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 .What more could anyone want?

I am unable to add this to the blog competition that it was written for, 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. .. 🎶😲🎵

A Ballet of Books.

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Words I read dance on my tongue
Library books join in the fun.
A myriad of majestic lust
Move in a flurry of mite dust.

Turning pages straightening spines,
Composure coreographed in lines.
Come watch the Pas de deux
Girls Pirruette in clasic tutu.

A library putting on a ballet
Watched by books in the alley.
It began with the arabesque
Pointe at librarians desk.

They Gathered all in croisè
Danseur with a grande jetè
Prima ballerina took a bow
Books that dance holy cow.

An Old fashioned Story Teller

 In response to a flash fiction prompt by  Charli at the Carrot Ranch. Thank you Charli I hope this is of interest , and for anyone wanting to check Carli’s prompt and rules press the first  blue word. Here  

The photo is from free stock photos @pixabay.com
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I break the drudgery of shopping, by going to sniff books in the book emporium in  town.Today it was busy with more people than it was made to hold; as I’d had enough of noise, I moved on.

In the library I took my place on the floor and began to read aloud. Parents and children gravitated towards my space, they sat themselves down with children clutched in arms and listened. Once I finished I popped my coat on smiled, nodded and left. My calling found, I will return  there next Tuesday as the old fashioned story teller.

Recollections.

Feeling like the school fence is against my back,
watching them laugh as they get in the sack,
wanting to shrink in to the smallest space
but needing to see who’s winning the race.

The last one picked for either team
I’m just not sporty, they’re not really mean.
I duck from balls and don’t run fast
if I am on your team it will probably be last.

But I can hold a room with a story or rhyme
around a camp fire the top spot is mine.book worm
Words are best friends to me
alongside a good cup of tea.

A Shelfie for world book day

 shelfie day bookWorl
shelfie for world book day.

Today is world book day, and my most recent books have gathered in an orderly line on a shelf so I can share them with you. The Chambers dictionary, just an everyday go to book that is so well used, and so old; it is like an old blanket. It really had to be there. Mrs. Byrne’s dictionary of unusual obscure and preposterous words, must be forty years old so couldn’t be  left out. Learn to speak Afrikaans, we won’t  discuss that as I have used it many times, but have not and never will learn it. Next I have the getty years in photographs , these have been invaluable for referencing eras. They have also given me many a giggle. The book theif by Markus zusak a book i have read and re read many times over the years. Dylan Hearn’s Second Chance, a must read, bettered only by the second in the trilogy ( i only have it on e book unfortunately) Absent Souls. Science fiction fantasy dystopian novels. Books that changed my mind about excluding certain genres . Gone girl by Gillian Flynn a disturbing read, better than, ( in my opinion ) the film. Letters to the lost by Iona Grey, a book that found me using every emotion i had. Due out April, I proof read it last month, a superb read; written with clarity. Schindlers list I re read while all the commemerating was going on last month. A poignant  reminder of the lost souls of the Holocaust . I am Malala, had to be read, more so because I worked for a short time in India, we also sponser three youngsters with Brighter future in southern India. So a necessary read for me. To Capture The castle by Dodie Smith, another blogger pushed a reminder of this book, while listing books he had started  but not finished. Thank you MikeyTBull of wordpress. Beautifully crafted, and she also went on to write one hundred and one dalmations. Well worth a read you wont be disappointed.  Ian Probert (follow on Twitter) came to my attention recently and i read Rope Burns and liked it enough to buy the ebook, Johnny Nothing, this was a childrens book, full of disgusting things probably aimed at ten to thirteen year olds, reminiscent of Roald Dahl. Loved loved loved it! Consequently I put him in touch with a certain head (my daughter) of two schools, and today he is reading and presenting for four schools.   Johnny Rotten, for world book day, now that’s what you call paying it forward. You can see an array of material on my most recent shelf, some I will leave you to ask me about, and others speak for themselves.  Carol Hedges Historical writings are in e book form but have this year entertained and gripped me. Diamonds and Dust and Honour and Obey were particular favorites, again you would be doing yourselves a favour reading them.  As my meagre contribution to world book day ends, I hope my shelfie encourages someone to read at least one book on my shelf. If it does please let me know.