My best friend then, so long ago
So smooth were we together.
Never a doubt, never a frown
Together whatever the weather.
But sadly so, you lost your grip
Our closeness loosened bit by bit.
Oh my friend, my lovely skin
Why is it you no longer fit?
At first I tried so many balms
To keep us close and tight
Sadly, to no avail did they work
Alas we’re just a sorry sight.
The cracks are there for all to see
Lines and furrows I cannot hide
You stretch away more each day
I can’t win, though goodness knows I tried.
Sunday, 29 August 2010
Sunday, 22 August 2010
'A Stolen Look' by Jan Lloyd
It was a hot and dry day and I had walked for many miles to the courtroom in Winchester. My feet were aching and blistered as I struggled along the dusty road to reach my destination. I had left my farm and young children in the village of Burghclere to catch a glimpse of my seventeen year old son who was appearing in court on this warm summer's day. The dusty road gradually turned into a busy town road and horses and carts were being steered toward the town to make their various deliveries. One cart slowed down as the driver tried to avoid me on the roadside. I shouted out for a ride and the kind gentleman told me to jump on the back which I gladly accepted and melted back against the warm hay on board. I gradually dozed off with the rocking motion of the cart and woke with a start when the man shouted out that we'd reached the bakers where he was delivering his wares. I thanked him for the ride and speedily made my way towards the courtroom.
I reached the large courtroom building and squeezed through the bustling doorway where men crowded round dressed in black gowns and wigs. I was shaking and felt a sense of foreboding as I took my seat at the back of the courtroom. I sat intently listening to the list of proceedings and a dark mood fell upon me as I heard the harsh sentences being issued by the imposing figure sitting in judgement over these helpless beings. Finally I recognised the name being shouted out by a man with bushy side whiskers and the customary wig which appeared to have slipped sideways.
"Edwin Cranfield step into the dock and repeat after me," the gruff man bellowed.
I saw my son step nervously onto the dark wooden stand and repeated the oath recited to him.
I strained to hear and to catch my son's eye. I wanted to encourage some hope and to show that I was there for him. Instead he looked forward with an icy stare appearing to have lost any will or optimism. His hair was matted and he looked thin and frail. He had been locked away for two months awaiting the trial so had not been looked after. The man with bushy whiskers read out the accusation against my son.
"You have been brought here to testify against the accusation of the theft of a gold pocket watch from William Danfield at the White Swan Inn on 1st May, 1849, located in Lower Burghclere, Winchester. Do you plead guilty or not guilty"?
I heard my son's reply and his husky and pitiful voice pierced into my brain like an arrow firing from his lips.
"Not guilty," Edwin said bluntly, standing to attention to appear confident as he uttered his plea.
The judge turned to the man in the black gown and spoke slowly, with an air of indifference and weariness.
"Have we William Danfield present in the court Mr Bartholomew?"
"Yes, he will now provide evidence against the accused."
William Danfield stepped forward and proceeded to describe the night he stayed at the White Swan Inn on his way to Southampton to visit a business associate.
He claimed that my son was drinking in the bar, and already drunk, and had spied the watch when he had asked him the time. He had replied that it was 10.35pm and after drinking a nightcap retired upstairs to his room. He had undressed and left his belongings on the dressing table before having to return downstairs to request a supply of candles as he needed to read some paperwork before the morning. It was at this point that Mr Danfield claims my son went into his room to steal the gold pocket watch. It was morning before he had noticed it was gone.
My mind drifted back to that day and I remember that later that day my son had gone into the town to visit the market to purchase some cattle for the farm and it was there that he was arrested. I hadn't seen him until now and I had continued to struggle on my own with running the farm. Albert, my husband, had died last autumn from an infection of the lungs and Edwin had taken over the daily tasks. My other children, Alice, Dora, Charlotte and Fredrick, helped but were aged six, eight, ten and twelve. They would feed the pigs, chickens and cattle, milk the cows, muck out the barns but they couldn't manage the heavier work. I had battled on since Edwin had been imprisoned and was now praying that he would be free to return to his family. I thought that if Edwin had been guilty of this theft he would have committed it purely to help me and the family as we were so very poor. He was never greedy or selfish and I was ready to forgive him his sin and continued to ask the Lord that he should be found not guilty.
