Walls - Bricks and Ice Cream

Watching ‘Countryfile’ on Sunday evening, I was spellbound by the on-going discovery work at Vindolanda, a Roman fortress near Hexham in the north-east of England and close to Hadrian’s Wall. If my memory serves me right, Hadrian’s Wall stretches from the Solway Firth on the west coast for eighty-four miles to Wallsend on the east coast and for all the times I’ve travelled to Scotland, I’ve yet to see a stone of it. I should make the effort. Many times I must have been in touching distance. Perhaps a detour to Hexham is needed?

Last week, we were on the ‘Nine of Us Went to Butlin’s and Survived’ tour. Some of us are still shattered. Some are mentally planning a return and others are in awe at the magical time we shared making memories. Two grandchildren, aged 7 and 6 were watching others on the climbing wall and were keen to have a go. The others were too young, but could cheer loudly from the side lines. I watched, heart in mouth, then, as they gained confidence after two or three attempts, I began to relax and film them. The one I expected to climb up like a rat up a drain turned out to be more timid, though he did well. His cousin, watched, figured it out for herself and got on with it. Girl power! Neither of them reached the top, but they smashed it for themselves and as they basked in their achievement, I was able to breathe normally again. Of course, they were harnessed, helmets on and fastened to safety lines, but nannas do worry.

Almost thirty years ago, we had an extension built to give us a workable sized kitchen, an improvement to the tiny space we had. Somehow, I made New Year’s Day roast dinner for fifteen people in there. Physically I’m a bit bigger now and I doubt if I’d be able to turn round in it. We’ll never know. Watching each step of the new kitchen come to life was exciting. The walls took shape, the windows – one in the wrong place, but I could rearrange the interior plans – everything was massive and amazing. It ceased to be fun when it was time to link into the house. Being October, it was chilly when the outside wall was taken down and no amount of covering and protecting saved everywhere else from the debris involved. This was the stressful stage that had me almost climbing the nice, new walls.

‘Wall’s’. I could recognise the ice cream sign long before I’d learnt to read. Williamson Park in Lancaster was my stomping ground when I was four. I would roll or run down the grassy hill below the Ashton Memorial to be caught in my dad’s arms and swung round. A little bit further along the path was a wooden kiosk selling ice cream and drinks. I would have a cornet, Dad would always have a wafer. Sometimes he let me have a small bottle of Lucozade, but usually it was ice cream with the promise of a drink of blackcurrant and lemonade from behind the bar when we got home. Oh, the daft things that reside in my memory. We had a pub near the railway station, my aunt and uncle had one in the town, soon to be joined by my grandparents who had retired from their pub in Sale. Sweet times.

I found this poem about Hadrian’s Wall,

The Great Wall of England
A poem for kids by Jon Bratton and Paul Perro

When the Romans conquered Britain
Thousands of years ago.
They built towns in England and Wales,
They didn't want Scotland though.

The Scotsmen and the Romans
Did not get on at all.
To stop the Scots from stealing sheep
The Romans built a wall.

It stretched from Solway Firth in the west
To the Newcastle in the east.
To build it they used many stones,
Millions, at least.

The Emperor who was in charge,
(Hadrian was his name)
Did lots of things during his reign
But the wall gave him lasting fame.

It took fifteen years to build it,
Things took longer back then.
Hundreds of horses pulled the carts
There were thousands of working men.

They built forts and towers as well
They built them very tall,
So the Romans could see the Scots
Who tried to sneak up to the wall.

The Romans stayed in Britain for
Hundreds of years, altogether.
I wonder why they stayed so long?
It couldn't have been the weather.

That the wall was built to last
Would be a fair thing to say.
It was built thousands of years ago
And is still standing today.

Indeed, from all around the World
People come to see it.
There's always a tourist around
You can almost guarantee it!

 

Thanks for reading, Pam x

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Answers - Who Am I?

Over the last few evenings I’ve been searching my ancestry for possible answers. I was able to confirm to another family member that the details he’d passed on to me of a young man killed in action during WW1 was one of us, but I couldn’t leave it there. My ancestors had massive families and there are many brothers and cousins likely to have been involved in the conflict.  It is on-going and taking me in many directions, enough to give me a headache and a fear of forgetting what my hand-written notes mean. And, to keep me on my toes, eldest sons are often named after their father.

With the use of websites I started to research my family tree in 2004 when I was housebound, recovering from illness.  It gave me something to focus on and took me on a fascinating journey of discovery. I’ve learnt a lot about my background through the lives of past generations.  I wish such information could have been so readily available thirty-plus years ago when my father was alive.

Dad knew very little about his mother’s family. My Nanna Hetty was orphaned when she was a baby. I’m still unsure if she was formally adopted or just taken in by the people who raised her, it was 1896, but I have found details of her birth family and obtained marriage and death certificates for her parents. I have the answers my father always wanted.

