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Thu, 12 Feb 2015
Beautiful Palestine

With the state of the world seemingly in total chaos  
I wish to share this with everyone, it is very sad.

Beautiful Palestine





I ONLY COMPLAIN

OF MY SORROW AND MY

SADNESS 

TO ALLAH



      

 

From the moment I was born I remember feeling a warmth all around me, a feeling of belonging to somewhere very special. Growing up with a community who seemed like no other, where everyone looked towards the beauty that surrounded us, that same beauty that fed us, keeping out bellies full and our bodies strong.
As I lay here now - in the same house that I had shared with my parents and his parents, Grandfather Abbas and Grandmother Durriyah, who was so bright and shining just like her name.
My eyes wept for her even I lay here in what must be the cellar, she had left us much too early, Her energy was unceasing when it came to looking after her children and then us, her grandchildren when Mother and Father went to work in the fields. 
My father Karif was the second of their three sons but only Father and Uncle Qudamah remained. Their elder brother Asim was killed during the fighting in the desert.
My grandfather then built this house and they settled to what they hoped would be a new life in his Palestine, where there would be no more wars, how wrong he was.
I was born in the September of 1946 into a  home that still share some laughter and singing, poetry and games, and it was from a very young age that I heard of the all the bad things that had started in our beautiful land, in fact from the word go it seemed like mother and father talked about nothing else but another war, not another World War, but a war that would mean the end for all of us in Palestine.
"But we needn't worry," Grandfather Abbass, would say. "War maybe just around the next corner but they will soon realise that it was a terrible mistake they made, settling a handful of Hebrew Jews  in Palestine, don't worry son everything wil be fine."
I remember the arguements between Grandfather and father, with Grandmother trying to keep things simple by agreeing with them both.
        His words were proven right for the wars did come and what was beautiful was turned to ash, and what stood tall and strong was shattered beneath the guns and bombs. It also turned our country into a continuous stream of poison bile that turned this way and that just like the divided River Jordan, depriving and raping, and starving this once fruitful land of it's rare plants and olive and orange trees, along with the laughter and replaced all with the screaming of the children and the wailing of the women. 
Then with the loss of our land and refuge so did we become a none generation. If we ever did get help. I don't remember it.
I remember on my eigteenth birthday, father crying as he laid my grandmother to rest between what we thought was the grave of Amin and two more of his own family. 
We were still waiting for the outcome of this uprising, the shouts of Yasser Arafat as he begged and pleaded for help from the outside world, the United Nations, was there anyone who would come to aid the Palestinian people who were gradually being pushed farther and farther away from their homes.
He was according to some a terrorist, but to many, he was going to be our saviour. Arafat who held talks with Nassar in Cairo, Nassar who gave his support and who was murdered by the new Egyptian regime who sold out Palestine for wealth and greed, and who have left their own people without nothing but their own interior troubles as one after the other Egyptians are still assasinated.
 Arafat who was the one person who was going to set our people free from the troubles that were being forced upon us by the masses of so called Israelites that had now divided our lands not only with weapons but with barriers, making sure as they did by destroying the lands that our ancesters had turned from nothing into paradise.
Soon we were trying to find the graves of our loved one, after the passing of Grandfather Abbas. But once more the land that held the remains of Amin, Grandmother and several others who had been lost during these troubles, had been destroyed along with many of the Cemetries and Mosques.
So many of the towns and villages were razed to the ground and their inhabitants massacred where they slept or stood, trees burnt never to grow again, the children either killed or left to die within their families arms.
If you compare this to what happened during a declared war in Europe, what the Nazi's did was nothing compared to the inhumane ways of these Butchers and Mercenaries.
Beautiful Palestine
       I tried to lift my arm to wipe the tears that filled my eyes, for a moment I couldn't see a thing and half of me wished it would stay like that. Blinking  furiously I managed to remove the salty tears, letting them trickle down the side of my face so I might catch it with my tongue, I was so thirsty.
Once more I tried to move my arm, if I could just raise myself up onto one elbow I might be able to work out how to get out this stupid situation. There was a plank like board hanging to my left, if I could just... I stretched and at this stage I think I passed out again. 
      


