Five Paragraphs on the shaping of me.

“How many times must I tell you?” my Mother shouted. “How many times must I tell you, question mark” Is what my young self-heard. Like all good girls, I answered. A question should be answered, or you might be remembered as rude. I twisted my fingers like a church and steeple; stood on tippy toes and wore my most thoughtful look. “Maybe twice Mummy, I might not quite hear you with once … If I was doing something else … like reading.”  Shuffling backwards I sucked in my breath. “I might not hear … the first time.” I continued, I was careful with my answer, making sure to not say too many words or smile too much while I spoke. Unbeknown to me, that was not the right answer. I knew this because Mummy’s lip curled and her face twisted, into that not nice face, the one that made my knickers wet, which she liked even less than my answer; Five I was then.


My school uniform was still being worn when Mum came in looking for me; frowning. My buttons all skew-whiff, socks wrinkled into my shoes and my book firmly clasped between ink-stained fingers; behind my back. I stood straight and looked into her eyes while she spoke, knowing I should have changed before finishing that page, then she would not be as cross. Why hadn’t I? Simple, my book called me. I looked down at my shoe while I rubbed it against my calf; blackening my sock. Both hands were behind my back; clasping Black beauty. This left me unprotected, unprotected against falling, losing my balance. But I was not showing my book, not for anything. “How dare you answer me back, you defiant girl” I felt Mummy’s spittle land on my face as she snarled and poked me with her finger. “I was, only trying to answer Mummy” I whispered. “Just you say that once more girl!” That statement was another trap I fell into when I was small. Even though I was being asked to repeat something, I should never, ever do it. If I did, sore legs, no tea and bed would follow. That’s when my books became best friends. Under the blankets with my penlight torch between my teeth; I treasured that torch. I could check for bogeymen or the devil  … she said he would get my tongue if I lied, so I had to be vigilant.

I was one of a family of five, at least until my youngest sister came along when I was six. Six years and four months old, that was when she appeared; all soft and smiley, smelling of milk and baby powder. She came with a plethora of things I had never seen before. Mum and Dad must have done a deal on a job lot; my eldest sister said. There came a van with a carry-cot a bath with a stand, a chair that bounced, bags of rompers, dresses, vests and cardigans. There were lidded buckets, nappies, both muslin and towelling. Then there were the toys. My toys, I had outgrown them … so Mummy said. Off they went,  with new ones in her box. How she came to be, or how that happened, I am sure my sisters wondered as much as me.  But it did, and there she was, making the family of parents with four girls. She was no bother, she would be asleep when we left for school and asleep or about to sleep when we came home; so I only recall her being around at the weekends and holidays. With two older sisters to help, I didn’t get much of a look in; not old enough to be trusted and not experienced at life. My help was to sit next to her chair and read her stories, and of course to call out if there were any smells.

Learning the meaning of things is easier on a page, you can see the question marks and commas. ” When is a question, not to be answered?” By ten years old I knew better, but at five I hadn’t realised. You had to read the face, and interpret the tone that words were delivered in; if you were to understand. At ten, I knew when not to answer … though answering back was still a confusing one. As is, ‘just you come here.’ You do have to go as soon as it is said; not too quick, or too slow. I do not remember being taught to read faces or voices. It was something it seems you just had to know. It felt like I had to … just know, quite a lot Whilst growing up.

By fifteen I had learned to negotiate, compromise and keep my head down and nose clean. I had been working since I was fourteen, after school and at weekends. Sweeping and tea making in the hair salon, fetching coats and always smiling; part of the job. I lived in a lodging house and had an apprenticeship in hair and beauty, and for the most part, I coped nicely. Being fifteen was a time of hard work and independent living. I paid minimal rent; part of which was to cook the odd lunch for the landlady’s Father. Rent was paid for with three jobs. The hairdressers, the night cafe behind the Mace shop, and working every Sunday in a posh coffee shop in a neighbouring town. The reading of expressions came in handy at the salon, especially for nodding and smiling in the right places. Having my hair and nails done at work was a perk of the job and gave me an air of sophistication, or so I thought. Mixing with the elite as well as knowing good manners. I was brought up with, and my compulsion to read anything I could get my hands on made for a well-rounded, smart, nicely spoken, hard-working young woman. During this time my evenings were filled with writing, poetry mostly, all tucked between the pages of my favourite books. There I was secretly hoping Louisa M Alcott would permeate my work; improve it, as if by magic. But, as all fifteen-year-olds were back then, I was very naive.

