was very polite and normally obedient.

The years passed and he got to be about eleven.  He then starting pestering his parents for a bicycle. Not an unusual thing in a boy, all his friends had them and he did not want to be left out.  However, his mother was adamant that he could not have one.  Like all children, he kept on and on trying to wear her down.  He sulked and refused to speak to her.  Just the thing children do when they cannot get their own way.  Well, his mother could not bear to see him unhappy so eventually they gave in and said he could have one for Christmas.  Christmas came and he was overjoyed with his shiny new bike.  He wanted to go out on it straight away and his parents agreed providing he only rode up and down the road and nowhere else.  He agreed and they went to the front gate to watch him for a while.  Then his mother went back into the property to prepare the Christmas lunch telling him he was to come back in after about ten minutes.

Ten minutes passed and he did not return.  His mother went out to call him and he was not in the road, there was no sign of him.  She looked down towards the main road and saw some commotion going on.  She knew, immediately she knew. She ran screaming down the road (not a long one) to find a crowd of people huddled around.  He had defied his parents and taken his bike out of the road and onto the main one.  No-one knows for sure what happened but there was a collision with a car and he was killed instantly.

A tragic tale and not the only one of its kind but, alas, it did not stop there.  His mother went completely to pieces as one would expect -  but it went further.  She completely lost her mind. She would go around asking people if they had seen him.  Despite treatment first from her doctor and then several stays in hospital with drug therapy and electric shock treatment, she continued to deteriorate.  Then one day, she was found wandering naked in the street.  That was the end for her.  She was sectioned and placed into a mental institution from whichshe never emerged.

Her husband had lost everything. His adored son, his wife. He stayed alone in the bungalow for a while but could not bear it so he put it on the market.  Two weeks after he had moved out, in a fit of despair, he put an end to his own life.

Mum and I listened to this story in horror as you can well imagine.  Such tragedy.  A short time later we thanked Mr. J. for his time (we never told him what had been going on) and went home.  We discussed it.  We both knew now who the sobbing woman was and why she was sobbing. We both felt sure it was the little boy who moved the articles around and "hid" them until he was ready to put them back.  After all, he had been a joker in life, so why not in death? The only thing we could not explain was the pictures.  Surely the boy would have been too short, even in spirit form, to reach up and take them down. Maybe it was the man.  He would have had to have taken them down when he was packing to leave.

So, we decided to do our own form of exorcism.  Mum carried her bible and read the 23rd psalm and the Lord's Prayer.  I carried a cross and went around each room sprinkling salt, especially into the corners and telling the spirits that they had moved on, that they did not belong here anymore and to go in peace in the name of God.

After that, we never heard the sobbing woman again and the groaning also ceased.  The pictures remained in place but still things would go missing.  Sometimes I still glimpsed a small figure out of the corner of my eye.  Also, the atmosphere of the place did not seem to lighten.  It was as if the very walls had soaked up the pain, the sorrow, the tears and was retaining them. Health matters did not improve either.

I got married from that bungalow and I was so glad when it came to the last night I would ever spend under that roof.  I was unwell even then having gone down with a bad case of bronchitis just a couple of days before the wedding. It was almost as if something or somebody did not want me to leave because as I laid in bed that night, I said out loud how glad I was that I was leaving.  Immediately an icy blast of air seemed to shoot across the room.

My Dad never knew about the exorcism we performed and continued to disbelieve.  However, this man who was so practical, so down to earth was going to have his mind changed for all time and in a very dramatic way.

To Be Continued

Haunted

I disliked the place the moment I saw it. Maybe I was prejudiced. The move had been arranged whilst I way away on holiday, I had no say in the matter. To leave all your friends and the bustle of city life at the age of nineteen is not easy. I said I would not go, I would move in with a friend and stay where I was. Mum went into fits of crying.  One son had disappeared out of her life and we did not know if he was alive or dead, the other had settled in Australia.  I was all she had.  I gave in.  Nevertheless I disliked the place the instant I saw it, there was an air of gloom about it. This was not helped by the teeming rain, the fact that the road was unmade and was a river of mud. I had a bad feeling.

It had stood empty for some time so it was cold when we entered and Mum showed me around.  Just vacant rooms, bare boards but an aura of sadness. It sent prickles up my spine and the back of my neck. Mum said, when we did move in, that we could make it cheerful and cosy.  She was not happy either. She had been a city girl all her life and did not fancy moving into this rural area with few amenities. She had much prefered other bungalows they had viewed but for some reason Dad had decided on this one.

A dark November day.  Moving day.  Mum and I went on ahead to await the arrival of the removal van.  It got lost somewhere en route. There we sat on bare boards, no heating, no way of making a hot drink, watching the rain lash against the windows. The men did not turn up to connect the gas cooker.  Not a good start. It was turned 10 p.m. by the time everything was sorted.  A quick bite to eat and then bed.

