Missing - Is it The Borrowers?

One of the highlights of my week is the afternoon I spend as a volunteer in the Key Stage 1 library at my local primary school. I take groups of children from their classrooms to change their books, help them to find what they are looking for and help them to choose something that they could read for themselves. The afternoon usually includes me reading a story to a class, where I love to interact with the children and involve them as much as I can. Aged between five and seven, their smiles have gaps from missing baby teeth, some with new adult teeth erupting to fill the space. A wobbly tooth signifies that rite of passage towards growing up. It’s an event to be proud of, and when that perfect, well-looked after tooth comes out, it is treasure for Peggy, the Tooth Fairy, who sometimes leaves a reward. I never miss an opportunity to remind children to care for their teeth. My grandchildren are all at this stage, but it’s not just teeth that are missing in my house.

All kinds of things manage to become lost. Perhaps The Borrowers have taken up residence under our floorboards – it might be worth checking. There are jigsaws with pieces missing, I am reliably informed by the eldest. No one has bothered to try to find them. They have a 3D wooden dinosaur made of ten brightly coloured interlocking pieces which are numbered. Number seven, which I believe to be a piece of tummy and coloured red, has been missing for ages. They used it for a ‘Hunt the Thimble’ kind of treasure hunt. No one can remember where number seven was hidden and I have exhausted myself searching. Duplo and Lego get mixed together and I don’t bother checking them. The missing things don’t start and end with the children.

We’re still in January, just about, and already something is missing from a Christmas present belonging to my husband. A small charger cable, unique to the electric item it came with. This is odd because he looks after his belongings and keeps things together properly. We have searched everywhere, endlessly. A replacement is not obtainable. He bought something almost the same that would do. It required slight adjustment to which a Stanley knife was the appropriate tool. A Stanley knife can give a nasty cut to a thumb and it can bleed like billy-o for those on Warfarin. We don’t think it needed a stitch.

I have a younger sister, occasionally mentioned in blogs. She was a toddler in 1964 when we lived in a pub in the village of Padfield, near Glossop. I had my ninth birthday there. The village was considered safe and I was allowed to play out with friends, either on the street or further along to the swings and slide on a cinders-covered playground. My mum let me take my sister out in her pushchair. I took her to the playground. I don’t know what happened, I guess I became distracted and forgot about her. Later, back home, Mum’s asking where Anne is – I still have that sinking feeling – I’d left her in the playground. We ran all the length of Temple Street and thank goodness, she was still there, sat in her buggy in the twilight. My mum muttered something between clenched teeth about what I’d get if Anne had been missing. I’ve been dealt a few good hidings from my mother who was definitely a smack first, ask later sort of parent, but the smacked bottom I got for this was by far the worst. I mentioned that Padfield was a safe village and all the children had the freedom to play out. Another year and news of the Moors Murders broke. We had been on their doorstep.

My Haiku,

Do The Borrowers
Live underneath our floorboards
Claiming belongings?

Wooden dinosaur,
Its tummy is still missing
After sev’ral years.

We’ve waited for this,
Tooth fairy on full alert!
Wobbly one is out!

Front teeth are missing
And he’s got a gentle lisp,
Lovely impish grin.

It’s just a charger,
Ordinary, not special.
Why can’t we find it?

Where is your sister?
I felt my insides drop down.
Another smacked bum.

PMW 2024

Thanks for reading, Pam x

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Twilight (Of The Gods)

The Beatles released their 'final' 45rpm single this week. "Now And Then " came out in a blaze of worldwide promotional glory on Thursday backed by their very first single "Love Me Do " from sixty-one years ago. So when I needed an angle on the blog theme of twilight, I found one readymade - the last hurrah of the greatest music group of the modern age (bar none). 

All that remained for me to do was to listen to the final single a good dozen times, shed an emotional tear while watching Peter Jackson's stunning accompanying video, and then order my thoughts for your benefit and mine.

Written and demo'd to tape by John Lennon in 1977, it wasn't a song he considered worthy of a place on the last two albums he recorded ('Double Fantasy ' and 'Milk And Honey '). Years after his death "Now And Then " was handed over by Yoko Ono on a cassette tape that also included demos of "Free As A Bird ", "Real Love " and "Grow Old With Me ", (the last of which had made it onto 'Milk And Honey '). The plan of the three surviving Beatles was to work all the unreleased Lennon demos into fully-fledged Beatles songs to accompany their 1995 'Anthology ' retrospective, one song per each of the three parts of the project. In the end the recording quality of the "Now And Then " demo was deemed unusable, though George Harrison was also quite scathing about the song.