It must have been quite sometime before I came to my senses, for the trace of light over the kitchen ceiling was gone . Also gone was the board that hung over my head, in its place was the leg of what looked like one of our two young grandchildrens bed, I needed to know if they were alive, were they safe.,
What had happen to my father and mother who had left to try and find Ameena whom I had dropped off at the United Nations Hospital just before the last wave of tank fire.
Maybe he had managed to find mother.
I hadn't heard from my eldest daughter Eman and the three boys. Nor anything from Mohamed, Eman's husband, that was apart from a message to the house that had been bought by a runner who had broken through the barrier, saying he hoped to find them before the bombing got any worse.
That was six weeks ago and I hadn't been able to tell my grandchildren anything. Had my father been able to find my mother, had she managed to get out of the Strip and even then she had many obstacles to cross before reaching the West Bank and maybe safety.
I just didn't know anything. Just that I was down here and the girls were somewhere up there. I looked at the ceiling again. 

         I lay awake for a long time, Straining my ears trying to hear what was going on outside. It was too quiet, maybe they were waiting for the sun to show her face so they could see what they were going to destroy next.
Hm not that, that hadn't stopped them before. I was finding it difficult to concentrate, my thirst  was getting worse, my tongue felt as if it was swollen to twice its normal size.
Again I drifted back between a restless sleep full of sleepless dreams.
Something wet had fallen from the gap above my head, it splashed on my face and I almost cheered at the thought of water.
 I reached to gather it up, spread it across my dried lips.
Forgetting for a moment where I was, until the pain reminded me I reached out. Then  I clenched my teeth together and continued to reach for the rag with my free arm  lifting the sodden thing from off my shoulder.
It was wet, but as I held it up to my face the light of the sun grew stronger.
I let the slip of blanket fall onto my chest.
I didn't want to see it.
I didn't want to know whose blanket it belonged to.
I could smell blood without having to look at it. I lay for a while staring up at the leg that had dropped even deeper through the gap in the ceiling.
Closing my eyes I picked it up again and held it under my nose and began to cry. I had witnessed this smell many times over the last fifteen years.
Blood dried by the heat and the cold, congeeling wherever it lay.
I struggled to get up but the pain in my right arm was bad. It was broken I think from the blast and the fall. Jamming my left fist into my mouth I slowly but surely drew myself into a sitting position.
I couldn't see the broken arm but I could feel it flopping this way and that as I smacked it against the broken wall.
 "Oh Allah please help me," I passed out again with the prayer to Allah on my lips.
    Once more the dreams and nightmares of the past seemed to crawl all round me. I felt cold yet I knew I was hot for what was left of my robe clung to my sweating torso.
As I sat up I looked down towards my legs. They hadn't really been giving me any pain and so I tried to pull them up against my chest.
I remember a scream ringing in my ears, I saw the ceiling above me slowly coming down. I remember the bodies of my two little treasures tipping from the bed as it slide through the widened gap. Arms wrapped round each other but not being able to say who was whom.
The noise got louder and louder, the screaming never seemed to end, the lights went out and  .........




............. It was about three months later when aids arrived from the red cross, Mist from the sea was settling on the ground as they worked day and night to sort through all the rubble. There was not a chance in hell that anyone would be alive but prayers were said in the refugee camps, just in case.

A woman stood by the side of the waiting ambulance. She was all in black only her hands were red, where somehow some of the blood hadn't dried up completely, caught in a little pool in a childs potty that was once kept under the childrens bed.
Sahalah wept as first one then the other of her little grand-daughters were released from their grave of masonry.
"Excuse me ma-am but do you know if there was anyone else in the house?"
"Just my husband," she said quietly, "just my husband who was looking after the girls for my daughter."
"And your daughter, Ma am?"
"Sahalah smiled wrily at the young Red Cross worker. "Oh Ameena, she has already gone"
The young lady smile. "May I ask where she has gone?"
"With all the others that were sheltering in the United Nations Hospitals before it was bombed by the Israelis."
"So sorry Ma am" she replied. "Still it's over now, isn't it?"
"Do you think so?" Sahalah looked towards the men bringing her husband's body out of the rubble.



Palestine

                                "DO YOU REALLY THINK SO?"      DM-S

Posted 16:22 
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Tue, 29 Jul 2014
Fun for All

And now, whoever said History was boring ! ! !

"Dogs believe they are human. Cats believe they are God."

"There is no snooze button on a cat who wants breakfast."

"Thousands of years ago, cats were worshipped as gods. Cats have never forgotten this." --Anonymous

"Cats are smarter than dogs. You can't get eight cats to pull a sled through snow." --Jeff Valdez

"As every cat owner knows, nobody owns a cat." --Ellen Perry Berkeley

Good reading . . . .