I was feeling overcome with the heat in the stuffy courtroom and wished it could all be over soon when I heard the judge ask Mr Danfield to confirm the identity of Edwin as being the thief who stole his watch. Mr Danfield was adamant and boldly pointed towards my son as being the culprit. The jury swiftly returned with their verdict and read the fateful words to the judge.
"Guilty!”
The one word rang in my ears and once more my heart continued to break into shattered fragments.
The judge read out the sentence.
"You will be taken to Portsmouth docks and placed upon The Waverley and will be transported to New South Wales where you will serve a sentence of fifteen years."
"No, no, no," I shouted.
It was then that Edwin turned and saw me as he was escorted by two policemen out of the courtroom. As he turned toward me there were tears in his eyes, his face pale and frightened. I mouthed the words that I loved him and to be strong but as he turned away I knew that this would be the last time I would see him and yearned to hold him and rescue him from his plight. This was a cruel blow and I tried to banish any thoughts of the horrifying and desolate journey which lay ahead of him. Edwin never stood a chance and was not given any opportunity to defend himself, instead the jury took the word of Mr Danfield. Where was the evidence? The watch had never been found, was he guilty? I left the court hardly able to face my journey home. The sun was low in the sky now and I trudged back to care for my other children with Edwin's tragic face etched in my mind.
I reached the large courtroom building and squeezed through the bustling doorway where men crowded round dressed in black gowns and wigs. I was shaking and felt a sense of foreboding as I took my seat at the back of the courtroom. I sat intently listening to the list of proceedings and a dark mood fell upon me as I heard the harsh sentences being issued by the imposing figure sitting in judgement over these helpless beings. Finally I recognised the name being shouted out by a man with bushy side whiskers and the customary wig which appeared to have slipped sideways.
"Edwin Cranfield step into the dock and repeat after me," the gruff man bellowed.
I saw my son step nervously onto the dark wooden stand and repeated the oath recited to him.
I strained to hear and to catch my son's eye. I wanted to encourage some hope and to show that I was there for him. Instead he looked forward with an icy stare appearing to have lost any will or optimism. His hair was matted and he looked thin and frail. He had been locked away for two months awaiting the trial so had not been looked after. The man with bushy whiskers read out the accusation against my son.
"You have been brought here to testify against the accusation of the theft of a gold pocket watch from William Danfield at the White Swan Inn on 1st May, 1849, located in Lower Burghclere, Winchester. Do you plead guilty or not guilty"?
I heard my son's reply and his husky and pitiful voice pierced into my brain like an arrow firing from his lips.
"Not guilty," Edwin said bluntly, standing to attention to appear confident as he uttered his plea.
The judge turned to the man in the black gown and spoke slowly, with an air of indifference and weariness.
"Have we William Danfield present in the court Mr Bartholomew?"
"Yes, he will now provide evidence against the accused."
William Danfield stepped forward and proceeded to describe the night he stayed at the White Swan Inn on his way to Southampton to visit a business associate.
He claimed that my son was drinking in the bar, and already drunk, and had spied the watch when he had asked him the time. He had replied that it was 10.35pm and after drinking a nightcap retired upstairs to his room. He had undressed and left his belongings on the dressing table before having to return downstairs to request a supply of candles as he needed to read some paperwork before the morning. It was at this point that Mr Danfield claims my son went into his room to steal the gold pocket watch. It was morning before he had noticed it was gone.
My mind drifted back to that day and I remember that later that day my son had gone into the town to visit the market to purchase some cattle for the farm and it was there that he was arrested. I hadn't seen him until now and I had continued to struggle on my own with running the farm. Albert, my husband, had died last autumn from an infection of the lungs and Edwin had taken over the daily tasks. My other children, Alice, Dora, Charlotte and Fredrick, helped but were aged six, eight, ten and twelve. They would feed the pigs, chickens and cattle, milk the cows, muck out the barns but they couldn't manage the heavier work. I had battled on since Edwin had been imprisoned and was now praying that he would be free to return to his family. I thought that if Edwin had been guilty of this theft he would have committed it purely to help me and the family as we were so very poor. He was never greedy or selfish and I was ready to forgive him his sin and continued to ask the Lord that he should be found not guilty.
