I Wanted To Be A Writer

 15th Jan 2021

I Wanted To Be  A Writer

15th Jan 2013.

This day eight years ago, 15^th January 2013, a Tuesday, my 59^th birthday, I started this journey, this writing life.

I had no idea  - that less could be  more, that I’d have to kill my darlings, that there’d be no muse,  just hard work and lots of it,  and who knew how absolutely necessary, the housework would suddenly become. I’m so damn proud of my shiny bathroom just now.

So, there I was, stood outside the door. Ok, deep breath, raise your head, grip the handle.  I gulped down the sick feeling, down into my stomach which itself was fighting to regain some kind of stillness.  Through the double glass doors, I saw two ladies already sat at the large table.  I joined them. We made small talk as others came into the room.

“Hello, I’m Marian, mother of nine and grandmother.”  My hands clammy, my mouth dry, what on earth was I doing here?   Ten “would be” writers gathered together for a six week Creative Writing Course, we took turns to introduce ourselves. 

I’d wanted to write as far back as I could remember, paying a lot of money in the late 70’s for a distance writing course. Learning in isolation though? Not my thing. The books went in the loft, then into the bin when we moved. Though my confidence was knocked, the desire remained.  I had to dig deep to find a grain of courage to try this new workshop.  Would I now, actually be able to? Would everybody be better than me? Would my dream be shattered? Because, then what? I’d always used the excuse that my brain hadn’t got any usable mental space for writing, it was so full of the worries and minutia of bringing up a large family. 

Strangely though, I’d been looking forward to this day for longer than I cared to admit.  Occasionally, in the past, passion would take hold of me and I’d have to write to a paper or magazine. even had some articles published, mainly in Catholic papers and Parish newsletters. But nothing that would class me as a proper writer.  Would I ever deserve that title?

But my main push to start, was the sense I was running out of time. A stroke I had the year before, certainly made me think. All those wasted moments of the past – nothing to be done about them.  Dreams for the future?  Only wishful thinking … unless... I knew leaving things for later would mean they’d never get done. So, no time like the present. When I handed the cheque over at the start of that first session, I knew that it could, change everything.

 

 

 

 

Day 1 2021

 1st January 2021

I have 3 reasons for celebrating today

1. Happy New Year to you all 

And thank you to those who have read and commented on my blog over the last year. All your encouragement is much appreciated. With more than 65,000 visits, I feel that my words are getting out there in some way or other. Please keep the comments coming, especially if you have any ideas or suggestions to make. I think seriously about every comment I get knowing that they're rarely given lightly. 

If you would like to be a guest writer on my blog and have anything you would like to be published please  do let me know. 

How are you going into 2021? 

Are you fearful, bringing with you anxieties from 2020, that strange year that most people want to run from as quickly as possible?  Are you able to leave behind those worries and start this year with a clean page, a new chapter of your life? 

Myself, I found so much joy last year that I can only hope that, in some ways, 2021 brings me at least the same again. Obviously, I don't mean  that I don't also hope that we come out of the pandemic, of course I do. But it was because of the pandemic that I found myself at my computer and gave myself the permission, at last, to call myself a writer. Having a short story published half way through the year helped too. 

So, I wish you blessings for 2021 the Gaelic way:

 May your giving hand never fail you.

May we all be alive at this same time next year.

May the Lord keep you in the palm of His hand, and never close His fist too tight!

  May you live as long as you want and never want as long as you live!

  May the best day of your past be the worst day of your future.

2 Happy 8th Day of Christmas

Do you still have decorations up, or has your tree been packed away since the evening of the 25th having been up since the middle of November?

Many people told me during the second half of November, that they'd put the tree up and decorated the house early this year to give themselves "a little lift" , "a bit of joy" to help them live through the unending, depressing and constant bad news that just seemed to permeate our skin and become part of us. 

Those same people were then fed up with the Christmas tree and desperate to take it down as soon as possible.  Ok, kids we've had the presents let's take the tree down.

