written and posted by members of Lancashire Dead Good Poets' Society

Showing posts with label footwear. Show all posts
Showing posts with label footwear. Show all posts

Tuesday, 26 March 2019

Summit - Per ardua ad alta

 
 

Per ardua ad alta

Our school motto was embossed on the shield shaped badge pinned to our hats, embroidered on the top pockets of blazers and printed boldly on the front of every exercise book. Addressing an assembly of new First Year pupils, which included me, the formidable looking head teacher gave the meaning as ‘by hard work reach the top’, something we had to remember and live up to.

There is a stone built monument on the top of a hill close to where we stay at Queenshill, Dumfries & Galloway. It’s known as Neilson’s Monument. James Beaumont Neilson (1792-1865) was an engineer in an ironworks. He invented a method of increasing fuel efficiency of the blast furnace, quite by chance when he was in the process of trying to solve a problem with it. His son, Walter Montgomerie Neilson erected the monument to his father’s memory.  On one of our visits we decided to walk up. There was a lane, a cow field to cross then a path leading the way. It was much further away than we realised, an ambitious ‘stroll’ up a hill, but we made it to the summit in one piece, just about - as my husband asked me about the suitability of my footwear, which were strong and sensible shoes, he tripped and landed on his derriere, very funny – the climb was worth the stunning views. It was definitely a once-in-a-lifetime trek.

During our time in Dumfries & Galloway last week, we went to see the Grey Mare’s Tail waterfall, north of Moffat. It is reached by a scenic drive through hills and the waterfall is visible from the road, which is good as we’re not up for clambering any more. I got out of the car to take some photos and decided to climb up the embankment to get a better view. It was a bit steep for my knees and squelchy with the rain from earlier in the day, but I’d come all this way and I was going to make the most of it. Not exactly on top of the world, lots above me, but I was high enough and I hadn’t considered how I was going to get down again. These legs of mine can’t manage to get down the stairs without relying on a sturdy banister. Oopsy, reckless me. It took ages, inching my way down very slowly, each step carefully measured. I was sore the next day but every ache was worth it.

Per ardua ad alta, I’m still climbing.

 

“The Builders” by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

 
All are architects of Fate,
Working in these walls of Time;
Some with massive deeds and great,
Some with ornaments of rhyme.

 Nothing useless is, or low;
Each thing in its place is best;
And what seems but idle show
Strengthens and supports the rest.

 For the structure that we raise,
Time is with materials filled;
Our to-days and yesterdays
Are the blocks with which we build.

 Truly shape and fashion these;
Leave no yawning gaps between;
Think not, because no man sees,
Such things will remain unseen.

 In the elder days of Art,
Builders wrought with greatest care
Each minute and unseen part;
For the Gods see everywhere.

 Let us do our work as well,
Both the unseen and the seen;
Make the house, where Gods may dwell,
Beautiful, entire, and clean.

 Else our lives are incomplete,
Standing in these walls of Time,
Broken stairways, where the feet
Stumble as they seek to climb.

 Build to-day, then, strong and sure,
With a firm and ample base;
And ascending and secure
Shall to-morrow find its place.

 Thus alone can we attain
To those turrets, where the eye
Sees the world as one vast plain,
And one boundless reach of sky.

 


 
Thanks for reading, Pam x

Tuesday, 5 June 2018

Slippers - Real or Fairytale?


Not counting the mandatory footwear that I had to take into hospital then threw away afterwards, I can’t remember the last time I had a pair of slippers. I always wear sandals in the house and kick them off on the rare moments that I might be sitting down relaxing. When I think back to childhood, we always wore slippers indoors, except my mum, who had some very elegant mules that I longed to wear.

Nanna Hetty’s slippers fascinated me. Actually, it was probably her feet, bearing in mind I was only a little girl. There were lumps and bumps unlike anyone else and I used to get told that it was rude to keep looking. I don’t think it’s a punishment from staring, but I have inherited some of it. Not as bad, yet, but it is there. Arthritis, possibly, and certainly something osteo that runs in the family. My father had it as well. To help myself as much as possible I wear fairly sensible shoes.

I’ve never wanted Cinderella’s glass slippers. She had tiny, delicate feet, so that’s me out for starters. Also, I can’t cope with anyone actually touching my feet, regardless of how handsome the prince might be  – ask my husband when he was tasked with removing a tick from my toe when we were in a very remote part of the Highlands a few years ago. He was brave, but not as brave as I had to be.

     It would be good to have some ruby slippers like Dorothy’s in the Wizard of Oz, as long as nobody wanted to kill me for them. I don’t want to relive the story. I just want the magic slippers and modified so that with a click of my heels I could instruct them to take me anywhere. Imagine the travelling time it would save and the places to visit. I would have avoided feeling sea-sick recently, that’s for sure.

Whenever I stayed at Nanna Hetty’s, I followed her around all day. I watched the cooking, baking, cleaning and gardening. If I drove her mad, it never showed. She had lots of time for me and I adored her. She’s been mentioned before and previously featured in my poems. This is a new one.

 

 
Nanna Hetty’s Comfy Slippers.
 
Clouds of Pledge in the sitting-room,
Patio swept with the outside broom,
Tea-leaves saved to feed the roses.
I picked daisies for indoor posies.
 
She lets me peep in Uncle’s room
And lifts the blinds to ease the gloom.
He’s married now and lives in Reading.
He’s been there ever since the wedding.
 
Blankets cover his unused bed.
On his wall, huge African head,
Carved in wood, it fills me with fear.
Something he brought from Nigeria.
 
A duster in her pinny pocket,
Husband’s photo in her locket.
Currant buns on a baking sheet,
And comfy slippers on bunioned feet.
 
PMW 2018
 
 
Thanks for reading, Pam x