I was feeling overcome with the heat in the stuffy courtroom and wished it could all be over soon when I heard the judge ask Mr Danfield to confirm the identity of Edwin as being the thief who stole his watch. Mr Danfield was adamant and boldly pointed towards my son as being the culprit. The jury swiftly returned with their verdict and read the fateful words to the judge.
"Guilty!”
The one word rang in my ears and once more my heart continued to break into shattered fragments.
The judge read out the sentence.
"You will be taken to Portsmouth docks and placed upon The Waverley and will be transported to New South Wales where you will serve a sentence of fifteen years."
"No, no, no," I shouted.
It was then that Edwin turned and saw me as he was escorted by two policemen out of the courtroom. As he turned toward me there were tears in his eyes, his face pale and frightened. I mouthed the words that I loved him and to be strong but as he turned away I knew that this would be the last time I would see him and yearned to hold him and rescue him from his plight. This was a cruel blow and I tried to banish any thoughts of the horrifying and desolate journey which lay ahead of him. Edwin never stood a chance and was not given any opportunity to defend himself, instead the jury took the word of Mr Danfield. Where was the evidence? The watch had never been found, was he guilty? I left the court hardly able to face my journey home. The sun was low in the sky now and I trudged back to care for my other children with Edwin's tragic face etched in my mind.
Monday, 16 August 2010
'Daddy, Daddy Dear' by Elisa Hill
Why was she waiting? Was she stupid? He had no interest in her; had not bothered with her since she was a child. Why the request for contact now.? She knew her mum would be furious with her for even agreeing to meet him. Was it because her mum was jealous and insecure? Frightened of losing her to him or was it really as she said. That he would let her down again, as always, without fail.
She had to know what he wanted; could not pass the chance by that he really was a changed man. That man who he had been, that terrible angry man, the one in her memories; could not be real, could he? She had asked for the chance to hear his side of it. No human being could be completely bad. He must have some redeeming features? Hard to find but they must be there.
She looked at the large station clock. Nearly time. Her heart was beating fast. She was feeling a bit breathless. Her head was pounding. Her asthma started, without fail every time he was around Her mind went back to another train journey. She was with her thirteen year old sister thirty years ago. They felt dread as the train pulled into the station. They saw him waiting there. That woman standing next to him. Why couldn’t he have given them some space and told them in the car. He introduced them with no warning.
She had known there was a another woman. Last time he had seen them he had taken them to his house and her sister had spotted some women’s shoes She had wanted to joke that he was a cross dresser; but hadn’t dared. She knew the way some women’s mind work. She was stating her claim to him. In effect saying," You may have a prior claim, but he is mine now." Later they went to a play, but instead of joining them, he had spent most of the time on the phone. She had heard him. stood around the corner where he could not see her, ashamed to hear his tone, playful and flirtatious. It was sickening, doubly so when she knew how her mum would feel. She had kept the secret from her mum and her sister. They both secretly hoped he would come back. She hoped he would not, as she had seen the cruelty he had inflicted and experienced some too.
When he appeared at the end of the platform he was stiff and formal, still with those cold grey eyes. She sighed, would she ever greet her own so coldly? She should have remembered, prepared herself.
They went for a coffee and he talked about how it had been for him. "So you want to hear my side of it. Well, I felt unloved. I was just the provider. You guys don’t care about me even now; like then, you just want something from me, I have nothing to give you. Your mother drained it all from me. I thought it best to have no contact with you as you needed your mother to support you when you had your own children."
She was astounded, confused, he had never been so open about personal things or emotions and then she realised he had been coached, rehearsed every word spoken as it was approved by someone who was not there.
" No,” she stuttered. “No” she wanted to scream out. “We all loved you, not just because you brought money home, we loved you because .....,"
As always his response was anger She was not obeying his rules, not responding as he had anticipated she would.
Again more from the prepared script. "When I had a stomach ulcer your mother showed no concern for me" He paused. He must have been amazed that he himself had spoken those lies. Confused now, the shutters started to go up. He stiffened up again. The coldness appeared once more in those grey eyes.