In our house on the other hand we rarely put the tree up before the week before. The first thing to appear is the advent wreath four weeks before Christmas.  The crib comes next about two weeks before. 

With the tree only decorated only a few days in advance of the day itself, and sometimes I leave it for Christmas Eve, none of us are ready to see it go as early as St Stephen's Day ( Boxing Day) and are eager to keep celebrating for the whole twelve days. 

This year the 1st January was very different for us. Usually we have a family get together when we do Christmas Day all over again, even with crackers and Christmas pudding. But today we all ate in our own homes, gathering in the afternoon for a Zoom family Christmas quiz. And what a time we had. The competition was fierce . Each small (?) family group had five questions to ask. As we went through them it was clear that many would be repeated because others had them on their list. A scramble then to get more to add to out list. There was an art competition  for all ages, a word game where we had to race around the house finding items that began with all the letter of the words Jingle Bells. The children were great at this, running for eggs out of the fridge and grabbing pens for the letter i for ink. There was so much laughing that in the middle of it all I was in tears, thanking God for them all. We may not have seen them in person and that was sad. I'd like to have had hugs. But we did have the best of times and it will be remembered. More shananigans have been planned for the weekend. I'm looking forward to it all.

  3 The Feast of Mary Mother of God.

This is one of my favourite feastdays. Hubby and I went to Mass this morning. It was lovely to see the church full ( well as full as it can be with the restrictions).

We even sang the Salve Regina at the end. 

What did you do on the first day of 2021? 

Haikus

 Playing with Haikus

The 5. 7. 5 pattern 

Crisp, white crystals, crunch

underfoot, on frosty grass

sunrise , orange glow

How much did you say

is it worth all that money

Rather not thank you

I'm rich beyond words,

I want for nothing at all,

My treasure house full

But take them away

Leave me stripped of my treasures

What would I live for?

Loneliness, the germ

the monster, invades the mind,

turns living to ash.

The Turf

 2nd November 2020

My thoughts turn to my grandmother on this Feast of All Souls. 

So, a little poem:

Warmth

What makes me feel warm inside?

I think of my grandmother.

It's the days leading up to Christmas.

She sits in front of the range - for warmth

She picks up a turf sod lying in the basket,

To feed the oven,

Her hands hardened by farm work, by family life,

I help her, pick up my own lump of turf

Turf that Uncle Timmy dug from the bog,

 the previous autumn

It Feels hairy to the touch, rough against my fingers,

not like the regular, smooth edges

of factory brickets,

We take turns, my nan and I, to place a sod in the fire

without words we feed our story, make it rich.

Flames give a glow to her - already pink cheeks.

When the roar reminds us "enough for now",

She sits back, smiles, and for while,

retells old tales of family long ago,

 linking the threads,

 lost in the mist of shared Ancestors

I wipe my eyes, reach for another sod,

And know who I am.

 

Lyme Regis

20th October

Today, I look out of the window onto a dull autumn day. I hate that we're heading towards more darker days and shorter nights.

And why does the winter always seem such a long season, unbearably long sometimes? What happens to time? 

But today, the leaves on the trees, glorious in all their beauty, are  presenting me with a rich aura of colour - browns, reds, oranges, yellows , a little green left too.

 

And so, this season redeems itself for me a little, coming as we are to the end of the year, when everything is dying off, but here nature says a farewell with splendid grandeur. 

The grey skies I'm looking at out of my study ( bedroom with makeshift desk) window, remind me of our camping holiday in the summer and the day we were leaving Princetown. So the following is from my journal from that time.

27th July 2020

The mist is still thick over Princetown so we decide to move on, to set off for Lyme Regis, maybe the sun is shining there. 

I'd like to stay longer, there's so much more we'd like to do,  but we've been here for two nights in the mist and, quite honestly, we're just fed up. Shivering, I take my bowl, the small red one, now full of our breakfast dishes and mugs,  to wash them, for the last time, in the outside wash area.  My socks feel  damp in my trainers, as do the rest of my clothes, the mist seeping through everything in it's path. I look forward to getting warm and drying out sometime today. 