Nearly thirty years later, with huge advances in software sophistication, and George Harrison no longer with us, bless him, to object, Paul McCartney has picked up the final part of the trilogy again, written a few new words, created a better bass part and a slide guitar break in the style of Harrison to add to his and Harrison's 1995 acoustic guitar parts and Ringo has re-worked the drums, all on top of a much clearer rendition of Lennon's piano and vocals, plus there are strings orchestrated by Giles Martin (son of the Beatles' famous producer).  So it's a Beatles record because all four appear on it, and it's better than "Free As A Bird " and "Real Love " to these ears, a pleasant rock ballad but nothing brilliant, not like real Beatles records were when half of them were not in their eighties and two of them weren't dead. 

For McCartney it's probably closure of sorts after all the post-Beatle acrimony between himself and John. That's it really, an epilogue or epitaph or eulogy for the twilight of the Gods, the very best popular music ensemble of all time, one that helped shape our culture and our lives for the better - and we still have all that music. And it has been a nostalgic couple of days. Just watching the official music video that accompanies the release is a moving experience: Now And Then Music Video

The Beatles blazed for the decade that was the 1960s and for me, their true goodbye was, fittingly enough, "The End ", captured in seven takes at EMI Studio Two in July 1969, the final proper song on the final proper Beatles' LP 'Abbey Road '. They knew it, even if we were reluctant to take the hint.

I'm not providing a new poem this week. I'm still gestating 'Before And After Beatles', I'm afraid. In lieu here are links to five of my previous Saturday blogs devoted to the best group ever. Click on the bold titles to activate. You're welcome.😊

Beatlemania Was Born In Blackpool (from December 2014): Beatlemania

Revolver - Tomorrow Never Knows (from August 2016): Revolver Redux

Red Letter Day (from February 2017): When I'm Sixty-Four

Lonely Hearts (from June 2017): Phoenix Like

Take Three Birds (from October 2021): Norwegian Wood

I'll leave you with a quote from Paul McCartney that will be echoed by millions, myself included: 

"How lucky was I to have those men in my life."

Thanks for reading, S ;-)

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Four Legs Good - Cassie and Crombie

We’d had cats, hamsters and gerbils when the children were small. What they really wanted was a dog. When the last of the gerbils passed away, the pleas began again.  It wouldn’t be a problem, after all, I was a stay-at-home mum. Well, that’s how it looked because I was home when they were. The five days a week I spent working in the infants’ school had clearly gone over their heads. A dog. A responsibility. Another family member. My husband and I thought about it.

A lot had been going on in our family. The children had been faced with both parents having serious illnesses which had turned their lives inside out and upside down for the best part of a year. I was convinced that we weren’t both going to make it – we did, there we were and here we still are. The experience changed my attitude about some things. Should I become ill again and not survive, didn’t want the children to have a lasting memory of me, a mean mother never letting them have a dog. There were conditions, discussed between ourselves before involving the children. Firstly, no puppies. We would find a rescue dog. The chosen one had to suit everybody because it would be a family pet and looked after by all. Everyone had to feel comfortable taking it out for a walk. We studied the traits and behaviours of likely breeds and decided to approach Spring Spaniel Rescue. Before going ahead, we involved the children.

We sat round the table at tea time. Everyone had a small piece of paper, placed face down. Stay with me on this, I don’t need to explain how (daft) we are sometimes. It’s just family stuff. With much giddiness between the four of us, it was time to reveal our ‘words’, starting with the children. I had the last turn. Child 1 ‘We’, Child 2 ‘Are’, Dad ‘Getting’, Mum ‘A Dog’. Delighted, excited children.

Cassie was the perfect dog for us at that time. She was an old lady of a Springer Spaniel, thought to be ten years old, taken in by Springer Spaniel Rescue after her time as a breeding bitch ceased. They couldn’t tell us much, except she had been in sad, neglectful circumstances. The rescue centre had looked after her, restored her health and ready to be rehomed, she was ours. Love was all she needed and we had an endless supply. She was too old and infirm to chase balls or do much running about, but she loved her daily walks. Four legs nearly good. We know we gave her the best we could in her twilight years. It was heart-breaking for all of us when despite the efforts of our vet and our constant care, Cassie couldn’t recover from what we believe was a stroke and we had to say goodbye.

The level of grief was enormous. No more dogs.

