Category: Photographs

Young Men aren’t supposed to Die.

 

A couple of days ago we said our final Goodbyes’ to my partner’s best friend Tommy. They had been in each other’s lives for over 40 years. So now my man is grieving again, for another lovely man like so many taken before his time.  I wrote this poem when he died.  His family did him proud though and gave him a nice service with wonderful tributes for a life well lived. He was a good man and a great friend to my partner and boy do we miss him.  This photograph was taken the day he died, from the slipway where he regularly launched his boat with his son and his friends, it is a special place. May he rest in peace now, but the memories and stories will live on.

Sometimes the sickness will deny,
But young men aren’t supposed to die.
The chance for them to fulfil their lives,
Not leave behind children and wives.
But what is young and what is old?
Who’s the one who’ll break the mould.
One with love, who’s heaven sent
A long and healthy life that’s meant.
Over the years he’d come to show
A friendship that would grow and grow.
So Dear Lord, hear my plea
Although from pain, this one’s now free.
But all along, much life to live,
For friends and family, love to give.
One dear friend who’d help the poor
In cherished memory, here no more.
I think of the extra time we’d happily buy,
Time spent to wonder, or understand why?
Taken from this life way too soon,
The light went out, an empty room.
They fought so hard to be the boss,
Left startled by such sudden loss.
So as I stop and loudly cry,
Young men aren’t supposed to die.

I’d Lost My Marbles!

This is not a metaphor, but it’s not necessarily what you’d think either.

I have not been writing much lately. Instead I have been quietly storing away to memory hoping that I will remember it and write it later. I have not even written notes to jog the memory, so I hope that I don’t forget. My partner told me I “had far more important things to do” as he does from time to time when he wants me to stop what I’m doing and do something different. We had storage which needed to be emptied out on a deadline and with it memories of the past, so many moments lost in that room for years and years. Many people  have wondered why I keep stuff, I am sentimental and it started out as a habit. Those who know me have often asked. I used to collect the things that people did not want, or maybe I just found them interesting. I have furniture and things handed down to me by other family members.  I’d also kept all the books which I had as a child, some I had made as projects at school. I did not throw them away, wanting to share their wonders with children of mine some day, or ones I’d been lucky to look after in the early years, waiting for my time to come as a mother. I kept the books and as time went by I stored them away.

When I had to move out of my large flat and had no where to go, many of my belongings went into a storage facility and when I had filled that up, we talked a neighbour into lending us their storeroom, in the basement where I used to live.

And there it has stayed… For several years now, it’s amazing how time flies isn’t it?

For the past three years getting into the building has been impossible. Prior to which we used to go in there get things out and store other stuff, but basically things were left there. Many of them have been quietly rotting away, ravaged by time and flood water. I hoped that some at least could be salvaged before it was too late.

The anticipation of finding things again after all this time, was mounting in my mind.  My partner was dreading the whole process but did it with me. All my toot, as he referred to had to be moved.

So should we have cleared it all out and disposed of it all years ago?  I have to say that there have been times over the past fortnight when we both felt that we should have done, it was a horrible job to do, it was smelly and damp which got right on your chest and everywhere else.   We pulled muscles in the process but it is done and now we are sorting through, having moved what remained.

But there was some good news, there were things that I thought were long gone.  I had assumed that they had been taken when the storage facility moved my belongings leaving them out in a corridor for passers by to walk off with. From the numerous burglaries in the basement, or lost when I could not remember which place they had been put in. I thought I may have got confused and donated the wrong bags to charity shops. I had doubted that I had many of these items still, whilst others I would fondly look forward to finding again.