My top five books were:
Alice in Wonderland
Black beauty
Mary Poppins
Little Women.
These taught me that words were wonderful … as long as they are kept in order. Books were my friends and writing could catch your fears on paper. Much better than in your chest.

So here we are with the power of five. Five senses, five elements, five digits on hands and feet. Five paragraphs and five Blogger Bashes. What more could anyone want?

I am unable to add this to the blog competition as alas, I got carried away. 375 was the count to stay below to qualify. This piece, is three times longer so I place it here to share with those who might enjoy a read. Iwould like to know if you have found it impossible on occasion. To tame a flash fiction to sit between the numbers required. Please comment I love to talk. .. 🎶😲🎵

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While We All Remember Them.

Florence wears her poppy with pride.
Bloody Mary at the ready ,
fag a dangle from painted lips,
burgeoning breasts child bearing hips.
All a wobble; she waits for the last post.
Lips a tremble; as she drinks a silent toast.

Her eyes and demeanour belie her pain the most.
An orphan of war; his body unfound.
Buried deep beneath foreign ground.
For peace he fought and lost his life,
then suicide tore away his grieving wife.

Alone, eyes all a puddle, she stands. Two minutes never brings them back. Silently clasping her shaking hands.

While, we all remember them.

Do you think my attempt is too fickle for such a poignant rememberance? Leave me a comment its good to talk.

Thanks to the artist of Florence who holds full copyright, giffy for use of tumbling animation. Both poem and poppies are my own.

Look what’s Coming on July the Twenty Fourth !

This is me being both excited and invincible.

I guest post on The recipe hunter press    Here  if you would like to peruse her fabulous foody blog in advance. Or if like me you would like to contribte I am sure she would love to hear from you all. 

 I want to thank Esme for inviting me, it will be my first guest post ever…  EVER! sorry just felt the need there to be excited in advance. 

I just love this world of blogs and blogishiousness. 

And it is my birthday what a better present could I have?

Happy happy birthday to me on July the twenty Fourth. 

My Answer to a post.

My answer to a beautiful poem left on a passing blog JAMILA MURTAZA she asks what i would tell my six year old self.  read it here

After reading her poem I leave this for her. I hope you like it.

 pigeon-flying-illustration-art-animated-gif

 

I wipe the wet from my face

 and wish it wasn’t so.
But as a teen there are still
horrors you don’t know.

Things that make myself gasp
That slip through my aging grasp
hate and fear don’t belong
To a girl so very young.

I have known so very long
that love resides inside a song
And despite the pain and dying air
this world is full of loving care.

😇 Have a wonderful week.

Do me a favour stop by her place tell her I sent you, follow and comment, fill up the space. Her talent is to be encouraged by all of us here, give her a clap give her a cheer.

leave me a comment *whispers* it feels like I’m collecting a wage. 😆 

Happiness Tag.

Being nominated for a happiness tag is charming, I thank
https://beeorganizedwithpamela.com/
Pamela said coming to my blog always made her happy.
To Have the happieness tag you must list
5. Things that make you happy.
5. Songs that make you happy.
5. Bloggers that make you happy.
Let them know you nominate them and you are done.
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No1. My Husband makes me happy
No2. My immediate family make me happy
No3. My writing makes me happy
No.4 My life makes me happy
No5. I! make me happy.
In truth I am the happiest I have ever been, I love life, I make everyone smile, (except for those who don’t know me) maybe I am funny, who knows or cares. I am just me, HAPPY!

No1. The Cure this reminds me especially on Fridays.

No.2. T. Rex I love to Booggie and this scene in Billy Elliot together have me singing (very badly) and dancing (like a sugar Plum fairy ) at the first note.

No.3. Because my Dad loved this and it’s my second Fathers day (in England)without him on the 19th June. I will be happy remembering how happy it made him.

No4. I just love this.

No.5. Cold play always make me happy and I particulary like yellow.

Thankyou.
I nominate for the happieness tag
No.1 Lucy. She is funny and upbeat and makes me laugh.press here to read her
blog.
No.2. Chris the story reading ape has made me happy by helping me with ping backs and all things bloggy, Chris’s blog posts often make me laugh.
Press here to join Chris and his blog.
No.3. Steph Richmond , she has a wicked sence of fun and her book is super too “the community ” https://scrichmondblog.wordpress.com/blog/
No.4 Erica kind because she just is. Press now to visit.
No.5 Coleen of silver threading press here to go and feel happy

Thank you every one please let me know if you left here happy 😀 😄 🙂 😉 😇