“What do you want to achieve from this?” she asked him.
" Achieve, ACHIEVE......" He almost spat at her, furiously angry now. Fear rose up in her and with it perfect clarity. She could see now exactly what he wanted. He was transparent now. So angry he could not hide anything. She sighed. She had wanted so much to see him again. Wanted him to be the playful man he was with her as a child. Getting down on the floor with her to play in his best suit. Her mum had always said there was a special connection between them. Forged in those times. Her mum had even said she would not attend her wedding so he could be there.
She looked at him, who was still struggling to suppress an emotion; which one? Anger? She could not tell. She knew she was not sticking to the script that he was coached for and that it was throwing him off. But she had to know, she felt desperate to get the words out, knowing it was probably the last chance, ever...
She peered closely at his face, trying to see his real self. The child part of her was scared at the rage. The adult part curious about such anger, directed at her, but really at her mother. "It’s me you’re talking to, not Mum. But is it really you I’m talking too or is it Chris?" He went red, so riled now at being found out. She instinctively leaned back to get as far away as her chair could reach.
"Thank you for coming," she said. The memories of childhood flooded back. Memories of the fear: fear he would kill her and Mum. He had no control of himself. To her as a child, always on the edge, of an explosion, their whole lives as a family had been governed by those moods. A good mood was a happy day,. A bad mood and you kept as low a profile as possible – stay quiet, never spoke unless spoken too. Fear had been her most constant companion as a child.
She had struggled and struggled to understand him over the years, hoping as she had become a parent herself to understand him better and as an adult she had only ever seen him with a child’s perspective. But as an adult it had just become more puzzling. Was she just supposed to put him out of her mind? She had tried and couldn’t. How could she resolve this. How could she make a relationship with this stranger, this angry scary man who had missed most of her life.
" What’s the point?" she said as she stood up. There was no strength left in her , but she wanted to be the one to walk away this time. She wanted to make it her choice this time. He stood up, not to be outdone, always the one for the dramatic flourish,. He turned his back without a word. Emotions flooded in as she watched him walk away. Her need of him dissipated with every step. As he turned the corner without a backward glance she breathed out. The pain was gone. She was free!
She had to know what he wanted; could not pass the chance by that he really was a changed man. That man who he had been, that terrible angry man, the one in her memories; could not be real, could he? She had asked for the chance to hear his side of it. No human being could be completely bad. He must have some redeeming features? Hard to find but they must be there.
She looked at the large station clock. Nearly time. Her heart was beating fast. She was feeling a bit breathless. Her head was pounding. Her asthma started, without fail every time he was around Her mind went back to another train journey. She was with her thirteen year old sister thirty years ago. They felt dread as the train pulled into the station. They saw him waiting there. That woman standing next to him. Why couldn’t he have given them some space and told them in the car. He introduced them with no warning.
She had known there was a another woman. Last time he had seen them he had taken them to his house and her sister had spotted some women’s shoes She had wanted to joke that he was a cross dresser; but hadn’t dared. She knew the way some women’s mind work. She was stating her claim to him. In effect saying," You may have a prior claim, but he is mine now." Later they went to a play, but instead of joining them, he had spent most of the time on the phone. She had heard him. stood around the corner where he could not see her, ashamed to hear his tone, playful and flirtatious. It was sickening, doubly so when she knew how her mum would feel. She had kept the secret from her mum and her sister. They both secretly hoped he would come back. She hoped he would not, as she had seen the cruelty he had inflicted and experienced some too.
When he appeared at the end of the platform he was stiff and formal, still with those cold grey eyes. She sighed, would she ever greet her own so coldly? She should have remembered, prepared herself.
They went for a coffee and he talked about how it had been for him. "So you want to hear my side of it. Well, I felt unloved. I was just the provider. You guys don’t care about me even now; like then, you just want something from me, I have nothing to give you. Your mother drained it all from me. I thought it best to have no contact with you as you needed your mother to support you when you had your own children."
She was astounded, confused, he had never been so open about personal things or emotions and then she realised he had been coached, rehearsed every word spoken as it was approved by someone who was not there.