Where did the saying  Piss Poor come from?     child in basin

They used to use urine to tan animal skins, so families used to all pee in a pot & then once a day it was taken & sold to the tannery..... ..if you had to do this to survive you were "Piss Poor."

But worse than that were the really poor folk who couldn't even afford to buy a pot......they "didn't have a pot to piss in" & were the lowest of the low. 

The next time you are washing your hands and complain because the water temperature isn't just how you like it, think about how things used to be. Here are some facts about the 1500s:
 Most people got married in June because they took their yearly bath in May, and they still smelled pretty good by June.. However, since they were starting to smell . ..... . brides carried a bouquet of flowers to hide the body odour. Hence the custom today of carrying a bouquet when getting married.
 baby in bathBaths consisted of a big tub filled with hot water. The man of the house had the privilege of the nice clean water, then all the other sons and men, then the women and finally the children. Last of all the babies. By then the water was so dirty you could actually lose someone in it.. Hence the saying, "Don't throw the baby out with the bath water!"
 Houses had thatched roofs-thick straw-piled high, with no wood underneath. It was the only place for animals to get warm, so all the cats and other small animals (mice, bugs) lived in the roof. When it rained it became slippery and sometimes the animals would slip and fall off the roof.... Hence the saying "It's raining cats and dogs."
 There was nothing to stop things from falling into the house. This posed a real problem in the bedroom where bugs and other droppings could mess up your nice clean bed. Hence, a bed with big posts and a sheet hung over the top afforded some protection. That's how canopy beds came into existence.
 Where's that cat
The floor was dirt. Only the wealthy had something other than dirt. Hence the saying, "dirt poor." The wealthy had slate floors that would get slippery in the winter when wet, so they spread thresh (straw) on floor to help keep their footing. As the winter wore on, they added more thresh until, when you opened the door, it would all start slipping outside. A piece of wood was placed in the entrance-way. Hence: a thresh hold.
 
(Getting quite an education, aren't you?)
 
In those old days, they cooked in the kitchen with a big kettle that always hung over the fire.. Every day they lit the fire and added things to the pot. They ate mostly vegetables and did not get much meat. They would eat the stew for dinner, leaving leftovers in the pot to get cold overnight and then start over the next day. Sometimes stew had food in it that had been there for quite a while. Hence the rhyme: Peas porridge hot, peas porridge cold, peas porridge in the pot nine days old.
 Pig
Sometimes they could obtain pork, which made them feel quite special. When visitors came over, they would hang up their bacon to show off. It was a sign of wealth that a man could, "bring home the bacon." They would cut off a little to share with guests and would all sit around and chew the fat.

Those with money had plates made of pewter. Food with high acid content caused some of the lead to leach onto the food, causing lead poisoning death. This happened most often with tomatoes, so for the next 400 years or so, tomatoes were considered poisonous.

Bread was divided according to status. Workers got the burnt bottom of the loaf, the family got the middle, and guests got the top, or the upper crust.

Lead cups were used to drink ale or whisky. The combination would sometimes knock pint of beerthe imbibers out for a couple of days. Someone walking along the road would take them for dead and prepare them for burial. They were laid out on the kitchen table for a couple of days and the family would gather around and eat and drink and wait and see if they would wake up. Hence the custom of holding a wake.
 
graveyard

England is old and small and the local folks started running out of places to bury people. So they would dig up coffins and would take the bones to a bone-house, and reuse the grave. When reopening these coffins, 1 out of 25 coffins were found to have scratch marks on the inside and they realized they had been burying people alive... So they would tie a string on the wrist of the corpse, lead it through the coffin and up through the ground and tie it to a bell. Someone would have to sit out in the graveyard all night (the graveyard shift.) to listen for the bell; thus,someone could be, saved by the bell or was considered a "dead ringer."
 
And that's the truth....Now, whoever said History was boring ! ! !
 So . . . get out there and  educate someone! ~~~ Share these facts with a friend


Posted 10:54 
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The Missing Danish Pastries
DODIES DREAM WORLD
HOMEPAGE

always changing. xxx

Danish Hedge
GoblinsThe Missing Danish Pastries  

  At the bottom of the garden a Danish Goblin dwelt,
and on one hot and humid day, Gus gave a scream and yelled!
"Who's nicked my Danish pastries? Who's scoffed my strawberry flan?
I'm quite undone; besides myself! He began to make a plan."
Gus called his mates together; they lived beneath the hedge?
He told them of his stolen cakes taken from the window ledge.
"I guess it was those gnomes” he said “they look guilty, smug and fat."
But Gertie, pushed them all aside "Me thinks, it was That Cat!"

