The Glittering Prize - Meaningful Things

I have some works of art in my house. Some are on display, others are stored for safe keeping. They are items made by my children and grandchildren, presented to me with love and received with great delight. Some are glittery and shiny, others are not, but to me these special gifts are treasured prizes which fill me with joy. Being a grandparent is a little easier than being a parent, I have found, as the grandchildren usually – not always – go home, and I don’t have full responsibility for making important decisions about them. My glittering prizes are the children themselves, though if there is something precious, it is the teaspoon fashioned from tinfoil by my son when we forgot to take one on a picnic. It has a space in my display cabinet of meaningful things.

I was watching and listening to Sir Keir Starmer’s speech on TV at the recent Labour party conference. I was horrified to see someone get to him and pour gloopy looking glitter over his head and shoulders. Luckily, it was harmless, but how on earth did he get through security? He could have had a knife, a gun, anything. For one tiny moment, as the person was removed and Sir Keir removed his jacket, I wondered if the whole thing had been staged. I soon dismissed that thought. Not a glittering prize but a worrying moment.

One of my favourite modern day poet / writers is Lemn Sissay, MBE, former Chancellor of Manchester University. In 2021 he was appointed OBE for services to literature and charity. Last year he was elected a Fellow of the Royal Society of Literature. He is a trustee of the Foundlings Museum. Not bad going for someone who grew up in the care system, was treated unfairly by a family and repeated let down badly by social workers and social services at the time. He got justice eventually, but nothing could possibly compensate enough for his early life. Reading his memoir, ‘My Name Is Why’, broke my heart and I will salute his strength of character for evermore. He founded the charity Gold From the Stone Foundation which supports care leavers and every year provides Christmas dinners. His glittering prize is doing what he can to help others. Here is one of his quatrains,

‘How do you do it?’ said night.

‘How do you wake and shine?’

‘I keep it simple,’ said light.

‘One day at a time.’

Lemn Sissay  OBE, FRSL

  

Thanks for reading, Pam x

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Pills and Others

When I was six or seven I was given a bottle of little torpedo shaped medication and told to swallow two with water, the bottle was stuffed with them and I had no idea these were to save my life and would be a lifetimes dedication. Make sure you take the full course was the mantra instilled and back then that seemed an enormous number to take at a time particularly when you are so young. They were antibiotics of course, I think the first in my case were Streptomycin. I remember being interested in the names as I progressed to other variations but the link was to the earlier discovery of penicillin. 

I will be forever grateful to both Alexander Fleming and Selman Waksman, who it was said was the sole discoverer of Streptomyces in the 1940’s and who won the Nobel Prize for Physiology/Medicine in 1952.In fact the antibiotic synthesised by the soil organism Streptomyces griseus was discovered by American biochemists Albert Schatz and Elizabeth Bugie in 1943. The drug acts by interfering with the ability of a microorganism to synthesise several proteins. Streptomycin is used to treat bacterial infections, particularly TB.

 

I was probably a bit of a Guinea pig and given far more per infection than I would be today. The courses are streamlined now and come in pill form. Then, my mother worried about my ingesting masses of plastic, decided to cut the capsules in two, empty powder onto a teaspoon and expect me to swallow. I can remember that clagging dry mass in my throat now and I was “happy” when allowed to swallow the plastic again. 

My mother’s story was the tragic one. She had various ailments and took all kinds of pills and medicines, the GP visiting the house produced a syringe and after injecting her with Adrenalin, I think, left it on the mantelpiece, to give me a permanent fear of needles. I was woken one glorious May Sunday by my Vice Principal while I was at College to be told she had died. She was only fifty two, I was poleaxed as stupidly this hadn’t crossed my mind. Whether the drugs gave her longer life or shortened it will never be known, but it has given me a horror of casual and unnecessary pill taking and I avoid it when I can. 

Some 

sort of 

inheritance 

You have left your pot 

drugs that kept you going,

 

in the reaches of my mind.

 

I drag it out, strip off the lid

 

witness again the chemists’ 

dreamscape of colours 

it takes to carry a life 

yours and mine. 

Thanks for reading ,Cynthia

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