" No,” she stuttered. “No” she wanted to scream out. “We all loved you, not just because you brought money home, we loved you because .....,"
As always his response was anger She was not obeying his rules, not responding as he had anticipated she would.
Again more from the prepared script. "When I had a stomach ulcer your mother showed no concern for me" He paused. He must have been amazed that he himself had spoken those lies. Confused now, the shutters started to go up. He stiffened up again. The coldness appeared once more in those grey eyes.
“What do you want to achieve from this?” she asked him.
" Achieve, ACHIEVE......" He almost spat at her, furiously angry now. Fear rose up in her and with it perfect clarity. She could see now exactly what he wanted. He was transparent now. So angry he could not hide anything. She sighed. She had wanted so much to see him again. Wanted him to be the playful man he was with her as a child. Getting down on the floor with her to play in his best suit. Her mum had always said there was a special connection between them. Forged in those times. Her mum had even said she would not attend her wedding so he could be there.
She looked at him, who was still struggling to suppress an emotion; which one? Anger? She could not tell. She knew she was not sticking to the script that he was coached for and that it was throwing him off. But she had to know, she felt desperate to get the words out, knowing it was probably the last chance, ever...
She peered closely at his face, trying to see his real self. The child part of her was scared at the rage. The adult part curious about such anger, directed at her, but really at her mother. "It’s me you’re talking to, not Mum. But is it really you I’m talking too or is it Chris?" He went red, so riled now at being found out. She instinctively leaned back to get as far away as her chair could reach.
"Thank you for coming," she said. The memories of childhood flooded back. Memories of the fear: fear he would kill her and Mum. He had no control of himself. To her as a child, always on the edge, of an explosion, their whole lives as a family had been governed by those moods. A good mood was a happy day,. A bad mood and you kept as low a profile as possible – stay quiet, never spoke unless spoken too. Fear had been her most constant companion as a child.
She had struggled and struggled to understand him over the years, hoping as she had become a parent herself to understand him better and as an adult she had only ever seen him with a child’s perspective. But as an adult it had just become more puzzling. Was she just supposed to put him out of her mind? She had tried and couldn’t. How could she resolve this. How could she make a relationship with this stranger, this angry scary man who had missed most of her life.
" What’s the point?" she said as she stood up. There was no strength left in her , but she wanted to be the one to walk away this time. She wanted to make it her choice this time. He stood up, not to be outdone, always the one for the dramatic flourish,. He turned his back without a word. Emotions flooded in as she watched him walk away. Her need of him dissipated with every step. As he turned the corner without a backward glance she breathed out. The pain was gone. She was free!
'A Slice of My Life' by Rosie Pugh
As I sit here in my warm centrally-heated home, watching television and drinking champagne, I think about how I lived a different type of life as a child.
Once we shared a house with another family, the McNulty’s. Things were very basic. The tin bath used to be filled with hot and cold water in front of the fire and we made sure we got the right temperature before we entered in case we were scalded. The outside toilet had hard paper from orange wrappings and newspapers and not the fancy types of toilet paper we see on sale today. Now it is velvet to the touch with Aloe Vera to protect those sensitive parts of our body.
We all used to get together in the evening around the fire to converse with one another about the daily happenings that would have happened in the street. There was lots of laughter as we sat and listened to the entertainment on the radio and I have to admit that I really enjoyed listening.
When I was nearly six we moved to a home of our own with our own inside toilet and with a bath. But it was a great sadness to leave the Mc Nulty’s. There was no floor covering till a few years later when Mum could afford some and when we bought bright orange and red linoleum, that was new on the market. There was no need to polish Mum had been told. She was proud of her new floor covering but a few extra shillings every week had to be paid. There was no central heating in the house, just a big black range that was a cooker as well and was kept clean and shiny with black lead. The pipes were polished with Brasso. The front step was washed and polished with cardinal red. It made your hands feel funny when you used it.
In some of the little cottages off the beaten track they had no electricity and lamps were lit with meths, then pumped up to create a blue flame. To me it was pure magic and I never realized the hardship that those people were in. In the winter when it got very cold, we would pile our coats on top of the bed to keep us warm. There was no fancy fluffy duvet, soft, next to your skin, but instead coarse dark grey blankets which would peep over the white sheet when pulled closer. We had to use the chamber pot under the bed, to save going downstairs in the night.