The ‘no more dogs’ didn’t last very long. Our son helped a friend out by having her dog stay with us for a few days. She wanted to rehome him, but unfortunately he wasn’t a dog for us. Having him around showed me what we were missing. A compromise. We couldn’t keep this dog as he was too big and strong for me to handle, but if everyone agreed, we would approach Springer Spaniel Rescue again.

Crombie joined us as if he’d always been part of our family. Four years old and full of beans, he spun me round and round in the kennels car park before leaping into the hatchback, eager to get strapped in and make the journey to his new home. Bursting with energy and always raring to go, this was a springer behaving like a springer. Cassie had paved the way, building our confidence, preparing us for Crombie. He was a perfect dog for us, as Cassie had been, but in a different way. Springers are intelligent dogs, needing lots of exercise and challenges. Crombie, trained to Kennel Club Gold standard was exceptionally good company. Our children and later, grandchildren adored him. He must have covered every blade of grass on the field close to our house every day. He learnt his way round Dumfries and Galloway, instantly recognising where he was when we turned off the main road and followed the lane to the lodges where we like to stay. He wasn’t best friends with the vet in Kirkcudbright, but he knew he needed help and was respectful. We both whimpered with seasickness on the long journey to the Isle of Barra, but soon recovered to run on the beach. Part of the family he really was and we took him everywhere. Four legs good. Old age and infirmity began to compromise him. We knew what was coming. I couldn’t face up to it until we really had no choice.

Three years on and we still miss him, but I really mean it when I say ‘No more dogs’.

I found this,

The Power of the Dog

“There is sorrow enough in the natural way
From men and women to fill our day;
And when we are certain of sorrow in store,
Brothers and sisters, I bid you beware
Of giving your heart to a dog to tear.

Buy a pup and your money will buy
Love unflinching that cannot lie –
Perfect passion and worship fed
By a kick in the ribs or a pat on the head.
Nevertheless it is hardly fair
To rick your heart to a dog to tear.

When the fourteen years which Nature permits
Are closing in asthma, or tumour, or fits,
And the vet’s unspoken prescription runs
To lethal chambers or loaded guns
Then you will find – it’s your own affair –
But, you’ve given your heart to a dog to tear.

When the body that lived at your single will
With its whimper of welcome, is stilled (how still)!
When the spent that answered your every mood
Is gone – whenever it goes – for good,
You will discover how much you care,
And will give your heart to a dog to tear.

We’ve sorrow enough in the natural way
When it comes to burying Christian clay.
Our loves are not given, but only lent
At compound interest of cent per cent.
Though it is not always the case, I believe,
That the longer we’ve kept ‘em, the more we do grieve.

For when debts are payable, right or wrong,
A short-term loan is as bad as a long.
So why in Heaven (before we are there)
Should we give our hearts to a dog to tear?”

Rudyard Kipling 1865 – 1936

Thanks for reading, Pam x

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Lit From Below

Note to blogself: post at dusk... for crepuscular derives from the Latin crepusculum, meaning twilight; and twilight, in turn, means that brief period of the day when the sky is illuminated by the sun from beneath the horizon - hence lit from below. Twilight occurs twice a day, before sunrise and after sunset, and the length of twilight depends on one's position on earth in relation to the sun and the time of year. Crepuscular, an adjective much loved by zoologists, pertains to creatures, environments and events that populate the twilight period.

Need I say more, really? Perhaps just this: I'm not sure if the 'twi' bit in twilight derives from betwixt (meaning between day and night in this case) or from two (as in twice) in recognition that the sky is briefly lit by sun and moon at the same time (and of course moonlight is only reflected sunlight anyway).

Anyway, I'm keeping it (mercifully?) brief this week on account of midsummer pub crawling with my buddies in Blackpool Supporters' Trust, so the poem is the main fare, inspired in part by another seasonal crepuscular occurrence (and more 'lit from below'), the glowing of fireflies with their bioluminescent abdomens...