That cat was sat beneath the tree, cream all about her face. yummy yum,
Danish pastries.
She eyed the goblins up and down, there was going to be a chase.
The goblins watched the slant-eyed puss then her tail began to quiver.
"Stand aside !" Old Gertie cried, I’ll grab her tongue and liver!
He flexed his arms and with his axe moved closer to his quarry
Puss stretched her paw with nail and claw, old Gertie didn't tarry.
So up came Bert with the garden spade, he swung it round his head
He missed the cat, but hit a rat which toppled down quite dead.

Black CatThen, with a grin, the puss did spin her tail, curled round and round.
She sent them sprawling across the lawn, then made to higher ground.
The goblins beat, made a quick retreat and assembled within the bushes
Scratched and bruised from head to toe they made no further rushes
The goblins hid their face in shame, each felt their own remorse.
Ne'er again could they stand the pain of the pussy cat's tail and claws?
Gus decided there and then that they all would take a pledge.
If they ever made Danish pastries again not to leave them on the ledge.

Dodie© May 2014



Posted 10:47 
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Fri, 12 Oct 2012
A little bit of this and a little bit of that. x

DODIES DREAM WORLD
HOMEPAGE

A RECIPE ON HOW TO BECOME GOOD LOOKING
"From a Well Wisher"

2oz of Patience                               1 cupful of Kindness
4oz of Goodwill                                       A pinch of Hope 
A Bunch of Faith

To these add both a handful of Industry, a packet of Prudence and a few sprays of Sympathy.  A handful of the little plant called humanity must also be added, and a jar brimful of the Spirit of Good Humour. Season the mixture with good strong Common Sense, and simmer down gently in the pan of Daily Content.

Wow isn't that superb, it was sent into an old cookery book by a Mrs. Newport, Kelsall. Sometime before 1933 and placed under the heading "Miscellanea"
The title of the book is;

Cheshire
Eddisbury Cookery Book
over four hundred recipes - price one shilling

Posted 15:14 
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Tue, 03 Jul 2012
Drinking - the Flower Water - Life can be so cruel sometimes!

TRUE TALES

THIS IS ANOTHER TRUE STORY - PAINFUL BUT TRUE
I INTRODUCE YOU TO MRS ELENE HUMPHREYS

“Drinking - the flower water.”

Elene Humphreys


         Drinking -
the flower water When I was 21 I gave birth to my daughter, Lisa Elene Jackson and a week after her birth I was discharged from the maternity unit.

Unfortunately not long afterwards I was readmitted to the psychiatric ward in Billinge, near Wigan, due to a severe illness* where I purported to have had a vision of a cross in the bath water and claimed that I could turn water into wine and guess wining horses by looking at the newspaper and on top of everything else I claimed I was Jesus Christ himself!

 My stay in hospital as a psychiatric patient was no picnic, I can tell you and Lisa had to be cared for by grandparents, although they did bring her in to see me on occasions though apart from that, life was just horrible. 

Later when Lisa was 3 months old she developed bronchial pneumonia and nearly died as a result. She was rushed into the children’s ward in the Wigan Hospital in an ambulance with sirens sounding and me and my sister Lillian in attendance.  Happily with drugs and a spell in an incubator Lisa recovered and achieves good health to this day.

  For years everything went quite smoothly. Myself and my husband, Les divorced, and shortly afterwards I married my soul mate, Bob – the most wonderful man in the world!

  Around the Christmas of 1977 however, Bob experienced ruptured kidneys in a friendly football game and ended up in hospital for two weeks. I went into shock and we both ended up spending Christmas in hospital that year.

I was admitted to Winwick psychiatric hospital with acute, yet familiar symptoms, only this time I not only thought I was Jesus, I was convinced I was Jesus Christ and that I possessed special powers.

The special powers I didn’t get to use but I was given electro-convulsive therapy just in case I really did possess them! 

 My stay in Winwick was more than unpleasant and the only light at the end of a very, gloomy tunnel was that I had several wonderful visitors, including cousin Edie who was the assistant matron there and her sister, Beth, who was then a C.P.N.