I had a good pair of legs, which was just as well, as we did not possess a car or a bicycle. I learnt to ride a bike on my brother Philip’s godfather’s bike.. To get my leg over the handle bar was quite comical. I would have to stand on the pavement or a brick and lower the bike trying to keep it still and not fall off. What fun and what a sight.
The highlight of the week was when the groceries were delivered on Fridays. This was the day Mum got her money telegram. The grocer would put a poke of sweets in the box and they would be shared between us.
Every morning we would have a dose of malt, cod liver oil and emulsion, which was a white liquid taken from the whale which would was meant to do me the world of good. The best thing about Halloween, believe it or not, would be to put an apple in a basin of water and try to bite it with our hands behind our backs. We had monkey nuts and the bakery would make special fruit bread. Inside would be a toy wedding ring, so who ever got the slice with it in would be sure to married.
I had simple things in my life when young. No elaborate toys, just make believe and imagination. Life was hard as we did not have much, but I had a freedom of a different kind.
Once we shared a house with another family, the McNulty’s. Things were very basic. The tin bath used to be filled with hot and cold water in front of the fire and we made sure we got the right temperature before we entered in case we were scalded. The outside toilet had hard paper from orange wrappings and newspapers and not the fancy types of toilet paper we see on sale today. Now it is velvet to the touch with Aloe Vera to protect those sensitive parts of our body.
We all used to get together in the evening around the fire to converse with one another about the daily happenings that would have happened in the street. There was lots of laughter as we sat and listened to the entertainment on the radio and I have to admit that I really enjoyed listening.
When I was nearly six we moved to a home of our own with our own inside toilet and with a bath. But it was a great sadness to leave the Mc Nulty’s. There was no floor covering till a few years later when Mum could afford some and when we bought bright orange and red linoleum, that was new on the market. There was no need to polish Mum had been told. She was proud of her new floor covering but a few extra shillings every week had to be paid. There was no central heating in the house, just a big black range that was a cooker as well and was kept clean and shiny with black lead. The pipes were polished with Brasso. The front step was washed and polished with cardinal red. It made your hands feel funny when you used it.
In some of the little cottages off the beaten track they had no electricity and lamps were lit with meths, then pumped up to create a blue flame. To me it was pure magic and I never realized the hardship that those people were in. In the winter when it got very cold, we would pile our coats on top of the bed to keep us warm. There was no fancy fluffy duvet, soft, next to your skin, but instead coarse dark grey blankets which would peep over the white sheet when pulled closer. We had to use the chamber pot under the bed, to save going downstairs in the night.
I had a good pair of legs, which was just as well, as we did not possess a car or a bicycle. I learnt to ride a bike on my brother Philip’s godfather’s bike.. To get my leg over the handle bar was quite comical. I would have to stand on the pavement or a brick and lower the bike trying to keep it still and not fall off. What fun and what a sight.
The highlight of the week was when the groceries were delivered on Fridays. This was the day Mum got her money telegram. The grocer would put a poke of sweets in the box and they would be shared between us.
Every morning we would have a dose of malt, cod liver oil and emulsion, which was a white liquid taken from the whale which would was meant to do me the world of good. The best thing about Halloween, believe it or not, would be to put an apple in a basin of water and try to bite it with our hands behind our backs. We had monkey nuts and the bakery would make special fruit bread. Inside would be a toy wedding ring, so who ever got the slice with it in would be sure to married.
I had simple things in my life when young. No elaborate toys, just make believe and imagination. Life was hard as we did not have much, but I had a freedom of a different kind.
Monday, 9 August 2010
'New Home - New Baby' by Louise McClean
We arrived home, after three years in Aden, by sea on the 8th March, 1967 and, on entering Southampton harbour, passed the old Queen Mary sailing out on her last voyage. It was also our daughter’s tenth birthday.
First we had to return to Scotland to sell our home before moving south to Shrewsbury where my husband was to work and we were all going to live. We had never been to Shropshire so it was all going to be very new to us.