Unfortunately,  I lost most of my childrens’ books, all of my photograph albums from when I was growing up. During the clearance I picked up a box of books which were stored at floor level, hoping to keep them. They had obviously been placed there hurriedly. It looked fine from the top but as I moved it, the bottom fell out of it and water, so much water.  I took it towards the bin and as I put the box in there, I realised that it held the photos and the children’s books. The photo’s destroyed and the colours running from the pages in multi coloured rivers. These were my first photos from when as a teenager I had saved my pocket money to buy my first camera and develop the film.  I also found my art folder from my school days, the work was damp and mouldy and something I thought was there for years, is not. These were the low points but in the midst of it all, I found other things.

Among them was a bag which had been preserved containing the blue dress I bought when my Nan died and was wearing the first day that I met my partner.  I found the favourite dress which I had when I was 18 and wore on many a night out and other new/old dresses which I had not yet worn.  I found childhood collections, Love letters, letters and cards from friends. So many things, prized sentimental possessions from many years ago and after all these years I found my marbles!

My marble collection was won when I moved to this Southern town, new to the last year at Junior school. I was worried about settling in and making friends having been bullied at my previous school, there was a craze in the new school and I would learn how to play, then win a collection of marbles. I spent my meagre pocket money on marbles from the local toy shop and played every break time.  I won most of the marbles in this container that year.  I thought that the pasta jar (another of the things which had been stored away) was the perfect place in which to store them, on the kitchen windowsill where the light can bounce through them and I can enjoy them again.

Although I am a self-confessed hoarder and it will take me a while to get through it all. I will be working on my clutter and I have realised it is quite exhilarating to throw things out which are broken, or damaged and finding new homes for things which are no longer needed. As I enjoy finding other items from our past, no doubt there will be other things which put a smile on my face.

As I spoke to my oldest friend and also my mother after we had finished. I wondered out loud whether I would finally stop dreaming of the flat I’d had years earlier. Dreaming that I still lived there and that other people had taken over the place and my life along with it, holding parties that I did not want, with people I did not invite. That happened a lot. Mum told me that chapter is now over, now that things have gone from there I can finally stop living in the basement and be free at last. It seemed to mark the turning point, as I have been going through things with fervour throwing out decayed pieces of the past as I look towards the future. Maybe that is my metaphor and meanwhile, the strange dreams seem to have stopped.

 

The Daily Post – Anticipation

Happy St Andrews Day

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Since I have adopted Scotland as my true home over the past few years, is it any wonder that I am missing the place again already. I do have Scottish relations going way back, so it’s only fair to feel that it’s in my blood. Yes the wee one has settled in here down South for the time being and is behaving as though he can do what he likes along with the sulks and tantrums of the “terrible twos” when he doesn’t get it all his own way.  He will learn that even if you are a Malamute it doesn’t mean you have Carte Blanche to do as you please and house rules have to be followed. With an adopted pup though, there are going to be testing times, but on the whole he is settling well.

But I cannot deny, even though it’s only been a month since we came back that am missing our special part of our Scotland and our friends there and cannot wait to return. Although I know that I would not fare well up there at the moment now that it is so cold. It is cold here too now, suddenly this week, but heard from my friends there it was really cold. When a scot tells you that, then I know I wouldn’t be able to feel my toes for all the winter clothes I have.

Meanwhile friends old and new in Scotland and beyond, of you are doing anything remotely Scottish to celebrate this day, then I raise a glass to you and wish you a Happy St Andrews’ Day and invite you to soak up some of the wonderful culture wherever you may be.

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The Daily Post – Culture

Away to Anstruther

Away to Anstruther right by the Sea,

A walk in the wind along the quay.

Such wildness and wonder & sights to behold.

Of seascape and boats and stories of old.

A place to sit and enjoy the view.

Of harbour and gulls with me and you.

Chips, salt & vinegar there for our tea.

This is such bliss for you & for me.

Observing the world as it passes us by,

Hearing the gulls as they saw squawk and they cry.

Watching the darkness come over to night.

Clouds over yonder Red sky delight.