I kept being woken up by something, did not know what. Exhausted the next morning. The next few days were a flurry of activity, unpacking, altering curtains to fit, the usual things you do when you move house.  We had already noticed the coldness.  That place was never warm.  You could have the fire blazing in the lounge, the central heating on but it never seemed to warm up.  We were always cold. We put it down to the dampness of the unceasing rain.

One night I was awoken by the sobbing of a woman.  Naturally I thought it was my Mum.  I crept into the adjoining bedroom. She was sound asleep and so was Dad. The crying had stopped.  I got back into bed.  A few minutes later the same thing occured, a woman crying as if her heart would break.  Once again I checked on Mum - she was sleeping soundly.  I was to hear that sobbing many times in the weeks, months and years ahead.

Christmas. Despite the tree and decorations nothing seemed to lift the aura of the place.  It remained gloomy and it remained cold, we had never been so cold in all our lives.  Boxing Day it snowed, it snowed so hard we could open neither the front door or the back door the following morning.  Dad had to climb out through a window to shovel the snow away. It snowed on and off for the next three months, the sea froze, it was one of our coldest winters. Getting out was nigh on impossible and we felt so claustrophic in that place.  We started arguing with each other which is something we had never done before. We felt we were in an ice tomb but we also felt we were not alone.

Then the stain appeared.  It was on the lounge ceiling directly above my Mother's chair.  An irregular shape but seeming dark and oily against the whiteness of the rest of the ceiling.  Dad assumed with first the rain and then the endless snow that we had a leak in the roof somewhere so when the better weather came he went onto the roof to check the tiles.  All was well.  Into the loft to see if anything there could cause it.  Nothing.  He repainted the ceiling.  The following day the stain was back.  A week later he painted again.  Once more the stain returned, always the same size, always the same place and always a horrible oily grey colour.  He called in builders to check the chimney, maybe we had trouble there.  They did some patching up although they had found no major problems.  The ceiling was painted again.  The stain returned.  Exasperated, Dad called in professionals and had the ceiling completely stripped and re-plastered.  Two days later the stain came back.  Nothing on God's earth could shift it.  We found our eyes constantly drawn to it.

Then Mum asked me if I had heard a woman crying!!! She said she had thoughtit was me but when checking found that I was asleep.  It started to plague us night after night and sometimes during the day. Dad never heard anything.

Things started to go missing.  You could put your keys down in the middle of the table, go back for them say ten minutes later and they were gone.  They would be missing for weeks and then suddenly turn up on the mantlepiece.  We lost track of how many new keys we had to have cut.  Other things as well, like purses, jewellery all would disappear it would seem into outer space, only to turn up much later in the most unlikely places. We had quite a few pictures hanging on the walls.  They would forever be crooked.  You would stand and straighten them only to walk past a couple of minutes later to find them all hanging at strange angles.  My father said it had to be because we were not far from the railway and it must be the vibration of the trains. It was not the vibrations that caused it as we were to find out.  We had all been out together one day and returned to find the pictures all neatly lined up along the floor against the wall. The nails holding them were still in the wall, the hangers were intact but the pictures were lined up in a solid row against the bottom of the wall!!! 

I had been in little doubt that the place was haunted. I felt it from day one but any remaining doubts vanished.  Sometimes I would see a shadowy figure out of the corner of my eye, fleeting, nothing you could actually turn and catch.  I once heard a child laughing and once it seemed I glimpsed a fair-haired little boy.  Our dogs were never happy there either.  They would prefer to sleep in the hall when they had always been with us. They did not like going into the living room.

Then, one night I was lying in bed reading a light hearted book. Eventually I closed it and reached out to turn out the bedside lamp. As I did so, an icy cold hand gripped me around the wrist. I felt the imprint of fingers, so distinct, so clear that I froze for a second.  This could not be happening, but it was.  I fled to the lounge where I sat in the chair wrapped in blankets and with the lights on until the morning came.

To be continued

 

 

 

A Favourite Of Mine

I have loved poetry ever since I was a small child. This one I first read when I was about ten and it has stayed with me ever since. I love the air of mystery around it, love the fact that each time you read it you can conjure up different mental images in your mind and put your own story to it.

THE LISTENERS      by Walter de la Mare

"Is there anybody there?" said the Traveller,
Knocking on the moonlit door;
And his horse in the silence champed the grasses
Of the forest's ferny floor;
And a bird flew up out of the turret,
Above the Traveller's head.
And he smote upon the door again a second time;
"Is there anybody there?" he said.
But no one descended to the Traveller;
No head from the leaf-fringed sill
Leaned over and looked into his grey eyes,
Where he stood perplexed and still.
But only a host of phantom listeners
That dwelt in the lone house then
Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight
To that voice from the world of men:
Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair,
That goes down to the empty hall,
Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken
By the lonely Traveller's call.
And he felt in his heart their strangeness,
Their stillness answering his cry,
While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf,
Neath the starred and leafy sky;
For he suddenly smote on the door, even
Louder and lifted his head:-
"Tell them I came, and no one answered,
That I kept my word," he said.
Never the least stir made the listeners,
Though every work he spake
Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house
From the one man left awake:
Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup,
And the sound of iron on stone,
And how the silence surged softly backward,
When the plunging hoofs were gone.

