Diary of an 8 year old flyer

I'm sure if you encourage children to talk about and describe things they have done and places they have been that it helps to instill memories. On one of our trips to England to visit all my family I suggested my sons keep a diary. It was hard work - for me and for them but well worth it.

This account of our experience at the airport is a cracker.

(click on the image to enlarge)

He must have asked me why they were looking inside our bags.

I have replied saying they are looking for 'guns'. But that's not what he heard, obviously!

I just love the way he has written around his thumb where he is holding the book.

Mother's Day

The day my sons were born my life changed, for ever. But I suppose all mothers would say that. My twin sons have been the best thing that has happened to me in my whole life.

I have recently been sorting out photos and memorabilia and was pleased to discover that I have kept most of the Mother's Day cards that they have ever given me. There was a time, probably the first 2-3 years of them having flown the nest at 18years of age, when I couldn't have even looked at their baby photos, let alone read Mother's Day cards. I got far too emotional. I didn't understand why at the time and then I saw a television programme on how mothers 'grieve' when their children leave home and saw women standing up in an audience and describing the loss they felt. I thought, "Hey, that's me!" I felt so much better after that and dealt with my 'grief' and moved on.

They are 26 now and living what I can only describe as 'dynamic' lives. They are both professionals and live life to the max, as they say. I adore them.

The photo above is of probably my very first Mother's Day card. He has drawn a huge 'H' for Helen, then has stuck a shell in the middle of it with wide selotape and "I love ym mum" is written very carefully up in the corner. What an absolute treasure. The cards get better and better as the years go by.

This one reads:

"This is my hand that you can hold, I promis I'll be as good as GOLD" - and he was.

Below is a "Mother's Day Project" from school.

And this page (below) inside was entitled, "mum can't find me"...

I took them to the Royal Easter Show one year when we were living in Sydney. We were near the Showbag Hall - one of the most popular places to visit and the huge crowd outside was absolutely heaving. Within seconds I had lost Douglas. I panicked. I told everyone around me that I'd lost my little boy. Someone asked what he looked like. I pointed to Matthew and said, "Exactly like that but he's wearing a blue t-shirt!"

Below we have the card made by the budding engineer (Matthew) who had seen 'pop-up' cards. He worked out how to do it and lo and behold... I get a pop-up card! And I love this bit: "From your best, favourite, darling angel". They both have the most wonderful sense of humour.

This next one is an absolute gem. It is a collage. A lot of time and effort has gone into this and it embarrasses me that anyone should go to so much trouble for me.

There are lots of beautiful words inside... plus this written in a corner:

"Hope you like your pressies - they're from both me and Matt.

The girl at Body Shop originally showed me hemp handcream but

there was just something not right about buying my mum

marijuana handcream!"

My boys started making me laugh from a very early age and as the years go by they just get funnier.
Also, on the back of this handicrafted masterpiece we have:

"copywrite
quwality moments....'and when the clouds part...and the birds sing' kind of thing cards inc."


Later on they were both at university. Doug was studying German, amongst other subjects and I receive this:

Inside is the most wonderful poem - six verses long! (in English)

And then...

This is my all time favourite. Apart from German and Psychology, Doug also studied English which, of course, included Shakespeare. He chose this beautiful verse for my Mother's Day card that year:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And Summer's lease both too short a date,

But thy eternal summer shall not fade,

Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st.

I feel like the luckiest mother alive.

Wordsworth

I wandered lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er Vales and Hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine

And twinkle on the milky way,

They stretched in never-ending line

Along the margin of a bay.

Ten thousand saw I at a glance,

Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they

Out-did the sparkling waves in glee -

A poet could not but be gay

In such a jocund company.

I gazed - and gazed - but little thought

What wealth the show to me had brought.

For oft when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude,

And then my heart with pleasure fills,

And dances with the daffodils.

by William Wordsworth

My most favourite of poems and my most favourite of flowers, if it's possible to have only one favourite flower. It is Springtime in England and I would love to just "pop over" and cycle around the beautiful countryside to see the daffodils, bluebells, primroses, celandines, etc.

Little Jugs

These jugs were my mum's. My earliest memory of these jugs is of them sitting on a mantlepiece in mum and dad's bedroom. This was when we lived in Ebbisham Road, Epsom, Surrey, England.

It was quite a large house considering it was a "council house" but maybe everything appeared large to me then as I was only tiny. It was quite a well designed house too, looking back. You went in the front door and the stairs were directly in front of you. To the right was a door into the lounge room which stretched from the front of the house to the back. To the left along a small hallway was the bathroom then, around the corner, the kitchen which faced out onto the back garden. In the corner of this hallway under a small window our dad built a cupboard into the corner. I remember its round shaped door and on top mum placed a blue hyacinth that filled the house with its exquisite perfume.

Up the stairs and to the right were our bedrooms and to the left, mum and dad's bedroom which stretched from the front of the house to the back. So, being directly over the kitchen where the boiler was, the bedroom had a fireplace and, hence, a mantlepiece. But I can't remember dad ever making a fire in that grate. I do remember a real fire in the lounge room fireplace though and watching chestnuts roasting on the little shelf directly in front of the coals.

I was very young when we lived in that house so it probably wasn't as 'huge' as I imagine. I spent alot of time at home as I was in my pre-school years which explains why I have these clear images.