The drive out of the moors is stunning. Although my view across the great expanse of moorland is limited, I encounter rivers ( the Dart being one) , waterfalls, and wild horses with their foals. One day I'll be back  , I mutter to myself as my eyes scan through the grey for more surprises. 

The drizzle shows no sign of letting up, so instead of taking a detour to places of interest, we head straight for Lyme Regis. I'm not sure how I feel about going back. This is the place we always wanted to retire to, the place where we had the best holidays when the children were little. It was many years ago now, but, It was our dream. Life took us down a different path , as it does, but I'm  not sure I'm over that longing.

We're about an hour and a half away and we discover now that the bad weather wasn't just hovering over the moors. I phone Kate to get the forecast for the afternoon in Lyme Regis. Mainly showers with a few sunny spells later. I hope that "later" is while we're there.  Kate also says that there'll be no change in this weather until next week. Right what shall we do then. We had intended to camp for a few nights, but if it's going to be miserable.

"Let's go anyway," I say, "It might brighten up for a few hours. Be a shame to drive past as we're so near."

"I'm glad you said that," hubby is relieved, "I really want to go."

We drive on, but not for long . Soon we have to stop for the proverbial comfort break. As we pull into the services I can't believe what I see. A long line, a queue of people stood outside, going right the way to the car park. 

At first I think there must be a fire drill or something, but no, it's definitely an orderly row, all waiting to go in, some with masks on, few however keeping the 2mt distance.  What's all that about, as if wearing a mask is the answer to everything. It is the governments emphasis now though. 

First it was    -        Wash your hands

Secondly       -        Stay at home

Next              -         Keep two meters apart

Now              -         Wear a mask

Common sense tells me it's a combination of all the above that's the best way. Like sheep we join the line. And to be fair, it's not long before we're herded, (yes herded not headed) into the food halls, where I can see another queue for the toilets. Obediently we join it. Again it's fast moving, and it's not long before there are only twelve ladies in front of me. 

But wait! It's then that I spot it. A disabled toilet. Is no one going to use it? Why not, I wonder? At that point what I should is was push ahead and go and use it. No, I am timid, I  hold back. When my turn finally comes I use it and when I come out I tell a mother waiting with her young son that it's free and she should use it. She does. It just seems madness to me to have a long queue waiting for the toilets and one free, not being used. If someone comes along who has greater need we can all, of course, step back, no problem, but with huge queues and, possibly, desperate folk watching the line,  it's quite odd.

After this unpleasant experience we are relieved( no pun intended) to be driving on again. 

Arriving in Lyme Regis cars sliding  through the streets and pedestrians dressed in raincoats and wellies, and holding their umbrellas , it's like a scene from a Lowrie painting. But hey, we find a car park. It's busy and yes, we have to wait again. I'm thinking , is this worth it? 

"Come on," says hubby, "for old time's sake" 

So, for "old time's sake" I find my wellies, my lovely Burberry pair, the height of fashion a few years back.

   I put my wellies on, my trainers are still soaked through form the boggy moor.  They'll take a while to dry out. 

The harbour holds fond memories of when our two older children were small, deep in concentration together, the four of us, securing bacon into crabbing nets and slowly lowering them into the water. The patience needed while crabs find their way to the bait was sometimes too much for the two of them and oftentimes they'd want to haul up the line. They soon learnt that you have to give it time. One time they even showed another  family how to "do it properly". 

Another activity we all loved, mainly on Charmouth Beach a few miles down the coast, was fossil hunting. When the sun didn't shine enough for a lazy beach day we'd get our raincoats on and spend hour after hour searching for fossils. There was an art to the finding of fossils. Sometimes we had to break open the stones and find ammonites and bellamites, creatures who lived long ago. And we did find some. That's what kept them coming back for more. We loved to go into the Fossil Shop and see what we might be able to find. We did buy a handy book on fossils there early on. That book got very tatty over the years. 

Today, I have a little tear as we find the Fossil Shop still there. Unfortunately it's closed because of Covid. We walk past the houses that we remember and that we dreamed of living in.