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What thoughts this poem conjures up. An isolated house in the middle of the forest, deserted, abandoned.  Who was the Traveller?  What promise had he made that had to be kept? Had he been away for many years, had his family died whilst he was away?  Had they fled for some unknown reason? Was he coming back to find a lost love but if so why the "tell them I came"?  He had expected to find people there and was perplexed not to. Perhaps he was the messenger for some dark plot that had been hatched. The reader simply knows that the house is empty of human life, peopled only by ghosts but the reason is left to the imagination. I also wonder what happened to the Traveller after he rode away.  Yes, I love the intrigue and mystery about this beautiful poem which has long been and will always remain, one of my favourites.

 

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO VAL!

Please go and wish her a happy birthday at

http://journals.aol.com/valphish/ValsThoughts/

 

This And That

Well, have managed to get a better shot of our furry friend whom we have nicknamed "Artie"

Once again, it was taken through the window and together with Artie's quick movements, the quality could have been better.  The blue box is not a thing of beauty but it was all we could find to keep his food dry.

Yesterday we had a real surprise.  Artie brought his mate!  Yes, we now have two squirrels.  His mate is much smaller and does not have the tan colour on the face that Artie has.  It was so comical to watch. Artie has spent days burying nuts all around the garden, in my flowers pots, anywhere he decided would be a good place.  So yesterday he was at it again but his mate had other ideas.  As fast as he was burying them, "she" was digging them up and eating them.  We spent a whole hour watching them and laughing.  Wildlife -  a joy to behold.

We still have some colour in the garden

I very much enjoyed reading the comments you left yesterday. It is obvious that I am not the only one who has had to deal with this type of situation. Thanks to you all.

I am so grateful that Mike gave permission for me to write about his Mother in the way I did, it cannot have been easy for him. He asked me, later on, why he does not appear much on my journal apart from being called "him indoors" so I think I had better put that right today.

He reminded me about a story of his R.A.F. days.  He and his friend Charlie were called into the Commanding Officers room and told they had a special job to do.  They had to go up to Scotland and pick up some urgently needed printing equipment.  It would take two trucks they were told so they would go up one behind the other.  They were given the appropriate paperwork and set off.

Now to get to Scotland in those days was much harder. There was no Motorway and military trucks were lumbering and slow. So, all in all, it would take a week to do the round trip. They did not mind, it meant getting away from the base.  They were told this equipment was vital and they had to take care of it.

Off they set, two and a half days to get to where they were going.  They arrived and went to the office to ask where they were to pick up this equipment.  They also requested help as it was obviously going to be heavy stuff to lift.  They were taken to the stores and  duly presented the paperwork.  The person in charge disappeared and a few minutes later came back saying "here you go".  They were dumbfounded when a typewriter was passed to them. "Hang on a minute" says the man - "I will go and get the other one!"  They felt such fools. They had to tell their "help" they were no longer needed and, of course, these men fell about laughing.

So, back they came from Scotland with one old fashioned typewriter apiece.  Had to secure them down very well to stop them from flying around in the otherwise empty trucks. My beloved still laughs about it.  Well, as he says, "orders is orders!"

Taken during their trip.  My beloved Mike is the one on the right.

Now, dear readers, I think we must start securing things. Gale force winds expected tomorrow with torrential rain. They are already warning of falling trees and structural damage so best to batten down the hatches just in case.

We Could Have Been Friends

Who is this little girl in all her finery?  She was my Mother-in-Law. Her name was P. The expression on her face in this photo is one I came to know so very well.

You see, she never became close to me despite all my best efforts.  I welcomed her with open arms, I wanted to be her friend and have a second "Mum".  But it was not to be.  She had a very strong liking for Mike's first wife.  It did not matter that this wife was unfaithful or that she hurt Mike, P liked her and that was that.  I could never compete.

What had made her the way she was?  I can never know all the answers.  Maybe it was the fact that her Mother abandoned her at the age of one year to run off with another man. However, then why would she condone my beloved's first wife doing the same thing!!!!!

It is a hard thing for a daughter to be left by her mother but P did not suffer because of it.  She had a loving father who was a policeman and was brought up by his family.  They were wealthy, owning a large shop in Kent so P. wanted for nothing as you can see from her attire in the photo.  She was spoiled to make up for the "loss" of her mother. 

It is not as though she never saw her Mother again.  Many years later, her mother, who had then gone on to another man and settled in Canada, contacted her and visited.  Despite everything they settled their differences. They saw each other as often as circumstances would allow.

However, P had a chip on her shoulder about something. She loved money above everything and was used to getting everything.

