Blue - Let's Read!

 

The best years of my working life were spent in a primary school. That amazing world of the four to seven year olds taught me more than they learnt from me and filled me with a ‘feel good factor’ on most days. Looking back, my reasons for leaving could have been looked into and dealt with. I should have asked. I wish I’d stayed, but I thought I was doing the right thing at the time. I soon realised that the new job was a mistake. It made me unhappy. One lunch time, I sat on a bench in the garden of St John’s church in town – it’s gone now, someone in authority thought it would be nice to take it all away and pedestrianise the whole area with cobble stones – I’d walked past the closed down Syndicate nightclub which I still called the ABC Theatre and Tommy Steele came to mind. I’d seen him there on several occasions. The song ‘Singing the Blues’ was in my head and made me smile in my sorrow as it was exactly how I felt. I had overcome a lot of what life had thrown my way and as I bit into my sandwich and held back tears, I knew I had to overcome this. I was doing my best in difficult circumstances and that lunch time, I felt so upset that I didn’t want to go back to work, but I had to. Over the years I managed to carve a reasonable niche for myself. When I felt a smidgen of a sense of belonging, I realised I’d succeeded, I hadn’t been beaten. I was relieved to retire.

Being retired and having the freedom to do anything I fancy brings joy. Last summer I was happy to be back in my comfort zone, reading stories to groups of Year 2 children at the primary school where I used to work and now attended by my grandchildren.  The afternoon weather was glorious, blue skies and sunshine, so we all sat outside, the children on blankets, adults on chairs. I loved every minute and expressed my thanks to the teacher in charge who had organised it. Covid restrictions had prevented anything like this and reduced school volunteering to zero. There was nothing coming up as far as anyone knew.

Out of the blue, there has been a recent shout out for volunteers to listen to children reading. I put myself forward as soon as I read the email. I’ve been processed through all the necessary checks, got a training meeting lined up and look forward to starting. Things will have moved on from Billy Blue-hat and One, Two, Three and Away, and all the Better Reading resources I used. Whatever happened to Janet and John? I’m ready to learn new methods and anything which helps children to enjoy reading, and if they’re doing it on an iPad or some other screen, it’s better than not doing it at all. With my grandchildren, I’m slowly learning to move with the times and embrace their use of electronic devices. Everything has its purpose, as I found out on one of my baby-sitting adventures.

My poem,

Armed with felt-tips in shades of blue
And green and yellow and red.
Pads of paper, puzzle books, too,
Plenty of fun before bed.

I took along a story book
And some games that they might share,
But they were too involved to look
Said, ‘put them over there.’

They said ‘hello’, the hug, a snatch.
I noticed an obvious glitch,
My baby-sitting is no match
For a new Nintendo Switch.

PMW 2023

Thanks for reading, Pam x

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Not in fear but thanks. A mother's day poem.

Twelve years ago when I went in for an operation (the first and only one so far), I learnt the true meaning of fear. I gave the doctors and nurses in the hospital complete control over my life in going under the knife and, in doing so learnt that life is so much easier when there is someone behind you, making sure everything is going right. There are some people in life that it is hard to do without and, if my medicated state is anything to go by, today is a day of celebration for that very person. Yes, today is Mother's Day and anyone who speaks to my mother will know that as a hormonal teen, fresh from surgery, I came round from the anaesthetic crying out for my mum.
I've never been in the situation since and don't intend to start now but thinking back, I know it would have been a much harder night in hospital had I not had such a caring companion with me at the time. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not a completely gushing mummy's boy and have always been more than capable of doing things on my own but, in the times of need, there is always one person a boy can rely on to sort things out and so today, on Mother's Day and after my unscheduled visitation this morning, I've written a poem for those women all around the country (nay, globe) that do such a tireless job in bringing up the men and women of the world. The ones we can rely on from the darkest hour to the brightest moment. Mums, we love you and so today, it feels more appropriate to write in thanks than it does in fear. After all, would anyone choose to live in a world without mothers.

With thanks

For drying every child's tears
For putting them back on the bike
For quashing the financial fears
For keeping on the lights
For loving deep within the womb
Til the day their face grows old
For being there when women leave
For clothing against the cold
For feeding them relentlessly
For showing us just how to fend
For the times when boys feel so alone
For being there right to the end
For teaching us right and loving
Just the same when we get it wrong
For showing young men how to care
For always carrying on
For teaching us just how to live
For the guidance we could all do with
For giving every drop of milk
It is possible to give
For cradling each infant
For teaching them how to read
For each essential lesson in life
For living without greed
For the days when things are helpless
For strength when worlds fall apart
Thank you, just for being you
And for building the young man's heart.

Thanks for reading. And mum, I love you.
S.

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