Hello To The New Boy

Hello to the New Boy
Who has come to us to stay,
When we’ve got more used to him,
He’ll come to join the fray.
He is just a youngster, with character so large.
With kindness and good manners,
Through a doorway he won’t barge.
Will greet you with Hello paws,
Not uninvited climb.
And when asked whose is that Dog,
I’ll be proud to say, He’s mine.
Cuddles and sweet nature, will brighten every day
There’s lots of love to share and so much time to play.
Will bring to you a toy, so you’ll not be lonely or become sad
We’ve just adopted him, our soppy little lad.
He’s been sent to join us, to stay here till the end,
Hello to the New Boy, our little furry friend.
So as I welcome him and I am pleased to say,
Come on in my darling, Happy Gotcha Day!

Now It’s Time

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Was it time for a furry person?

Were we sure? Well nothing’s certain.

But whilst we aim and try to strive

and remember we’re alive.

That time is there to heal,

Whatever we may feel.

And the day will come,

When we will meet our son.

So, it’s time to find another,

not a sister, but a brother.

To the one he’s never met,

but they’d get along, we’d bet.

A new chapter has begun,

we’re off to meet our son

He is a growing Lad,

who’s already had a Dad.

But not really had a Mum,

I’ll be the only one.

We travelled off to meet

and he sat by me to greet.

I knew it from the start,

he’d grabbed hold of my heart.

There is room in there.

As his eyes held my stare.

And as he went to say Hello,

to his new Dad, he would know.

Oh yes, he saw it straight away

On that Happy, fateful day.

Came away without a doubt,

Of what will be, will come about.

Our new boy who will come to live,

and who has so much love to give.

One to join our family,

return us again, to “Us Three”.

A small one with so much to learn,

to teach him how and not be stern.

I will treat and when he’s good,

with loving care and just reward.

A fine boy he will come to be

Just you wait and you will see…

 

rocky3

 

Wrapped Up


Wrapped up in my thoughts like a blanket pulled too tight.

Trying to release me, twist and turn with all my might.

The blanket offers me, some comfort from the cold.

But thoughts are hiding there in the crease and in the fold.

They creep unexpectedly as I lay here on the bed.

Dance round the subconscious and here in my head.

Sometimes I’ll wrestle them and pull them to the floor.

Hoping I can sling them, far out of the door.

But as I try to do this, they often come right out.

Leave me tired and sad and exhausted from the bout.

They are sometimes mixed with anger, so often filled with pain.

So I sit and write them down so they’ll be gone again.

I hope a while later, when my head it starts to reel,

That I can give it time and the space in which to heal.

Some Things ARE Better in Colour.

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This follows on from my post about painting from the other week. Here’s the link so that it makes more sense…

About Some Things, I don’t have a Clue!

Ok I admit it that I didn’t quite get around to “painting” a picture during this trip, however I did sketch something with the intention of adding colour or paint and even got around to colouring it, just to see what it would look like. The colours were from watercolour pencils mainly except there are never enough of the colours to go round, especially the different shades of green to colour the woodland so I had to add in some normal pencils too.

The end result… Ta Da!

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The Boundary Line – A Poem

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The Boundary Line.

A tight rope marks the boundary line,
Of what is his and what is mine.
There it’s clear for all to see,
A wire runs across to the tree.
A simple border there to define,
A place where you don’t cross the line.
This is a marker there to set,
Just in case he tries to forget.
That there was more given generously,
So as not to cause animosity.
He talked about building a fence,
And when he started this pretence,
Of deciding where his border would go,
Removing the line, well wouldn’t you know.
The best way to do this is to remove the tree,
The one that’s there for all to see.
So he chopped it down and hid it away,
They wouldn’t find it when they came to stay.
But through carelessness, so sure was he
He didn’t count on the things I see.
I walked around and slung over there,
Was my tree stump short and bare.
I took the post with the wire grown through,
And positioned it, in full view.
A reminder of a boundary gone,
And the man who has done me wrong.
For twenty four inches more of land,
So that next to his house, a shed he’ll stand.
He should have asked and not just take,
But he will learn from his mistake.
He does not own, the whole hill,
This place where we are residing still.
We have not gone, are still around.
Here to remain and stand our ground.
They tell us strong fences, good neighbours make.
But he should remember there’s give and take.
Not take and take and just keep on
Until there’s nothing left and it all is gone.
So while he will sit and criticise,
He will do well to remember, that we’ve become wise.
To the stories he tells and the liberties taken,
Which at times, leave us upset and shaken.
But we will fight on and not be deterred,
And timing is right, has not been deferred.
We’ll be “saving our stamps” as he’ll often say
Until our help is required one fine day.
Then we might choose, whether to be
Those friendly helpful people he’ll see.
Or will he arrive at a closed door.
Advantages taken again, no more.
The boundary line has truly been crossed
When into the rubbish it was tossed.
It showed no care and disrespect.
For a friendship now gone due to neglect.


