I’ve always had ‘this writing thing’, ever since I could hold a pencil and form letters, which was long before I started school. My mother taught me the alphabet in upper and lower case, how to write the letters and the different sounds they made, called 'phonics' now. I was lucky to have my mother at home to do this sort of thing with me, and, although I was almost constantly the new girl at various schools due to frequently moving pubs with my father’s work, I had a good education. There was a lot of emphasis on producing good handwriting in my primary schools. An entire lesson could be spent practising until each letter was perfect and sat correctly placed along the lines in the writing book. I took pride in this, so much pride that my personal signature flourishes were frowned upon and deemed completely unnecessary. Individuality was not encouraged.
Books were a thing, too. My mother was an avid reader and
she read my books to me. I was determined to read for myself and proved to be a
quick learner when I started school. I’m from the ‘Janet and John’ era of the
late ‘50s. I don’t think the ‘h’ in John ever gave me or my classmates a
problem. We accepted what we were told, John says John. I remember being ready
for my next reading book then having to wait longer because I kept mistaking ‘clothes’
for ‘cloths’. The things I still carry round in my head sixty-odd years after
the event! No wonder I’m a bit bonkers. Anyway, I was moved up and continued
going from strength to strength.
I was aged seven and in my last year of infant school when I
was introduced to Enid Blyton’s Secret Seven and The Rilloby Fair Mystery by some books that were given to me. I
reached the end of the book and would go straight back to the beginning and
read it again. I couldn’t get enough of Enid Blyton but her books were discouraged by schools. Both parents bought me
books regularly. I must have been so indulged, but I was always reading and the
more I read, the more I wanted to write. The seed was sown. It took a long time
to grow.
I lost my main mentor when my mother passed away. Things can
be ‘meant to be’, though, and upon leaving secondary school I was encouraged by
my English teacher to keep writing, so I did. Life takes unexpected turns and
leads us down unfamiliar paths, mistakes are made, lessons are learned and we
move on. That makes it sound simple and straightforward when, as we all know,
it very much isn’t. Personal ambition
was never far away. The writing game, it’s just there, we have to do it, even
if it is something for ourselves, like a journal, it’s compelling. I hope
someone reading this understands and agrees with me. I’m sure I’m not alone.
Creative writing continues to be my passion. I might get
round to finishing ‘that novel’ or it might stay as it is, half of it on a
shelf, the rest in my laptop. I loved writing it. I loved seeing a published
short story in print. If that’s as good as it gets, I’m happy. It happened.
My poem, a tongue-in-cheek look at the future of education. I’m glad that my grandchildren are learning
handwriting and basic skills that I can relate to.
An Alternative Education
Computer-led kids will be abundant
With all information mega-quick
It only takes a scroll down and click
No need for any conversation
Included in their education.
Last year’s reception class have all gone
And taken a leap up to Year One
To drag sticky fingers on iPad screens
And work out what technology means.
Will this be their basic foundation
Instead of formal education?
Numeracy, or let’s call it Maths
Has rules to follow specific paths
Beginning with learning how to count
Then adding up and sharing out.
One click away from calculation
Takes away their education.
The infants are learning to use a pen
It’s not a skill they’ll need again
For a future spent staring on-line,
Social activity in decline
With hardly any interaction,
So they won’t need our education.
When did this digital preference start?
Oh why no poetry learnt by heart?
‘Spell check’ becomes their favourite teacher
With ‘Grammar check’ an added feature.
The only future expectation,
A self-taught on-line education.
PMW 2015
Thanks for reading, Pam x