Fireflies At Dusk

Fireflies
Strait as a thermometer's silver shaft,
this ribbon of moonlit mercury
threads its way to the heart of the city,
a distant sodium glow miles down the tow,

while out here we're a shire's remove:
it's greenbelt country still at the cooling end
of a gruelling day. Path and skin both radiate
from relentless baking under midsummer sun

well into the crepuscular hour and as I walk,
hedgerow murmurings fade at my approach,
resuming once the echo of my steps has passed.
I wonder if that furious argument will be our last,

if I'll find you back at the house from which
we set forth happily together many hours since.
Maybe the heat and too much Beaujolais
have opened wide the gate of truth. I've time to ponder

as I wander home alone, conflicted by your meanness
and your pain, if there can ever be a way to make
the baggage of our former lives no hindrance
to our present or our future happiness. And suddenly

my trammelled twilight causeway blossoms
with a thousand bioluminescent points as fireflies
commence their ritual display. It's beautiful to see
and I would gladly share the sight, but don't know

where you are tonight since your storming exit.
I hope you're safe. Are you missing me yet?
Has your resentful anger ebbed? Or does it still
corrode your soul like cold luciferene from below?

Actually, that's not quite the end. Mention should be made of another popular crepuscular occurrence, the seasonal arrival of Australia's fabulous Spooky Men's Chorale on these fair shores, singing everything from Georgian church music to Swedish 'folk songs' in a capella ten-part harmony as the sun disappears under the horizon. Here's a musical bonus to finish with, a YouTube clip (just click on the song title) of the Spookies concluding a concert with their quite inimitable take on Abba's Dancing Queen

Thank you and good night, S ;-)

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Crepuscular

Well I am back - after  a sustained absence. I had to take time out to look after number one. I have been quite poorly but more than that - I simply haven't been motivated to write but the new blog themes are out  - so here I go again. 

I have to admit that I had to look up the meaning of 'crepuscular'. I have a reasonably good vocabulary but this is a new one. Once I knew that it is actually twilight I began to recall some lovely memories. I was immediately transported to Tarn Hows in the Lake District where the quality of light at the end of a long summer day was surreal. A pink glow that reflected off the water and imbued a magical quality onto the landscape. 

I think of my previous garden at the end of a spring day when a lone pipistrelle bat darted around my head in response to my shrill, toothy whistle. It was wonderful to interact with a wild creature in such a way. Later in the summer, the bat would remerge from roosting with her baby and I would enjoy their twilight sojourns before they left in the autumn. 

Close encounters with nature often occur in the short time between night and day. I have seen urban foxes leaping over garden walls in busy roads and sometimes have been lucky enough to see barn owl when driving at the close of day. I have written about my close encounter with a magical hare on a country lane near Esprick: All these incidents help to reinforce that twilight is my favourite time of day.   

Last week, driving home from a 'Spooky Men' concert in Clitheroe, the mid-summer night sky was still blue-white and Venus was highly visible, glittering like a silver button. For a while, I thought that it was an aeroplane but it remained glued to the spot as my journey progressed. It is a beautiful sight. There is one twilight encounter that I value more than any other: Every now and then I see a ghostly creature

Supernatural

An almost indistinguishable moment,
A flicker in the blinking of an eye,
Frozen in the seconds in between,
The red'ning and the blackness of the sky. 

In that special space in time that hovers,
Where the setting of the sun absorbs the light,
Before the backdrop curtain starts to sparkle.
Begins the wakening of creatures of the night. 

Furry things in burrows start to ruffle,
Ears and noses poke above the ground, 
Twilight flies surge from attic rafters, 
bat-wing shadows swoop and switch around. 

As the sky is filled with eerie softness, 
The gentle ghost goes searching for his prey, 
Whiter than the pure first snow of winter, 
The barn owl shakes the daytime sleep away. 

Silently he brushes past the hedgerow
Eyeing tiny movements on the ground, 
A helpless death-cry pierces through the silence 
and peaceful dusk is shattered by the sound. 

In the darkest part of twilight, you may see him, 
slaloming among the bales of hay, 
where he maintains his silent, secret vigil,
in-between the darkness and the day. 

Glad to be back. Thanks for reading. Adele 

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Gloaming

A fine word 'gloaming'. It expresses the hue, light and atmosphere of dusk, twilight, sunset...whatever you wish to call it. Most people can quote "Roaming in the gloaming by the bonnie banks o' Clyde." So that's what gloaming is.

Camping holidays always meant sitting outside, having a cuppa, sitting quietly watching the sunset. Watching gloaming develop. For it does develop. Like watching a time lapse movie. The subtle change of colours and atmosphere. Not only a visual experience, but also an audible one. Birds return to roost, small mammals scurry for cover, bats flit among the fir trees, larger animals settle down for the night, flying insects emerge as it gets a bit cooler, moths flutter round the lights by  the tent and a calmness pervades the scene.