 Time passed, my severe illness remained and in later life the now defunct, Mental Hospital at Denbigh was to become my bęte noir, which became apparent during my constant visits there.  I have a recollection of drinking the water from a flower vase on one occasion when thirst over-whelmed me and on another occasion when I literally sat or lay there pulling my hair out!

 How I endured this dreadful place I will never know, many I was plagued with nightmares, locked within an acute ward that went by the name of Bryn Golau, where every door was locked after an inmate went through it.

I recall circling the main area with a self-confessed murderer on my arm,  wearing dirty knickers, as clean ones hadn’t been supplied to me, that my mother or Bob, my husband brought in.

So many memories, I recall an incident when a crazed inmate set fire to the premises resulting in the attendance of the fire brigade to the ward. Drinking - the flower
water

One of my sharpest memories concerned a family holiday in Malta with Bob and son, Michael, together with in-laws, Ann and John with their son, Neil.

They were all to leave Malta without me as I was admitted to a venue run by nuns and stayed for 6 weeks only able to converse with the staff and one of the patients. 

This was to prove the last time I experienced electric shock treatment which affected short term memory loss, it seemed to work with me every time and it stabilized my mood. I had had a handful of experiences before this.  The episode in Malta seemed to be triggered off by sheer happiness and strangely enough I experienced a similar feeling in Spain last year, though happily the attack was just a mild one.

My journey back from Malta was a solitary one but I was cheered after meeting Bob, Lillian my sister and her boyfriend at the airport on my return.

In the eighties Bob and I moved to North Wales to a village called Treuddyn, near Mold and I immediately succumbed to the manic side of my illness though I was lucky enough not to warrant admission to Bryn Golau once again although I did have I had a propensity for removing my top and bra in the twinkling of an eye.  Embarrassing yes, more for the observers I think, though one day when Bob and his mother came to visit me and I disrobed in front of them. It was so funny if not complimentary when Jean, Bob’s mother, remarked on the firmness and attractiveness of my breasts!

 As the Denbigh Hospital closed, so the Wrexham Hospital loomed large before me, and I spent many hours on the wards there displaying my usual traits so much so that I was physically restrained Wrexham just as I was in Denbigh. I actually sent for the police on one occasion but it came to naught when they realised I was just a nutter at large. There was a time however when I became the victim of a rugby tackle to the tarmac by burly hospital staff, ruining my trousers and shoes and just because I had foolishly made a remark about wanting to kill myself.

 *Before I forget it was only in Malta that mention was made of the fact that I was a manic depressive and now we hear of bi-polar regarding certain mood swings.

 I guess you are wondering who ‘is this woman. Some kind of nut case we hear about everyday. But you see I don’t see myself as just a woman. I would rather be known as a person who suffers a dreadful illness, that isn’t visible to the naked eye, as it is contained within this persons mind.

With that little thought off my mind I would now like to refer to my background.

Drinking - the flower waterI attended Shevington junior school to the age of eleven, where I had a Christmas Carol published in the Lancashire Evening Post and Chronicle when I was 10, it was sung at the school assembly and I was very proud when my teacher compiled an anthology of my poems at around that time.

 I then went to Upholland Grammar School but did anything but shine there, leaving at 16 with only two G.C.E.’s, Economic history and domestic science.

  On leaving school however I decided to attend Wigan Tech to train as a shorthand typist. I worked hard and attained Commerce and English language as G.C.E’s. actually I am also proud to say that I now possess certificates for six ‘0’ levels law and English literature, plus 2 “A” levels – English literature and Psychology. 

When I reached the age of forty, I had my first book published in Lancashire dialect poetry and I now have 2 further books in Standard English, in print.

  My job, well I became a Crown Court shorthand writer, I held this position for nineteen years with hardly any absences, albeit having to be hospitalized 25 times, and not always on a voluntarily basis I must add.

                 Thinking back again, there were a couple of times that I ran away from Denbigh Hospital, though I didn’t get too far. But it reminded me of an episode of prisoner where Patrick McGoohan couldn’t escape a huge white ball only in this instance a hospital car would pick me up and take me back.

Once after a visit from Bob I lay in front of the car in a desperate bid to stop him leaving me but to no avail. But I did manage quite a good escape once. I managed to get a taxi in Denbigh with 2 strangers and ended up in a pub, The Colomendy which Bob and I frequented, of course I had no money but the landlord bailed me out until Bob arrived when he reimburse him.