The rain is coming down harder and just as I think we'll have to make our way back to the car, I spot a shop that sells gluten free Cornish Pasties. We tried all over Cornwall to find a gluten free pasty for Peter with no luck and now, in Lyme Regis we find one. Ten minutes later, with a pasty each we search for somewhere to eat them where we won't get wet. 

"That'll do" he points to a covered  archway . It isn't ideal, but it's sheltered enough.  Licking our lips, we enjoy our pasties.

We don't hang around and soon are saying goodbye to Lyme Regis and I think, I love where we live, I'm glad we didn't move here.

Our holiday is over. We decide to head for home.

But what a great time we had, even if it was in Covid times.   

1000 likes or thankfuls

 25th Sept 2020

1000 LIKES

I saw it somewhere. Someone did this list of likes, a thousand. It was her challenge to herself.

I thought, good luck with that girl, and thought no more about it, until this morning when I contemplated the  washing I'd left out yesterday because it got soaked and I wasn't feeling well and now it's still wet, but the wind is blowing through it. And I thought, yes, the washing might have got wet in the rain but the plants we've just put in have benefited and we didn't have to water up. So, I thought to myself, there's always something to like or to be thankful for, even in situations that seem at first to foster dislike.

And I wondered, could I get to 1000 likes or thankfuls?

So, here I am, here to give it a go. Let's see how far I get.

1-10.For the air that I breathe, that's just right,  that, with it's unique properties, sustains our  lives, keeps our hearts beating and our blood flowing and our brains thinking. Without it you I wouldn't be writing this. For all people on earth who have this same gift, each different but the same. The first then, 

10- 30 For a  walk by the sea, each step a joy, wind blowing through my hair, sun shining for the briefest moment warming my face, waves looking magnificent as they crash in on the pebbles, seagulls squawking as they dive bomb the whirling rubbish from bins and a kind man taking time to say hello as we are both nearly lifted off our feet, sharing together the moment, a human connection , a smile, a knowing. I like these brief brushes - a chance to cheer, to be cheered, to enter another life, sometimes to encourage, to dissolve a frown, 

30 -50  Staying with the  walk, I like the view of the old pier, standing proud, way out at sea, telling it's story of the past. Only close up can you see the destruction, but that I like too.  I watch clouds race  across the sky, the colours - grey, almost black, a dirty yellow,  is that purple -  all  thrilling. I think of warmer times with children everywhere -  ice-creams, swimming, splashing, diving in from the groins, running on pebbles with a puppy, warm coffee from a flask, shared with a loved one. 

17-30 I like feathers, but only on birds, fish, especially with chips- the chippy down the road is the best, grass under my feet, chicken casserole, bean chilli, chocolate biscuits , your smile, the crease in your neck, a new baby's smell, my camper, opening my eyes to a new day, lying next to you.

I like the rain because the grass and the plants need it and it keeps everything green 

30-50 Chatting with friends, drinking with friends or just with you, walking with you, having friends to dinner, you cooking, dancing with you, singing, driving, seeing, laughing with you, with children, with grandchildren, with friends, Michael McEntyre, true stories, true movies, true romances, true drama,  the truth.

50-80 Reading, to myself, to my children, grandchildren, great grandchildren, to an audience, to you, sharing poetry. Listening, to birds, cars, wind, music, Radio 4, children playing, singing, poetry, waves, rustling of leaves, a waterfall, the door opening when you come home, the door close when we go to bed, your breathing in the night, you playing the guitar, a voice on the phone - sister (x 2)uncle, aunt, cousin (x 4)  friend (x 6) you.

80-100 Clean sheets on the bed, a hot bath, having money in the bank, shoes- black, blue, pink, red, brown, heeled, flat, open toed, pointy toed,  colourful clothes, Colgate toothpaste, a new toothbrush, walking through the park, swinging on the swing, climbing mountains, playing tennis, long finger nails (never achieved)

100-120  Snow at Christmas, snowball fights, building a snowman, sledging with the children, Midnight Mass, incense, wishing people happy Christmas,  carols in Church and round the streets, around the crib, Christmas dinner ( not turkey), Christmas pudding, brandy, family, paper hats, decorations, card games, charades, the nativity play, getting together.