As I write I am recalling June evenings spent at a remote lochside in the mountains . A place called Lochindorb. However I am sure that as you read you too might recall a seaside, a lake, a stream or the like where you too experienced 'gloaming'.

This morning I woke early with an idea for a poem. Arose, found an old envelope and scribbled this down. Enjoy.

     Gloaming at Lochindorb

     Gloaming. That time of day when sky and mountains unite in purple hue.
     The whimbrel calls as it crosses the moor, making for it's nest on the hill.
     The loch grows mirror calm only rippled by rising trout.
     Clouds of midges, seeking mates,  rise from the heather.
     The female irritatingly bites and annoys sheep sleeping by the shore.
     An owl hoots in the distance.
     A lamb calls.
     Two woodcock flit over  the myrtle.
     Noisy oystercatchers come home late.
     Yet there is a silence, a calm, a closing of day.
     Gloaming, sunset, twilight, dusk...
     That golden, purple, pink light
     'Twixt day and night.

      Thanks for reading, Kath

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How about Twilight apples?

 by Ashley Lister

 At the start of this month I was ill. There’s been talk that I was bitten by Aragog. Personally I think it was more like that creature from the alien films: Sigourney Weaver.

Anyway, I’m still on antibiotics. The infection has subsided and I no longer need the stick. But do you want to know how bad the illness got? Can you keep a secret? OK. Just between you and I, I got so sick at one point I even sat through the first of those godawful Twilight movies.

Obviously, because I was floating in and out of a delirium of narcotic-fuelled unhappiness, I might have missed some key plot points, so if anyone is familiar with Twilight, could you please help provide answers to the following questions?

When did vampires start to sparkle? Is that really pertinent to anything? They sparkle in sunlight, so they live somewhere rainy? Was that what they were saying? Or were my meds too strong? Are sparkly vampires really a thing? Why would menacing creatures of the night sparkle like some jewel-encrusted shit from the shopping channel?

Did no one else think it sinister that a character who is 100+ years old is hanging around a high school? Do Operation Yewtree know about this concept? Did that not strike anyone else as being a little bit creepy? If we don’t start worrying about things like that, the Jimmy Saviles and Gary Glitters of this world will forever remain unobserved.

Dante Alleghieri’s death mask has a better range of facial expression than Kirstin Stewart. Is she an animatronic? And, if so, why didn’t they get a working one for this film? I’ve seen the Mona Lisa do better acting. Even Roger Moore could raise an eyebrow. Kirstin Stewart can’t even raise a sparkly vampire’s bloodlust.

There’s a saying that, an apple a day keeps the doctor away. It’s somewhat telling that, after making myself endure the Twilight apple, I revisited my doctor and demanded more tablets. 

Anyone with answers to the above, please share your wisdom below.

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10 things I think are quite poo

 I don't do lists. My head is a mishmash of randomness, as a result I forget things a lot and am very disorganised. I'll give it a try though. Perhaps I could list some things I dislike. Shouldn't take long.


1. The Daily Mail. A huge cup of bile which whips it's readership into a furious rage over breakfast. This rage lasts throughout the day and is shared with anyone sorry enough to encounter them and can't get away quickly enough. Vomiting unfounded 'facts' and fury on buses to startled passengers is a common side effect of reading the Mail.

2. Licorice. It's just horrible. Tastes like satan's dangly's.

3. Blue cheese. If I want to eat mould I'd just get it straight from the bread bin.

4. Game requests on Facebook. Oooh, I have a new notification, I wonder if I've been tagged or if one of my friends has said something interesting on a comment I post...FUUUUUU!

5. People who can't have a debate about an important issue without taking offence or getting personal. This is particularly rife on the tinterwebs. Adolf Hitler's regime is usually used as a comparative at some point.

6. Shabby Chic. Yes lets paint a perfectly good piece of furniture white and 'distress' it badly and flog it to people who think they're being 'alternative'. But they're not, everyone's doing it. Tweeeeeeeeeee.

7. Twilight. The books and movies. Do I really need to explain this one?

8. Crappy crafting blogs. You made jewellery box out of a pringles can an some old doilies? Well done, very productive. Enjoy your cheesy smelling jewellery.

9. Wasps. Sadistic blighters who terrorise BBQ's and small children with ice lollies, no need for it. Stripy winged weapon wielders.

10. Sub list here. A list of words I don't like;

a. Flange
b. Gusset
c. Moist
d. Claggy
e. Clunge

It's just the sound I dislike about these words. Particularly in a sentence all together. A moist claggy clunge in a gusset. Shudder.

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