I've recently started to watch reruns of "The Good Old Days", from the Leeds Variety Theatre. You see, I just adore those old tunes, the dancers, the jugglers, the acrobats, the comedy ( the only 'smut' is of one's own conjecture ), but most of all I look for my eccentric great Aunt. I seem to remember that she sat in the middle of the fourth row back (if I recall correctly). She lived in Leeds , and my Grandfather made contact with her through an appeal in "The Sunday Post", as he thought he had no relatives. She was the result ( I apologise as her name escapes me ).
Recently I did a little research on my Grandad as he had an unusual surname (at that time the only Flounder in Scotland ) ...and yes it is a name found in Yorkshire...yet I don't recall him having an accent. I don't even know how he came to be in Scotland. It's a pity that I don't know more about my own background. Unfortunately I came up against a brick wall on some aspects ...some skeleton in the cupboard I'm afraid.
But to return to " The Good Old Days ", How I would have loved to be on the stage - or more correctly - over it . For I'd have relished singing on a swing over the audience......" I'm only a bird in a gilded cage...."
Recently I did a little research on my Grandad as he had an unusual surname (at that time the only Flounder in Scotland ) ...and yes it is a name found in Yorkshire...yet I don't recall him having an accent. I don't even know how he came to be in Scotland. It's a pity that I don't know more about my own background. Unfortunately I came up against a brick wall on some aspects ...some skeleton in the cupboard I'm afraid.
But to return to " The Good Old Days ", How I would have loved to be on the stage - or more correctly - over it . For I'd have relished singing on a swing over the audience......" I'm only a bird in a gilded cage...."
My poem for this week was written in 1969...
Days that are Past 5/1/69
I'll come to you in the days that are past and we shall relive them.
I can show you how to live and with your kiss I can die.
You shall make me believe and I shall show you what believing is.
Believing is existing and loving every moment of it.
To me, I can't believe that everything is itself alive and real-
Pulsating , vibrating beneath my fingertips.
Crying out to be loved, and to love in return.
The touch of bark can send a thrill to every inch of my soul.
The smell of sea air can revive a broken spirit.
The sight of flowers blooming can make me smile.
I live for the sheer joy and gratitude
For the life that has been bestowed to my body.
Thanks for reading my ramblings....Kath