The Daily Post – Trust

The Crossed Boundary…

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This picture represents a crossed boundary.  There are often things which you cannot understand however hard you might try.  About three years ago, I laid out the boundary to our garden, in accordance with our deeds, I was a little more generous than I should be, to allow our neighbour to create a slightly wider gateway or access to the side of his house.  I checked with the Laird, a man who has known both properties for many years, he came and inspected the area and confirmed that I had been more than generous with my neighbour, so there should be no issue.  It was a simple barrier.  Wire fencing supported by 4 inch wooden fence posts and galvanised wire.  It was a gentle boundary, showing where the line was.  I tacked it loosely around an apple tree in the orchard part of the garden.

About 18 months later, when I returned the apple tree was completely gone.  There was also a pile of logs which had been stacked at the bottom of my neighbours driveway, with rather alot from an apple tree, which he does not have anywhere on his land.  It was clear that they had come from my garden. He only has one tree remaining in his garden, he left it looking like a totem pole when he butchered it five years ago and it is still fighting back with greenery this year for the first time. He set a fire underneath it, climbed up the tree after a bottle of vodka when the branches caught light and cut the branch he was sitting on, falling to the ground unscathed.  He then decided the next day to take the other branches off it.


The Sycamore & The Totem

I was a bit fed up, but more so when I found that my boundary had been cut through as he built his fence.  It was needless to take it down and little more than vandalism.  My tree had been lopped and the evidence was there in his wood pile.  I removed the 8ft high log which had been left there and propped it up against the side door of the cottage in plain sight of his window.  Should he wish to discuss trees with me again, I would point out that he had no business in my garden felling my trees or taking my wood without discussion.

Needless to say, there was no discussion. Not that year or since he did not pass by, went away for a while and I did not see him until this year, in passing but he has not come by to speak with me, preferring to speak only with my partner.  He doesn’t have a very high opinion of women, especially the ones who make decisions.  The log stayed in our cottage since then, it made a good prop-barricade in case someone tried to push the door in.  But a friend who helped us chop logs this week cut it up for firewood when I wasn’t looking, this is the only piece I managed to salvage.

So this is all that remains of my boundary, the one he crossed. A crossed line, which I will not forget. It will stay in the cottage as a reminder to me that I should not trust him.  As a reminder to him that I know what he did and of my displeasure at his actions.

In the time we have had the cottage he has tried many times to fell my trees. Wild attempts to get other people to cut them down in my absence, with excuses as to why, some of which we have foiled only just in time. There is a large sycamore which is growing rather spectacularly and he attempted to get the telephone company only a week ago to fell it, saying that it was on his land.  It isn’t.  I ask myself when will he realise that  I have woods here because I love the trees, they are calming, protecting and offer sanctuary and they are mine.  There are none which can damage his property, they were already removed. There are none which concern him. The truth is that he doesn’t care. Some people don’t. My question is that if they resent the countryside so much, then why choose to live there? A rural location without trees and nature, well that just isn’t natural.

I think I need to spend more time here, in my absence things happen…