 Another time I recall was during a stay in the Wrexham Hospital, things were different this time though I was equipped with money plus debit and credit cards, and I ended up at the Beaufort Palace Hotel in New Brighton. Very soon I was sipping a cider in the cocktail bar when I spotted a familiar figure, or so I envisaged.

 “You look just like Jane McDonald” I retorted.

 “I am Jane McDonald.”  She replied rather frosty..

 Well after a good nights sleep I took myself down to breakfast. Jane was there and I took it upon myself to Drinking - the flower
waterpress a poem to the table cloth of the table where Jane and I believe a couple off her aunts were sitting. The small poem referred to Bin Laden, and I do believe neither she nor her aunts were very amused!

 I should have mentioned, whilst in the hotel bedroom two police officers came to check on me.  What was all that about? I have no idea.

 To continue my escape, after the stay in the Beaufort Palace I caught a train from Wrexham and ended up in a B and B on the outskirts of the town.

During those 2 days Bob had no idea where I was. This was such a selfish illness!  I was a smoker at that time and got through about 30 cigarettes per day when I was high, normally 15 was my average.

When Les and I split up, rather than messy court hearings etc., I decided to leave the children in his care, as he had always been a marvelous father. At first he said he’d never take the children from me but quickly changed his mind and said he’d fight tooth and nail to get the kids, as you can imagine this killed me in its operation!

Lisa and Michael were to come every other weekend to us and every Wednesday.  Every other weekend was something to long for and I tried to make sure there were no transcripts worked on by me during the time they were with us. I yearned for such times they were to spend with us.

                 On Sundays Bob would take Michael and Lisa to swim at Ormskirk baths and I would prepare a hearty breakfast whilst they were gone. My children would see Nicola sometimes and they got on really well on most occasions. 

Bob’s daughter, Nicola, lived with us at first in his matrimonial home in Brooklands Grove then later went to reside with her mother, Eileen, and stepfather, Bernard. Bob was not happy with the situation but there was absolutely nothing he could do about it! 

At that time Nicola had a boyfriend called Timmy but some time later she met the love of her life, Tony, who worked as a buyer for a local firm. They married and went to live in a small detached house in Newburgh which was quite impressive for a starter home. Sometime later Nicola and Tony moved to our former property in Brooklands Grove, and we moved to Treuddyn, North Wales. 

This move was prompted by Bob’s move from Liverpool Crown Court to the Chester and North Wales Circuit.  He was to find himself very busy there, with regular trips to Welshpool and Mold which is close to where we live now, and Caernarfon where I worked myself quite often when he was around and went out for meals there on  a regular basis whilst staying at a local B and B. 

       Then tragedy struck – my adorable mother committed suicide by easing herself from an upstairs window at our home, of course this triggered off my illness and I ended up once again in hospital, this time I recollect very little I don’t think I was even in the picture at this juncture.

 My mother had always experienced mood swings in later life and suffered from Reynard disease and Schlermaderma which meant she wasn’t a well person.  She had parts of 3 fingers amputated as a result of the Reynaud syndrome.

My Dad wasn’t so popular with the masses, as was my mother where individual popularity was concerned.  He died with chronic obstructive airways disease at Liverpool Teaching hospital and my mother was bereft at the news.  Prior to his death his kidneys failed and he was on dialysis for a little while. This sounds an awful lot to bear for one person doesn’t it, looking back that is.

 Drinking - the flower water

Mother had threatened to throw herself through the window soon after my father died, 5 weeks previous to her demise but I joked with her saying she couldn’t possibly do it.  How wrong I was!

I will never forget the last words she said to me before she died, “are you going to the post office?”

I replied “No, mum, it’s a bit late now.” Though, obviously I changed my mind. 

On my return from the post office there was a stranger in the garden so I too had a feeling of foreboding.

Mother didn’t leave a note, and I know that this was obviously not the act of a selfish coward, but one of a brave resilient individual, as was later to be reported in the local newspaper!


Isn’t it strange this life we all lead? Bob had gone shopping and was tannoyed in Tesco’s ask him to return home immediately so he realised something was entirely wrong!  He did, Bless him

  Here is a small poem for Edie, a true friend.

Edie:

You have beauty in your soulDrinking - the flower
water

So recognise the day

When you met husband, Brian

So much more I have to say

Just such a splendid person

With all of us to love

Just how we’ll miss our cocker

Heaven – just the sky above


Edith Elene Humphreys.


Posted 17:02 
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