120-140 Birds - eagles, robins, kingfishers, blue tits, chaffinches, swans, geese, ducks, doves, cuckoos, the yellow wagtail we saw along the river. Putting my slippers on, getting into my PJs, slouching next to you, enjoying tv, a glass of wine, a packet of crisps, with you, knowing we are safe, secure, happy.

140-160 Remembering - Mum, Dad, Nan, baby Marianna, Win, Bob, Audrey, Jan, Brian, Josemaria, Alvaro, Michael, Nonie, Guadalupe, Joseph, Chris, David, Leah, John, Gwen

160-180 Getting the house to myself (rare), having no washing in the basket, someone else has hoovered or made dinner or cleaned the bathrooms or taken the bins out or done the weekly shop, or brought the washing in, or washed the floors or cleaned the windows, or put petrol in the car, or cleaned the fridge or weeded the garden, or remembered to pay the bills, or tidied the sides, or  done some baking, or organised the meals for the week, or just made me a cup of tea, and it wasn't you.

180-200 Helping you catch fish, gut fish, fry fish and eating said fish. Fourteen of us swimming and playing in the sea.  

200-220 When a friend returns a book they've actually read and we get to talk about it. Book group friends - Sarah, Theresa, Aine, Amanda, Ros, Kevin, Jayne, Rachel, Heather. Books - The Salt Path, Small Great Things, Guard a Silver Sixpence, The Grass is Singing, Empty Cradles, My Life is Worth Living, In Dialogue with the Lord, Death and the Penquin.

220-240 More books - In Cold Blood, The Seven Secrets of the Eucharist, Maria, Mother to Hundreds, The Words in my Hand, The Guest Cat, Good in a Crisis, The Obstacle is the Way, Blackbird, A Grief Observed. My list of books to get ( always being added to), being recommended a great book and recommending one, spending the day reading and not caring, seeing my husband enjoy a book, seeing one of my children enjoy a book, seeing one of the grandchildren enjoy a book, seeing a shelf full of books yet to be read, finding a cheap book I want in a charity shop.

240-260 Having hew turf laid, putting in new plants - clematis, roses, other bushes, looking at the new garden creation with pride, with the garden all weeded and tidy, getting the garden chairs out to enjoy the sun on the decking, with you. Planning a refurbishment of the pond, looking forward to acquiring some fish and lilies and having a waterfall.

Just gone a quarter of the way !!! Not easy now

260-280 I love a new pen, a good pen , a few good pens. I love starting a new journal, buying a new journal, pretty journals, lined journals, plain journals. I love to read my journals from years ago, to find little gems that inform my writing, to bring to mind things forgotten, to see how far I've come, to realise nothing much changes, to ponder on things from the past, to get some inspiration for new writing, to have in the future in case I get alztheimers and have difficulty remembering.

Got a bit fed up with trying to find likes and thankfuls.

So, I only got to 280, but there are so many more. 

Dartmoor

Camping on Dartmoor

It never occurred to me that wanting to visit Dartmoor would bring me face to face with the famous prison of the same name. I really never gave it a thought.

  I mean, after all, the moors are vast, covering  an area of some 368 sq miles. 

 And my main aim was to walk them - well a very small part of them. 

But looking at the map Princetown seemed to be in the heart of the moorland, central enough to have a good explore. 

No, I didn't know it was the place where the prison was. That is until we drove by the huge walls behind which another world existed. 

It's history goes back to the early 1800's. 

From 1803 to 1815 Britain was at war with Napoleonic France and many prisoners were taken. Originally they were accommodated in Plymouth on redundant warships. 

However, conditions were so bad - poor sanitary arrangements, little exercise, lack of fresh air,  awful diet - that many died.

 It was decided to make it land based. Princetown, being in the middle of the moors, was deemed a suitable location and that's how Dartmoor Prison came to be built. 