I think her liking for Mike's first wife stemmed from the fact they had something in common.  You see (and I have Mike's permission to tell you this), Mike's father was already a married man with two daughters when P came into his life. So Mike has two half-sisters (if they are still living) with whom he has no contact.  Mike' father was a master baker as were many of his family and he owned a shop in London.  P went to work for him and......one thing lead to another.  An affair started.  His wife would not agree to a divorce so he just left her and London and came to settle in this part of the country where he opened several shops and business flourished.  His fleet of delivery vans was a familiar sight around here.  P came with him.  They set up home together.  She, once again, had the finest.  She was one of the very first women to have her own car in this neck of the woods, they lived in some of the best houses.  At one time they employed servants. They went to Masonic dinners and she was the leading light.  Mike came into the world.  Still his father was married to someone else.  Mike is sure that his mother had him deliberately to force the issue as she was never a lover of children.  He tells me that he never remembered any love or cuddles from her.  He was taken into the shop and left in the corner from morning until night. He grew up without her love and thus could never love her in return.  Life can be very sad.

Eventually there was a divorce. It could be no other way. P had won. She got her own way which she usually did.  So life went on and she lived like the lady of the manor. In fact, at one time they did live in a Manor house.  Mike had his own pony and went to the best local private school. If things had not taken a different turn, Mike and I could have been very wealthy indeed.  The Manor house was on the market a few years back for nearly two million pounds!!!!!

However, life turned sour and maybe this is why P turned sour as well.  For reasons that nobody really understood, Mike's father decided to get out of the bakery business. Maybe it was the coming of the supermarkets and he saw the red light.  So he sold up and invested everything in a different type of business , one of which he had little knowledge.  It was a disaster.  It failed. He could not face P. with the news so he did something which, to her, was devastating.  It was a nasty thing to do I suppose but I think P had always ruled his life from day one and he did not want to face her wrath.  So, one day when she was out, he took her jewellery, her fur coats, her car etc. etc. and sold the lot to help pay the debts.  She was mortified as you can imagine.  She never forgave him.

So, from being "the lady" all her life, she was reduced to living in an upstairs flat (apartment), he had to take a mundane job and she had to go out to work herself.

I remember well the first time I met them.  Mike and I had been going out for a while and I was invited to Sunday tea. It was all very stiff apart from Mike's dad who was a real sweetie and made me so welcome. Imagine my shock then when I realised they did not talk to each other.  "Michael, ask your father if he wants some ham" says P.  His Dad came back "tell her, yes please!"  So it went on.  I was so embarrassed and so was Mike.  I learned to accept it. Not that it was to last for long. Thirteen months after Mike and I married, his father died.

The day before, P. had been to see him in the hospital.  He had requested her help to go to the toilet.  He was unsteady on his feet and she yelled at him for not walking properly and making things "difficult" for her.  I think those were the last words she ever spoke to him.

I got the telephone call at 6a.m. the following morning to say that he had gone.  I still remain thankful that I insisted Mike visit him the night before and they spent quality time together.  I contacted Mike at work and he came straight home and, leaving baby Becky with my mother, we went to tell P.  Mike could not face her.  I had to do it.  It was the only time I ever saw her cry but it did not last long. I thought that might have brought us closer but it made no difference. I think the tears she cried were of guilt at the way she had treated him.

I admired her in many ways.  She continued to work and was still working in a seafront cafe well into her eighties.  She loved gardening so that was the only mutual ground we had, she and I.

Mike rarely went to see her.  He worked long hours in those times and was often away for days at a time.  She blamed me of course.  Said I was keeping her son from her.  Not true, the fact was that Mike simply did not want to go.  He had no feelings for her.  Because of her lack of love to him and the way she treated his father, he was uncomfortable in her company. Also he could never forget the torment he went through at school. P. must have told local friends that she was not married to Mike's father.  This is all a long time ago and it was a real scandal then.  So he was called a "little b.....d" by his classmates and left out of many things.  I used to have to force him so go and visit his mother.  In fact, she would not have seen him at all if it were not for me.

To make matters worse, when we first married P. became besotted with my Father and thus began disliking my mother. I think she had high hopes there.  When my mother died and Dad was left alone, she tried to push herself forward. Dad had no time for that sort of thing.  Dad died five years later so things just went on the same. I would phone her now and then to make sure she was o.k.  She was always abrupt with me. Still I invited her over every Christmas Day.  Mike could never have a drink because he had to pick her up and take her home. We bought her nice presents, tried to make the day happy for her but nothing was ever right. She complained she would rather have had something else, complained about the food, demand to go home in the middle of dinner. She drove us nuts.

She began having falls, bad ones.  The home helps reported it. As she had to go up and down a steep set of stairs to get up to her flat and also down a steep flight of wooden outside steps to get to her garden, it was feared she would fall and kill herself.  So, it was decided by the Social Services that she go into a local home.  Mike and I visited a couple of times a week as did Becky.  P. still had all her marbles and her mind was not affected in any way so no excuses for her in the fact that she then became very vindictive.  She would accuse us of stealing her money.  She would accuse us of letting her flat to someone else and pocketing the money.  The list went on and on. We always felt exhausted and depressed after the visits.

I had for a long time been telling the nursing staff that there was something seriously medically wrong with her.  For a couple of years she had found it difficult to eat and had refused to see a doctor.

