The Glittering Prize - Meaningful Things

I have some works of art in my house. Some are on display, others are stored for safe keeping. They are items made by my children and grandchildren, presented to me with love and received with great delight. Some are glittery and shiny, others are not, but to me these special gifts are treasured prizes which fill me with joy. Being a grandparent is a little easier than being a parent, I have found, as the grandchildren usually – not always – go home, and I don’t have full responsibility for making important decisions about them. My glittering prizes are the children themselves, though if there is something precious, it is the teaspoon fashioned from tinfoil by my son when we forgot to take one on a picnic. It has a space in my display cabinet of meaningful things.

I was watching and listening to Sir Keir Starmer’s speech on TV at the recent Labour party conference. I was horrified to see someone get to him and pour gloopy looking glitter over his head and shoulders. Luckily, it was harmless, but how on earth did he get through security? He could have had a knife, a gun, anything. For one tiny moment, as the person was removed and Sir Keir removed his jacket, I wondered if the whole thing had been staged. I soon dismissed that thought. Not a glittering prize but a worrying moment.

One of my favourite modern day poet / writers is Lemn Sissay, MBE, former Chancellor of Manchester University. In 2021 he was appointed OBE for services to literature and charity. Last year he was elected a Fellow of the Royal Society of Literature. He is a trustee of the Foundlings Museum. Not bad going for someone who grew up in the care system, was treated unfairly by a family and repeated let down badly by social workers and social services at the time. He got justice eventually, but nothing could possibly compensate enough for his early life. Reading his memoir, ‘My Name Is Why’, broke my heart and I will salute his strength of character for evermore. He founded the charity Gold From the Stone Foundation which supports care leavers and every year provides Christmas dinners. His glittering prize is doing what he can to help others. Here is one of his quatrains,

‘How do you do it?’ said night.

‘How do you wake and shine?’

‘I keep it simple,’ said light.

‘One day at a time.’

Lemn Sissay  OBE, FRSL

  

Thanks for reading, Pam x

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On the Doorstep - Stretford 1958

Stretford, 1958, me, my mum, my nanna and my great grandmother, Nanna Polly grouped together for a family photograph on the doorstep of Nanna Polly’s house. I can remember being shuffled about to place everyone exactly right, and wearing my beautiful dress made by my other nanna. Our four generations, never to happen again, which makes the photograph all the more special.  Nanna Polly passed away the following year then ten years later my mum died which broke the links in the chain.

It has been a year of everything being placed on our doorstep, quite literally.  On a personal level, Covid 19 changed the way we live and the way we shop. We’ve done grocery shopping online for years. This has increased to the, butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker, or that’s how it sometimes seems.

The first lockdown brought me fear and worry as we stayed at home, shielding from the outside world. One day, there was a wonderful surprise that started with a message from our niece.

“I bet you a million pounds there’s a shoebox outside your front door.”

What? Of course, I went to look. On the doorstep was a shoebox, with a note wishing us well and hoping we enjoy the contents. It was jam packed – including jam – with all the tasty goodies to put together an afternoon tea with lots of extra treats.

I was overwhelmed. Our niece, a busy NHS frontline worker, adored by us all, had gone to such trouble to make us this fantastic gift which was very welcome. I didn’t see her or hear her drive away. What a special lady, our angel. I think she made one for her mum, too. If you’re reading this, Jo, we salute you.

Good old Amazon, I couldn’t have managed Christmas without you. Day after day, another parcel delivered and placed on the doorstep as I organised gifts for the family and planned some sort of socially distanced Christmas Dinner at our house.

I’m the only survivor of my four generations.  I’m in awe of the strength of character my nanna and great grandmother must have had to endure two world wars and all the hardship and heart break that life threw at them. Both of them lost children in infancy. My great grandmother was only twenty-seven when she was widowed and lost her five year old daughter all within a fortnight.  I’m proud to be standing on that doorstep, surrounded by their love. I hope they’ve passed some of their northern grit down to me.

I found this poem by Thomas Hardy,

On the Doorstep
The rain imprinted the step’s wet shine
With target-circles that quivered and crossed
As I was leaving this porch of mine;
When from within there swelled and paused
A song’s sweet note;
And back I turned, and thought,
“Here I’ll abide.”

The step shines wet beneath the rain,
Which prints its circles as heretofore;
I watch them from the porch again,
But no song-notes within the door
Now call to me
To shun the dripping lea
And forth I stride.

Thomas Hardy, written in January, 1914 – and I wanted to add, ‘Yep, out you go!’

(If you remember the photo, apologies for using it again, though it was ages ago.)

Thanks for reading, stay safe, Pam x

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