The foundation stone was laid on 20th March 1806 and building work began. The first prisons were constructed from stones obtained by breaking up the boulders lying around the site and supplemented by dressed stone from nearby Herne Hole quarry.

 The planned completion of 18 months took twice as long due to labour disputes and the notorious Dartmoor weather.

On 22nd May 1809 the first prisoners arrived and the prison, full by the end of the year, soon became overcrowded. 

The situation worsened when American prisoners came in April 1813, with outbreaks of diseases killing 11,000 Frenchmen and 271 Americans. 

With the end of the wars the prisoners were repatriated, the last leaving in 1816, after which the prison closed, not opening again until 1850 as a penal  establishment for criminals.

The first convicts were mainly invalids, imbeciles, one armed and one legged men and others with chest complaints who it was thought would benefit from the fresh Dartmoor air. 

Cast-iron cells arranged back to back were constructed by artisan convicts under the supervision of contractors.

 These were superseded by stone cells before finally the older prisons were demolished and replaced by the buildings you see today, also built by convicts under artisan warders supervision. They were occupied by the worst criminals in the land.

The Military Service Act of 1916 introduced compulsory Conscription. 

‘Conscientious Objectors’ or ‘Conchies’ as they were called could apply before Tribunals for exemption on moral or religious grounds and either accepted non-combatant duties or agreed to serve at a Government Labour Camp. 

In 1917 Dartmoor prison was designated a Labour Camp and around a thousand such men replaced the convicts, occupied their cells and performed the same work as they had done. 

All locks were removed, they had freedom of movement locally and the Warders acted as supervisors only. 

They and their families were generally despised and suffered much hardship.

On Sunday 24th January 1932  around fifty men broke ranks and  soon took  control, attacking anyone in their way. Officers retreated to safety.

 The Administration block was set on fire and irreplaceable prison records lost. Police and soldiers rushed to Dartmoor. 

 The trouble was quickly quelled and the ringleaders later tried and convicted. Ropes, grapnels etc. found afterwards, confirmed suspicions the riot was a cover for an (unsuccessful) escape plan.

Dartmoor today

The bad old days are gone. Dartmoor now holds low category prisoners who are encouraged to undertake training programmes to help them on their release. Skilled advisors hold discussion sessions to make them aware of how unacceptable their crimes are. Single cell accommodation still applies and they eat in their cells. Showers and telephone communication with their families are freely available. They are not here to be punished; their punishment is loss of liberty tempered by help towards reform and rehabilitation.

24th July 2020

We make it to Princetown as a low mist settles and head for the Plume of Feathers, a park4night spot that had good reviews. We were glad to find it , especially as there seemed to be no campsites around and wild camping would have been difficult in the national park. OK though if you have a small tent. We park round  the back of the pub where we see that there are campers already and a lot of space . The only downside was the whole area appeared to be on a hill, a slight one, but an incline nevertheless.

Finding our way into the bar area, and being asked to use hand gel ( Covid times), we pay the lovely chap, who was wearing a facemask, £18 for two nights.

 

That'll be long enough to see the area and if we like it we'll stay for longer.

After booking, we're sent away with a menu for the restaurant. Of, course, Peter would like to try it, while I try to justify the spend in my head. 

Later we find the delightfully decorated showers rooms and the outside washing up area. I know, a bit of a dichotomy there. It'll do just fine, I think. 

After a detailed search we find a good enough / level enough place to park up and sitting in the camper with a cup of coffee, looking out at the misty drizzle (or mizzle as the Cornish call it), I take a look at the menu. There are some gorgeous dished to choose from , but not many that are gluten and dairy free. But I work out that some of the recipes could  possibly be tweaked if the chef was willing.

We are shown to a table by the fire, for which I'm mighty grateful, the weather having turned a bit chilly. I love this menu, you can have a regular or a small on all their meals. We choose the same - chargrilled chicken with bacon, cheese , chips and salad. Of course Peter has no cheese. They gave him something else, but I can't remember what. My small meal cost £7.95 and his regular cost £11.95. The difference? Not a lot, not £4 worth, that's for sure.