One Saturday morning we were telephoned to say she had been rushed to hospital.  We waited whilst they did all the tests. We were told she was riddled with cancer and that time was very short.  We did not know  just how short.  But we reached the hospital at 11 a.m. and she died at 7 p.m. that same evening. She was just short of ninety years old.  We sat with her the whole time.  We were told because of the injections they had given her, we were not allowed to give her any water only wet her lips from time to time.  She kept demanding water.  I gently explained we could not.  She called me abitch.  So the hoursticked by.  I tried to lighten things by telling her what was going on, how, when she was better she would be able to do this and that, that we would take her out to the park which she loved.  All the time she glared at me with such a look of hatred, it remains with me to this day.  She was still glaring hatred at me right up until the time her eyes closed for the last time. Fifteen minutes later her life ended.

We could have been friends, she and I.  Things could have been so very different, yet she put up a barrier that none of us could break and blamed me for everything.  Why did she choose me as a scapegoat?  I will never know.

We had wondered, over the years, why Mike's Aunts and Uncles who had been initially close to us had gradually broken contact.  When going through her diaries and papers I found out.  She had written to them all accusing us of being thieves.  She told them that when we did visit, stuff was always missing from her flat.  It is true that things did go missing from her flat. They were taken by the occupant of the downstairs flat, a woman called Edie. P. well knew this because she had told us herself that when she went down for a cup of tea with Edie she would see her own things there!!!! Edie would deny it and swear they were her things. So, why did P accuse Mike of stealing  her money and possessions?  I read the replies from the relatives who were shocked and horrified and had sided with her and told her that she should cut us out of her life.  It was all lies.  Why she did these spiteful, hurtful things I will never understand.  It was the final indignity for Mike and I felt so sorry for him, I still do. 

I can look back on my parents with many good memories although there were bad ones as well. Mike can only look back on being unloved, his mother treating me the way she did and all the lies that split him from his relatives. They were all he had because brothers and sisters never came.

Yet P. did one strange thing.  She left a letter instructing that I was to have her beautiful diamond ring and her wedding ring. She was wearing them at the time Mike's Dad sold all her things so she was able to hold onto them. The sad thing is, I do not like to wear them.  They hold only bad memories for me and if peoples' personal things can pick up "bad vibes" then I guess you can say I am superstitious.  It was the only kind thing she ever did for me.

Poor Mike.  Poor P. because inside she must have been a deeply unhappy woman.  She could have had so much love if she had not brushed it aside. She might even have been happy if she had given herself the chance. I have no regrets, I did my best always.  We could have been friends, we should have been friends. She made that impossible.

Sunday

This is our computer corner. The computer itself is not the same one as in this picture and we now have a flat screen monitor with no shelf above but you get the idea I am sure. It is in our living room because we have a small home and it is the only place it will fit.  Him indoors gets a bit cranky sometimes when he is trying to watch the t.v. and it is accompanied by my clattering away on the keyboard!!! As you can see, I am into Egyptian things and have quite a few ornaments of that ilk around the room.  I am fascinated with all things historical.

The weather is a lot better today.  Actually saw this big yellow thing in the sky making everything so bright!!! Now though, the cloud is building up yet again.  The Squirrel has not been seen today but all the nuts we left out have disappeared.  I think our garden is beginning to resemble a minefield, there must be nuts everywhere.  I hope we get to see our furry friend come back and dig them up again.

Have not seen the family.  They have been busy decorating the nursery.  Nathan is now too big for his cradle so a new cot/bed is arriving next week.  From then on he will have his own room.  From what I have heard it is very bright and colourful in yellow and green with an animal border around the middle of the walls.  He already has lots of toys to go in there and, no doubt, Father Christmas will be very good to him this year.

Mike is still busy building his model ship.  He tells me it is not going as well as he had hoped.  As he is not one to swear at least the air is not blue.

I have been out with the camera again today snapping the last of the Autumn colour.  And that is about it.  Eggs for lunch.  The remains of the lamb for dinner later. Then going to watch the Indian wedding in Corrie  (For the benefit of our American friends, Corrie is short for Coronation Street, our longest running soap opera)  - should be colourful.  Have a good Sunday folks.

Tree in our garden.

Summer Pictures

It is not often that I do two entries in one day but the rain has lashed down all day today and the coloured leaves are spiralling down faster than ever in the strong wind. Soon the trees will be bare.

No beautiful sunset tonight like this one my beloved took from our front door one evening.

Summer is a fast fading memory but thanks to cameras, some blooms, some moments in time can be captured forever.  Hope these photos I took brighten your day.

 

 

And finally, here is how our garden usually looks in the summer. Slightly different these days since we put in a pond about three times bigger but we tend to use the same type of flowers each year - we tend towards our favourites.

Squirrel

Have been trying to get a decent picture of "our"Squirrel.  However, he is too quick and always too far away.  He must have buried around 200 nuts all over the garden so far, including in all my flower containers. I hope he remembers where he has "planted" them otherwise I shall have a good crop of Peanuts next year and many Hazel tree saplings!!! Still, he is a joy to watch.  He is starting to come nearer to the house so maybe I will be able to get a better picture than this sometime soon.