Next to the fireplace in mum and dad's bedroom was the 'airing' cupboard where all the clean clothes were stacked neatly. Mum ironed everything. The one thing I remember about this cupboard was bodices! We went to this cupboard for clean clothes each day and that included the dreaded bodice. Oh, how my sister and I hated having to wear a bodice! A sleeveless, white, thick, fitted, button-up cotton top that mum insisted we wear underneath to keep us warm.

One particular memory I have of mum and dad's bedroom was when some family came to stay. I can't remember who but the extra people staying meant they put up a camp bed in their room for me to sleep on. Well, how exciting! It was what they called "the Z bed". It was like a big concertina which stretched out longways until it was a bed but could be closed up and stood in a corner with its lid acting like a little table. This bed was so much fun. I know why I have no idea who was staying - because most of the time the visitors were there I was upstairs crawling under this wonderful 'cubby'. It was so cosy, so secret and all mine.

Gill, our eldest sister had a bedroom all to herself. She was the eldest, afterall. Marion and I shared the front bedroom in which we had bunk beds. Well, they probably looked like a set of bunk beds but in actual fact they were "a ship"!! Yes, thanks to my sister's vivid imagination, we had many an exciting adventure sailing our "ship" across raging seas (the floor).

Happy days. I just have to look at my little blue jugs.

Helen Mirren

I have just listened to an interview with Helen Mirren. She is a wonderful, wonderful lady. I can't wait to see the movie, "The Queen". Listen to it here.

My Dad

OAP = Old Age Pensioner SOD = Sod

My dad had a wonderful sense of humour. He took his position as father and bread-winner extremely seriously. He was a very private man. He had few friends because he didn't need them. I think my mum was his best friend. I say 'I think' because I realise now that I didn't know him very well during my years at home. I understand a lot more now, simply because I have matured and have had time to look back with adult eyes.

I cannot remember having long conversations with him. I cannot remember him actually putting his arms around me and cuddling me. I can remember him holding my hand a few times and I sat on his lap once or twice.

I accepted this lack of closeness without question - as a child would.

I used to stand next to him in his shed and watch him making things; sawing and planing; or repairing things. He used to sole and heal our shoes to get a few more month's wear out of them. I used to stand around watching while he fixed things on his car. He had a car accident once and as they were in the process of renewing the insurance policy at the time of the accident they weren't covered. He ploughed away, weekend after weekend until he'd completely fixed it. He had no training in mechanics at all, he just got the car instruction manual and worked on it until it was fixed.

I watched him build a little greenhouse at the end of our garden and grow delicious tomatoes and cucumbers each year. I haven't tasted tomatoes quite as sweet and succulent since.

I realise now that he must have loved having me following him around and I'm glad I did.

I also realise now that my dad had more love in him than he could handle. He just could not show it. The only way he knew was to provide the food on the table, the coal for the fire that kept us warm and the security of a home. He used to take us out at weekends sometimes. That is why I have been to most of the popular tourist attractions in London, eg: The Tower of London, The British Museum, etc. and to beauty spots around the south of England. We also always had a holiday each year even though we weren't that well off. My favourite holiday was at Trebarwith Strand in Cornwall.

I have lived in Australia for 28 years now and always wrote to my parents regularly. My mum wrote every single week; beautiful letters, full of news, questions, newspaper cuttings, anything she thought I would be interested in. Occasionally there would be a note from my dad in his beautiful script-like handwriting.

My mum passed away in 1999 and I stopped writing for a while. I was phoning dad from time to time and then in one phone call he said how much he would love to get letters. It made me realise that I'd been assuming my correspondence was only to mum but quite obviously dad had been absorbing every word of my letters and was missing them!

From that day every Sunday I would sit down and enjoy writing a long letter to dad. He was unable to write back as he was so frail so I kept phoning too. I really enjoyed telling him my news, adding photos, anything I thought he'd be interested in.

I also encouraged my sons to write him letters which they did and had done just a couple of weeks previous to Australia Day 2005.

It was early Monday morning, a public holiday as it was Australia Day. I was living by myself with my dog, in a small unit in a suburb of Perth. I'm not sure what woke me but it was about 3am and very quiet, very still. I laid awake for a while then started to drift in and out of sleep, then a voice whispered in my ear, "I love you." It startled me because it was as if the person, definitely male, was right next to me. I sat up and looked around and thought I must have imagined it but it was too real.

Four hours later the phone rang. It was my sister calling from the UK. She was silent at first and then said, "It's dad...." He had passed away quietly in his sleep. I immediately knew who had visited me just hours before.

At last he was able to tell me.

Christmas Parties

I can remember Christmas parties at our house as children. A small council house on the outskirts of London. I was young and, unfortunately, didn't appreciate the fun everyone was having. Now I can look back and laugh.

We had my grandparents and their brothers and sisters, uncles and aunties, cousins, come for Christmas dinner. Later on, everyone would be sitting around the edge of the lounge room; the fire roaring in the grate and Christmas tree, duly decorated and with fairy lights glowing, in the corner of the quite small room. My eldest sister would get them playing a game called "Stations".

She would go around the room giving everyone the name of a London station, eg. Kings Cross, Victoria, Trafalgar Square, Waterloo and so on. Then she would stand in the middle and call two stations. Those two stations had to swap chairs without letting her get into one of them. Well, some of these people were not only elderly but slightly overweight, so for them to haul themselves out of a low chair and race across the room was no easy task.

I was very young but have clear memories of my nana, her brother and my mum laughing until they cried. I can still see their red faces with tears running down their cheeks. Such happy days.