With two pints of Guinness the whole meal came to £29 - not bad for a fine evening dining, with lots of banter from the table opposite and the cockney waiter and  with the added attraction of a spoiled dog who was allowed to lick the table!

And to bed, with the hope of some sun tomorrow. 

But no such luck, the drizzle continued . However,  we manage buy an ordinance survey map which gives us the courage to go for a walk out on the moors. We choose a route and after having coffee we set off. The moors look vast in front of us but we're on a path, so it's ok right? We'll we hope so.

We meet some animals along the way - ponies and cows, mostly. Their freedom inspires me.

            

And the road seems long, a trek.

Looking back we can see the town with the tell tale walls of the prison nestled in there too.

This next picture probably shows it better.

 

Over four hours later and having walked for more than nine miles and having got lost on the moor in the mist, we walk back into the campsite, tired , wet and relieved. We enjoy a bean chilli that I had prepared a few days previously. How welcome that meal was after our long, wet trek through the moors.

Computer

10th Sept 2020

Today I'm joining Grammys grid's Wednesday Writing Prompt ,

 to write a  story in 98 words to include the word, computer.

Here's my effort. Hope you enjoy it 

                                           New Beginnings

 Jan stretches, turns off her computer and heads for bed.

  Is that the time, 1.30 am, were we chatting all that time?

 She undresses by the light of the streetlamp. 

She never pulls the curtains, enjoying the night sky and the morning sun 

dancing through the windows.

 She lays awake, thinking.

 If it wasn’t for Covid 19 forcing her to work from home, she’d never have thought of running poetry Zoom meetings. 

It’d become quite lucrative, but more importantly, she met David. Tomorrow I’ll meet him in real life.

I hope… She shivers.  I’ve been alone too long.

98 Words

Getting Here

 9th September 2020

Here is a revision of a piece from before. 

In this time of Pandemic, when all sense seems to be hidden where no one can find it, our lives have to go on in some sort of acceptable way. 

Keep safe friends and have no fear, things will be ok in the end.

How Did I Get Here

On my birthday that year, 

Not so long ago,

I  risked shattering my dream,

a dream I was frightened 

of seeing evaporate 

once the heat was turned up.

I took a chance.

With palms sweaty, heart pounding 

in my chest, I stop for a moment 

to breathe

Before

I plunge into the unknown,

my soul lay bare, exposed,

like the emperor who thinks he's

 clothed in Gold and fine linen. 

I had no idea if I could, 

Who was I to think I was able?

But was I, would it work?

No, I, me, a nobody, I had nothing,

nothing to say, surely. 

Yet, I was forgetting, 

forgetting the woman I was,

A lioness

With deep roots in the mountains

in the  valleys, in the bogs, 

Of the forty shades, 

With Storytellers for ancestors.

I should have known that I could

that I would,

And, oh so softly,  I did.

And here I am.

Megavissey

 4th Sept 2020

Mevagissey

Before leaving Falmouth we treat ourselves to a breakfast at a restaurant that looks out over the Bay. 

"Do you fancy having breakfast there," he mumbled, tentatively, pointing to a restaurant with outdoor seating hanging over the water. It looked extremely posh. Not the sort of place we would usually frequent. My dear hubby nearly fell over when I  said,                                                                          "Yes, let's go for it." I had been looking at it myself and deciding that if he asked I would say yes and to hell with the budget. After all we deserve something special now and then. Not like me at all, eh...?

And was it worth it, dear readers? 

A table outside on the quay, morning sun warming my back, pancakes with maple syrup ( for me) yummm, gluten free fry up for Peter, the best cappuccinos I've had for a long time. It was worth every penny! The food was amazing , the service exceptional and the waiter even asked if we'd like a jug of tap water (not to have to ask is a rare thing, or maybe it's just the establishments we are used to).

We left on cloud nine and after buying hats in the town, we got in the camper and headed towards Megavissey.