Apologies for the poor focus.  I had to snap quickly and also through glass so this is not up to standard but you can see our little friend just by the blue box where we put food and nuts for him.  Also the bird table is not really at that crazy angle - it just looks that way!!!!

Now off to do some more squirrel watching - well it beats housework. 

Looking for a good journal?  Then please visit Sherry at Girl to God (link is on left). She has a beautiful journal with lovely graphics and she would make you very welcome. Nice when we can all support each other isn't it?

P.S. Anyone looking for the inventions.  I have deleted them. Had a lot of problems with my journal today - might have been posting too many pics.  Anyway they were curious but not hilarious.

Laugh

 

 

 

 

Forever ~ A Poem

Psyche entering Cupid's Garden ~ Waterhouse

FOREVER

It is not for fame and fortune I would seek eternal life
I've tasted from the bitter cup, the sickness and the strife
And I so loathe a world where  hate and violence is rife.
No, not for these I long to stay for countless hours and days
But for the finer things of life and quieter, peaceful ways.

To hear the birdsong break the night and herald in the morning
See glistening dew on turf and bough just when the sun is dawning.
To stand in ancient ruins and dream what used to be
And muse on knights and ladies in an age of chivalry.

To wander on the seashore and watch the ocean roll
Stroll in sacred cloisters and hear a great bell toll
To listen to fine music and see great works of art
And hear young lovers whisper that they will never part.

To hold a newborn baby or see a stranger smile
Watch little children playing and linger for awhile.
Sit before a glowing fire, make pictures in the flame
To count the flowers one by one and know them all by name.

To smell the scent of new mown grass, taste strawberries and cream
See the landscape wet with rain or bathed in frosty gleam,
Wrap up Christmas presents and walk in deep new snow
To laugh and chat with loyal friends and share their joy and woe
These things all life my spirit high, I will be loathe to go.

To see Kingfisher's vivid blue beside a waterfall,
Hear the seabirds calling and gaze on mountains tall.
To walk knee deep in cornfields and see a mouse so small
To breathe deep of the Roses that hold me in their thrall.

For that is what hurts the most - the I will cease to be
And never view again the things I have so loved to see.
That I will never do again, what I have loved to do -
See twinkling stars on velvet skies and rainbow's heavenly hue.

For all the books I'll never read, the things I'll never say,
That is why I long to live forever and a day.
For all the things unknown to me, for wonders yet to be
That is why I yearn to live for all eternity.

                                                       Copyright JMO 1990

Gather Ye Rosebuds ~ Waterhouse

River Joke

Three men were hiking through a forest when they came upon a wide, violent, raging river.  Needing to get to the other side, the first man prayed -

"God, please give me the strength to cross the river."

Flash!!!  God have him big arms and strong legs and he was able to swim across in about two hours, having almost drowned twice.

After witnessing what the first man did, the second man prayed -

"God, please give me the strength and the tools to cross the river."

Flash!!! God gave him a rowboat and two strong arms and legs and he was able to row across in about an hour after almost capsizing once.

On seeing what had happened to the first two men, the third man prayed

"God, please give me the strength, the tools and the intelligence to cross the river."

Flash!!!  He was turned into a woman. She checked the map, hiked one hundred yards upstream and walked across the bridge.

Killer Fog

Houses Of Parliament, London - Sun Breaking Through Fog ~ Monet.

I had several comments from American friends yesterday stating that they did not know about fires and fogs so I have decided to use this as my journal entry today.

Most people, reading a book or seeing a film that features Fog in London would see it as romantic.  It conjures up pictures of Sherlock Holmes, Hansom Cabs, cobbled streets, gaslight. On the other hand, one could picture Jack The Ripper stalking the filthy alleys of Whitechapel in search of a hapless victim, blood running into the gutters and an aura of fear pervading the streets.

With the coming of the Industrial Revolution, every big city in the United Kingdom began experiencing fogs. The ones that covered London were known as "London Particulars" or "Pea Soupers". Factory chimneys were belching out smoke all the time and the normal method of heating homes was the coal fire. People came to accept pollution as part of everyday life. Many thousands must have had their lives shortened by it. The fogs came in various colours, they could be brown, reddish-yellow or greenish.

As the years passed, the fogs got worse, usually beginning in November and going on through December. The coming of the really cold weather and snow would see them off.  Nothing was done about them. They were just part of life in the cities. It was not realised that man himself was adding to the problem.

Came December 1952, the month and year of the last killer fog to hit London.  It was thick and yellow, not romantic and misty.  It was acrid,  it stank of sulphur, it burned your eyes and made them water, it stung your nose and your throat. Conditions all combined to make it the worse fog known.  A warm air front had settled over the Thames valley bringing the fog.  The fog covered everything like a thick blanket and trapped beneath it the smoke from millions of coal fires that burned in peoples' homes. To make matters worse, there were three power stations situated in populous areas of the City that were also pouring out smoke.