Up to now I’ve been able to track my ancestry back to around 1810, some of which is backed up with birth, marriage and death certificates and information from census records. I know who they were, where they lived, what they did and how they died. If only I could find out what their personalities were like or what made them tick.

 

I found this poem by Sandra Osborne:

Answers

How many souls
Have come and gone
Before me?

How many had
The same questions?
How many
Found the answers?

And if they found them,
Then why does my soul
Long for the reasons
For their deaths,
For their lives,
The reasons for mine.

And if I should find them,
Will I have the wisdom
To know them as answers,
Or will I lack the understanding,
And see them as questions.

 

 

Thanks for reading, Pam x

 

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A Voyage of Discovery

Good afternoon readers, and happy Easter to all of you.

This week, on my voyage of discovery, I saw an article on The Guardian online about the British Pathe archive coming available online.

Having visited the excellent Manchester Museum with Lara last week, I have already found plenty of inspiration for a poem I'm now working on redrafting. I found the whole place fascinating with all the nooks and crannies filled of wonderful old things- and I mean stuffed.

I've long been a believer that the internet is just as full of treasure troves but, admittedly, find myself on the same seven or eight sites all of the time. So, as it isn't actually one I frequent too often and the kids at school rave on about it, I've decided that this Pathe archive going up on YouTube must have some creative inspiration in it.

It seems it is a pathway to a by-gone era. A chance to see from the comfort of your armchair what life was like in the the early part of the last century, without having to sit through the dodgy sky channels and adverts.

It can consume hours of your time just the same though, so I've picked out five videos that may just be that kick of inspiration you were looking for today. Hope you enjoy.

With Eve At Blackpool (1926)

10,000 Guides and Scouts... (1930)

1890s Traffic Scenes

New Paint for Blackpool Tower (1926)

The Champions (1931)

Thanks for reading,

S.

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A Trip to Manchester Museum

On Monday we took our oldest nephew to Manchester Museum and, just as he has never experienced a museum before, I have never experienced a museum in the company of a five year old. I found that I had to change the way I would normally approach a day out like this. This day wasn't about me increasing my knowledge, taking in every item, reading every description, or even obtaining a collection of well-composed photographs. Rather it was about finding a way to keep Josh engaged, showing him new things and attempting to explain them in an exciting way.

We found 'Which is your favourite?' to be an effective question for getting Josh to actually look in each cabinet (the temptation to bounce off to explore the next room was difficult for him to resist). Although, as with any question posed to a child, his response occasionally surprised. For instance, whilst looking at a cabinet of carved wooden statues Josh declared: I like that one the best. The one with the really big boobies.

When there were things he could touch he seemed even more engaged. He had the opportunity to stroke a stuffed fox, running his fingers over body, tail, feet, nose and ears to discover how the fur felt different on each part.  

There was something joyful about him jumping to the next display and hearing the word 'awesome' spill from his mouth, and there was a sense of feeling special when he'd skipped ahead to only return, take my hand and say, I need to show you this really cool thing.

Over lunch he examined the museum map, mentally checked off where we had been and planned where we would go next... 

After lunch, with map unfolded, clutched in both hands, he became our guide and we followed without objection.

In the vivarium, Shaun lifted him up to see the leaf frogs which were suckered onto the leaves in disguise. A little later, we overhead him repeating what Shaun had told him about them to another adult, pointing them out and telling her what they were.

He pressed buttons on a giant earth and saw red coloured dots erupt to represent volcanoes and green flashing ones to show the earthquakes. He circle around the sphere's circumference, trying to take in every light before they darkened.

In tiredness he still found the strength to be amazed by Stan the T-Rex, desperate to take a photograph so he didn't forget his overall favourite thing.

*             *             *

Monday was a day of discovery for us all.

Thank you for reading,

Lara.

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Rediscovery

We are told as writers to avoid cliché and overused metaphors. I find a good way of viewing a scene or an object in a new way is to rediscover it. Pick it apart into its most basic elements and piece it together again so it's the same thing but stands out. Children are great for this, they are looking at the world with fresh eyes and can come up with some novel ways of seeing things. I don't necessarily use what they say, but I relearn how to see things with new eyes in the way they do. Everything is new to them, and their point of view is a lovely way of interpreting objects around us.

They are also great for raising questions where an idea can spring from. My middle son Leo recently wondered why earwigs were called so, and envisioned an ear with a wig on. He makes me chuckle but it did make me wonder where the name came from. My eldest also gave me an idea for a children's story once when he asked if sheep get angry when their fleeces are taken from them. This led me to write a children's story about an outraged sheep who goes on a hunt to find his missing fleece.

Rediscovering the world is a way to write the old into the new. A new perspective is always great to write from, and refreshing for the reader. It can take something mundane and pedestrian and refresh it so that it becomes exciting.

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