The three children and I stayed in Ayr to sell the house and pack up while Vic went to Shrewsbury to begin his new job and find somewhere suitable for us to live. The fact that I was seven months pregnant wasn’t exactly a help but the sale went through very easily and by the end of May we had bought a suitable house in Shrewsbury and moved in. It was exactly a month to the day before the birth of the new baby.
I liked the new house but it was much smaller than the Ayr house and all our furniture was far too large so we had to climb over furniture just to get around
As the baby was due in June one of the first things I had to do was to get registered with a doctor. This wasn’t simple as the first three I tried weren’t taking any new patients but I wasn’t too worried as this as my fourth child and I was very relaxed about the whole thing. We did eventually find a lovely doctor so all was well.
We settled into our new home, became familiar with the town and the neighbourhood and started the children into local schools. I remember it was a gloriously hot June and I waddled around like a beached whale longing for the birth which would also bring a few days rest in hospital!
On Sunday 25th June I went into the old maternity unit at Copthorne Hospital and the next day our daughter, Kerry Charlotte, was born without any fuss. We were all thrilled with her and felt she was a good omen for our life in Shropshire.
When Kerry and I , suitably refreshed, came home five days later it was to a house over stuffed with furniture and now also containing six huge crates of our belongings which had arrived from Aden. My immediate reaction was to put a match to the lot as we hadn’t a spare inch of space as it was. It was months before those crates were opened - they lived in the garage till then; out of sight, out of mind.
My husband, in his wisdom, had arranged for an electrician to come on the following Monday to re-wire the entire house. So, there I was with the floor boards lifted all over the house, no electricity, three over excited children and a new baby who appeared to want to sleep all day and cry all night. Great!
I remember it was all very stressful and it crossed my mind that, had I had time, I could have had a nervous breakdown but I was too busy for that, so I just got on with it and did my best.
Over the summer we gradually began to feel at home as we made new friends and explored the gorgeous Shropshire countryside. By Christmas we were well settled in Shropshire and over forty years later, we are still here, so it was a good move if rather traumatic!
First we had to return to Scotland to sell our home before moving south to Shrewsbury where my husband was to work and we were all going to live. We had never been to Shropshire so it was all going to be very new to us.
The three children and I stayed in Ayr to sell the house and pack up while Vic went to Shrewsbury to begin his new job and find somewhere suitable for us to live. The fact that I was seven months pregnant wasn’t exactly a help but the sale went through very easily and by the end of May we had bought a suitable house in Shrewsbury and moved in. It was exactly a month to the day before the birth of the new baby.
I liked the new house but it was much smaller than the Ayr house and all our furniture was far too large so we had to climb over furniture just to get around
As the baby was due in June one of the first things I had to do was to get registered with a doctor. This wasn’t simple as the first three I tried weren’t taking any new patients but I wasn’t too worried as this as my fourth child and I was very relaxed about the whole thing. We did eventually find a lovely doctor so all was well.
We settled into our new home, became familiar with the town and the neighbourhood and started the children into local schools. I remember it was a gloriously hot June and I waddled around like a beached whale longing for the birth which would also bring a few days rest in hospital!
On Sunday 25th June I went into the old maternity unit at Copthorne Hospital and the next day our daughter, Kerry Charlotte, was born without any fuss. We were all thrilled with her and felt she was a good omen for our life in Shropshire.
When Kerry and I , suitably refreshed, came home five days later it was to a house over stuffed with furniture and now also containing six huge crates of our belongings which had arrived from Aden. My immediate reaction was to put a match to the lot as we hadn’t a spare inch of space as it was. It was months before those crates were opened - they lived in the garage till then; out of sight, out of mind.
My husband, in his wisdom, had arranged for an electrician to come on the following Monday to re-wire the entire house. So, there I was with the floor boards lifted all over the house, no electricity, three over excited children and a new baby who appeared to want to sleep all day and cry all night. Great!
I remember it was all very stressful and it crossed my mind that, had I had time, I could have had a nervous breakdown but I was too busy for that, so I just got on with it and did my best.
Over the summer we gradually began to feel at home as we made new friends and explored the gorgeous Shropshire countryside. By Christmas we were well settled in Shropshire and over forty years later, we are still here, so it was a good move if rather traumatic!
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