In the early 1950's, Britain was on the verge of bankruptcy. To help the economy, the government was exporting the best coal overseas.  Britons had to contend with burning poorer and much smokier coal on their own fires.

So, came the fog.  I remember it very well. I walked in it.  Life had to go on.  My mother dared not go out because a couple of years earlier she had almost died from pleurisy, so any errands that had to be done were done by me.  We had to wear face masks and it was an unearthly experience trying to find your way through this oppressive and deadly barrier to get to any local shop that was open.

I remember the silence.  Everything was muffled, everything stilled.  The visibility was so bad, particularly at night, that you could walk into someone without ever knowing that they were there.  Transport was nearly at a standstill.  Vehicles that were on the road had to be led by someone carrying a flare or a torch.

You could not escape it, it entered homes down chimneys, through cracks in window frames, under doors, it was a creeping, lethal menace. It turned the net curtains a filthy yellowy-brown, it left a grey film on everything  If you blew your nose or coughed, this horrible black stuff would come forth. Those with weak respiratory systems, the very young, the elderly - they literally suffocated to death, their lips slowly turning blue.  Ambulances could not reach the suffering, what ambulances could get onto the streets had to crawl at a snails pace.

People had no choice, they just had to make the best of it and try and continue their daily lives as best they could. Theatres were closed because not only could people not reach them but if they did, they would not be able to see the actors on the stage so thick was the acrid curtain.

Onething made it bearable  - people helped each other. Whether it was the camaraderie left over from the war or that disasters of any kind bring people together is debatable, but you did not have to feel fear when outside. Not the fear that a woman or child might experience now when out in the dark.  I remember once seeing a faint light coming towards me. I could just make it out with my streaming eyes but did not see the person behind it.  I crashed headlong into this gentleman who was coming from the opposite direction.  He was carrying a torch.  He took me by the hand and lead me safely home, going completely out of his way.

The fog lasted for four or five days before eventually dispersing.  During that time around 4,000 people died  from breathing problems. In the following four months another 12,000 people died. The government has always tried to play down these figures.

It was obvious that something must be done. So came the Clean Air Act.  Factory regulations were tightened. People had to burn smokless fuel on their fires. The fogs continued until the early 1960's but to a lesser degree and never again did the killer fog strike London.

Now we have the arrival of smog.  With the heavy traffic density and "global warming" London is now getting subject to smogs although not on the scale of some American cities. 

It was an experience, one that is engraved on my mind, one I shall never forget, but I pray to God that we never again see the like of the killer fog of '52

* Here is recipe for a warming winter soup named after the fogs*

London Particular

Half an ounce of butter

2 ounces of bacon rashers, rinded and chopped

One medium onion, skinned and roughly chopped

One medium carrot, diced.

One celery stick, chopped

One pound dried split peas

4 pints stock (can be chicken or ham or even vegetable)

Salt andpepper

4 Tablespoons of natural yoghourt

Choppped grilled bacon and croutons to garnish.

1.  Melt the butter in a large saucepan. Add the bacon, onion, carrot and celery and cook for 5-10 minutes, until beginning to soften.

2.  Add the peas and stock and bring to the boil, then cover and simmer for one hour, until the peas are soft.

3.  Allow to cool slightly, then puree in a blender or food processor until smooth.

4.  Return the soup to the pan.  Season to taste, add the yoghourt and reheat gently.  Serve hot, garnished with chopped grilled bacon and croutons.

Autumn

Autumn Leaves ~ by Millais

This picture sums up Autumn for me. The turning of the leaves, the beautiful colours. It reminds me of sweeping up the Autumn leaves when I was young, of walks in the woods ankle deep in the fallings from the trees and of how they crackled and snapped under foot. It reminds me of gathering Conkers and watching Squirrels hide nuts.

It reminds me of misty mornings and a warm bed. It signals the drawing in of the nights and the approach of winter. It reminds me of hot drinks and sitting around the fire exchanging stories.

It takes me back to raking up the fallen leaves when I was young and putting them into a neat pile under cover to save for burning on Bonfire Night along with other garden waste, pieces of old wood , in fact anything that would make a good fire.  Bonfires were common in those days and not just on Guy Fawkes night.  It was how everyone dispensed with lots of rubbish.  I used to love standing by a big bonfire, watching the leaping flames, listening to the crackling and  spitting and sometimes almost being stifled by smoke.  There are no bonfires like that anymore.  Anti-pollution laws have made them almost a thing of the past and they could be annoying when a particular neighbour always used to light one during the day making all the lines of washing reek of smoke or driving you from your garden.  There is no doubt that with nearly every household having bonfires they added greatly to the terrible fogs and smogs we used to get before the Clean Air Act. You had to experience on of those to understand. I remember the last very bad one.  It is estimated that it killed between three or four thousand people. You literally could not see your hand in front of your face. The fog even got into the houses through cracks and tiny crevices. The net curtains would turn a dirty yellow/brown seemingly overnight, people had to wear face masks and the country almost came to a standstill for days on end. It seemed it would never stop, we would never see daylight again.