Megavissey holds happy memories for me, ever since childhood when my parents took us on a number of  holidays there, in the days before we started going abroad to Spain and France. Dad always liked to fish off the harbour and I loved to join him, learning how to cast a line and how to gut the mackerel that we would catch. Cutting down the belly of the fish, in no way put me off enjoying it fried for supper in the evenings. My sister's, being younger, didn't seem keen.

An attractive harbour-side village on the more sheltered South Coast of Cornwall, it's a hive of industry with the  harbour itself, full of dozens of  small fishing boats, the owners of which make their living from the sea. In the narrow streets of the village you'll find many restaurants, pubs and cafes, as well as galleries, gift shops and craft workshops. Some of the fish restaurants and fish shops are in old buildings which used to be the haunts of Cornish  smugglers.

 Back in the 1770's smuggling was popular around the Cornish Coast and Megavissey itself had numerous secret passages, trap doors and creative ways of getting through the village unseen, to support it's underground industry. French cognac, dutch gin, tea, tobacco, silks and lace could all be picked up and brought back to be sold at high prices. A single trip could make a whopping £170,000 in profit in today's money. No wonder it was rife at that time. 

We arrive on the morning of the 23rd July and because I'm concerned about finding parking and negotiating the narrow streets, we stop in a layby a few miles  away to rest, collect our thoughts and have a coffee.

However, it turned out we didn't need to worry. There was a huge  carpark right on the edge of the village, with a sign that showed it welcomed camper vans and that it might be possible to camp for the night. 

We were pleased to learn that for £8 we could park for the night and sleep in the camper. No facilities, but safe and legal, nevertheless. All the other carparks we'd seen in Cornwall so far had overnight parking alright but none allowed sleeping in  your vehicle. We happily handed over the £ 8 and felt comfortable knowing we didn't have to leave till the next morning at ten. That would do us.We couldn't believe our luck, especially as the campsites were all full and we didn't want to have to do wild camping. We'd now have time to have a good look round without any worries about the night time. 

We put the top up. I stand up, making the most of the extra space, and put together a quick lunch before we go for a walk to find the harbour. The centre of the village is only 200 metres  from us - easy.

It took me a while me a while, but as we came to the harbour wall warm recollections of dad fishing there came flooding back. I stopped still and wiped hot tears from my eyes. Peter's arm found it's way softly across my shoulder. I leant into him and for a few moments lived in another time. I dried my eyes again and we continued to walk to the end of the wall where we could see people fishing. I won't call them fishermen, although some might of been. But the majority were holiday makers trying their luck. I saw a little girl of about nine helping her dad. She brought him a hammer for the mackerel he'd just caught. What did me and dad do, I tried to remember. We didn't bash them over the head, anyway, I thought. No, dad did something quite gentle. I couldn't say what. 

I could tell that Peter was itching to get his rod out and have a go himself, so after walking around for a bit with the sun shining and the water glistening and everywhere a view better than the last, we hurry back to the camper to get it.We decide we'll spend an hour fishing or finish after he catches two fish, then go back for dinner. Only two fish because he won't take more than we'll eat.

He casts off well. Not near the others on the harbour wall, but off by himself a bit nearer some rocks where we've seen some small fry swimming.

The wind blows my new hat. I hold it across my face to keep the sun away from those wretched, bloody lips that are sore now, after being burned.

Unfortunately, just as he's getting into his stride, whoops , the line breaks, taking with it the little fish look-alike that is his bait. He didn't bring any replacements. I see the disappointment in his face, but  he decides that's enough for today. 

With the extra time I'm now left with I use it to make a chicken curry, using just a little chicken and then bulking it out with potatoes, onions, carrots and courgettes. Delicious!

In the evening we walk all around the village, in and out of the residential area on the hill, taking in all the Mevagisseyness that we can. Some of the little streets were so narrow that if the person from one house opened their front door and put out their hand and the person from the one opposite did the same, they would touch hands easily. No cars up these streets. I tried to imagine how someone might carry their belongings up when they were moving in. I wouldn't like to do it. 

The rain cuts our excursion short and we end uo in bed early with a bottle of wine, listening to radio Cornwall. A fabulous day.