Today, barbecues have taken the place of bonfires. I wonder if it is because something primal in people needs to see and experience fire.

Yet, there was something magical about bonfires.  Seeing the faces of you family illuminated by the light of the fire and how they smiled to watch the small inferno. My Father turning the burning pile to keep it going and me staying outside until almost the last flicker then returning indoors to be warmed by a hot cup of tea or cocoa or something delicious to eat.

The leaves have turned colour here late this year and are still hanging on but the rain is now bringing them down like showers of confetti and the first frost will see the end of them.

Autumn, the time when Summer sheds it memories and goes to bed to gather energy for re-awakening in the Spring.

Lighting The Candle Of Hope

This candle of hope was lit by Angel for all of us.  There is a lovely prayer that accompanies this candle. It can be found at " A Lil' Country Charm" (link on the left).  She has kindly offered that everyone can take a candle to display on their journal for hope and healing for all those in J-Land.  Let us keep this candle burning.  Please go and read the prayer and take a candle of your choice and keep the flame burning for all of us, whatever our troubles might be.

And now, another of my poems.  It seems just right for today.

FRIENDSHIP

Friendship is the voice on the phone
When you are sad and all alone.
Friendship is the clasp of an outstretched hand,
It is the smiling face, the warm embrace.
Secrets whispered, not to be revealed
A lasting union that is forever sealed.
Faults accepted, arguments withstood
Harsh words sometimes, taking bad with good.
Ebbing and flowing like the tide
But ever there
To share each joy, each hope, each care -
Friendship, like a murmured prayer,
Binding us together, you and I
Until we die.

                                             Copyright

 

I had so many lovely comments on "our boys" yesterday. Thank you all. So, here is how they look now -

Pip And The Pup

We have always had two dogs.  We acquired our Pip when Bonnie and Brandy were very old, so, at one time we had three. We lost Brandy and Bonnie was very lonely and went into a quick decline.  So, we bought a puppy, a Border Collie we called Pip because we had "great expectations " of him.  He did not let us down.  Bonnie immediately treated him as her own and he gave her a new lease of life.  Her tired old legs actually wanted to run again.  They chased each other over the fields for ages.  It was wonderful to see and even the vet was amazed at her "second life" which lasted another three years.  Inevitably the end came and there was just Pip.  Of course, we spoiled him terribly to make up for his loss as well as ours.

He would still love to chase around the fields but often he would stop and look around as if searching for his old friend. We looked for another Collie to keep him company but nobody seemed to have them.  Naturally, we spoiled him even more.

So, Pip got to the age of five before we one day heard of some Pups that were available.  We had found out very late and by the time we rang, there was only one left, a tri-colour male.  Hubby went to see him. I gave him strict instructions not to bring the pup home if it was not what we were looking for. I was worried about having two male dogs anyway as I had heard they would fight and not get on and Pip had been on his own for a long time. We had also hoped to get another long-coated dog.

I was doing the washing up when he arrived home carrying a cardboard box.  I could not believe my eyes when I opened the box.  This bedraggled little scrap, soaking from where it had wet itself with fright.  He was short-coated, tiny and looked like a rat. My immediate reaction was that he was not for us!!!!  However, pity overcame me so I took him out and washed him and wrapped him in a fluffy towel.  He licked my hand. I was almost won over.  Then I held him up to have a good look at him.  His golden eyes looked steadily into mine and then his pink tongue gave my face an enormous lick.  That sealed it.  I could not let him go.  So, Jester (Jess or Jesse) came into our lives.  But, would it work?

Pip had only really known Bonnie, our cross-colliebitch whilst he was growing up.  We placed them in the same room.  Pip wandered over and gave a quick sniff and then walked off. Well, at least there was not trouble.

The following day we allowed them into the garden together. Pip wandering around his usual haunts with the pup on his heels all the time.  We decided to leave them to it for a few minutes. A while later, having looked out of the window, I shouted to Mike to grab the camera. He raced out and took the following picture which has always been one of my favourite photos.  As you can see, we need not have worried. They had bonded.  They are the greatest of friends and play for hours with each other. Pip will be 9 in December and Jess is 4.  They are both very special to us.  They are "our boys."  I think you will find this picture as charming as I do.

P.S. Thinking of my friend Sandra, she of Sandra's Scribbles who has just lost her beloved Labrador, Hannah, and has posted a moving entry to Hannah on her journal. If you would like to leave a message, you will find her link on the left.

More Local Pics

This is where our daughter lives.  It is about six miles from us.

The first two are different views of some cottages which are just next to the river. Built in 1758.

Below is one of the two pubs.  Originally just called "The Smugglers", it has been renamed as you can see. It fronts directly onto the river so the views are lovely. This area was rife for smuggling because of the river and its many creeks.

Now for two shots of the river -

In Elizabethan times there used to be a wooden bridge across the river.  This was much later replaced with a ferry but both are long gone now.

And finally

Because I like Swans!