Light in the Darkness - Shine, Jesus, Shine

I was born into a Christian family. It was a mix of Catholic and Protestant and some had a stronger faith than others. I was baptised in a Church of England church, but my Sunday Schools were always Methodist. One was a strict Wesleyan Chapel that could not accept monetary gifts from my father, a publican. I have always had my faith, never faltering in my darkest of days, and believe me, I have pulled through some dark, hard times. I believe in ‘each to their own’, respectful of family and friends beliefs, non-beliefs, thoughts and preferences. If I have a grandchild sleeping over, they always get a ‘night-night, God bless’.

My christening gifts included a C of E Book of Common Prayer and a bible with my initials on. These were from both sets of grandparents, I think. As a child, I was fascinated by the picture inside the prayer book, ‘The Light of the World’ by Holman Hunt, and found the person, who I later learnt to be Jesus, a bit scary looking. The light in my darkness. 

Our recent stay in Dumfries and Galloway got off to a confusing start when there was a mix up concerning our accommodation. We’ve stayed in the same lodge so many times that we consider it to be our own. It took a few moments to accept that it was occupied. All turned out fine. There are only six lodges spaced between trees and shrubs, all very private and all much the same. We soon found ours. It was only tea-time, around five, but dark already. This is a recognised Dark Sky area and glancing up, I couldn’t believe my eyes, especially my peculiar eyes. The sky was full of more stars than I’d ever seen, sparkling brightly, some tiny, some big, millions of them. We stopped unloading the car and switched off the lights and torches we were using, and just stood, staring at the sky. I could actually see them, my eyes, with problem vision giving me a struggle to focus all the time, could process this wonderful night sky. The most amazing lights in the darkness.

On Christmas Eve, my daughter and I took her three children to the Christingle service at our local church. The children had been before to various services and to Christingle last year, so knew to sit quietly. After a while they were a bit fidgety. Matilda had seen a classmate across the aisle and wanted to sit with her, but was too shy to move. The boys, who had been sitting together, now had their mother between them and the threat of no Christingle orange. There was respite in the chance to sing as a well-known hymn began. As we stood, I heard one of the boys say ‘It’s Nanna’s God bless you song’ as I popped Matilda to her friend, with a ‘thank you’ to her Nanna who is a friend of mine. Shine, Jesus, Shine. I used to choose it a lot when my children were small and part of my Sunday School class. With all the children joining in the chorus, it must be a popular hymn from school assembly. A little later a loud chorus of ‘Sing Hosanna’ was raising the roof. At the end, all lights were switched off and flames from all the Christingles flickered around the church as everyone sang Away in a Manger. Beautiful lights.

A light in the darkness, a light at the end of a tunnel, a flicker of hope, that cloud with the silver lining. There is always hope for everyone, faith or not.

No poem today, sorry, but thanks for reading. A Happy New Year to everyone. Pam x

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Melancholy

He said I was ‘snippy’. I was taken aback, but he was right, of course. He knows me better than I know myself. I thought about it. I was feeling down in the dumps and I knew I was being moody, irritable and impatient. Things were getting me down. I was easily upset and filled with a sadness that I couldn’t shake off. I wanted things that I couldn’t have; my nanna, my mum, my sense of smell so I could remind myself of her Estee Lauder fragrance; and normal eyesight. My vision is very frustrating sometimes – most of the time. The melancholy has eased off for now, but it will be back. I can rely on my husband to tell me I’m ‘snippy’ if I’m not aware.

It is the statins. I blame everything on the statins from my mood to my physical aches and pains and fatigue. Before I was prescribed, I blamed everything on the menopause. I’m a bit senior to carry that off convincingly, so the statins are the culprit.

Recently, when window-shopping round various jewellers in town looking for something special for my sister, I saw a pre-loved ring exactly like the one I was stupid enough to lose in 1971, an inexpensive dress ring of sentimental value, given to me by an aunt. I’d forgotten all about it for most of the last fifty-odd years, but seeing it brought back memories and made me feel sad to have been so careless in my teens. I know exactly where I lost it and at the time I’d retraced my steps over and over again and searched as thoroughly as I could. I concluded that someone must have found it. This can’t possibly be the same ring, but it filled me with nostalgia, so much that I might buy it as a replacement.

I was listening to ‘A Question of Balance’ – The Moody Blues, this morning, and in particular Mike Pinder’s ‘Melancholy Man’. It’s a great song. Help yourself on YouTube.

I looked to my beloved Brontes for a ‘melancholy’ poem and decided that any poem by any one of them would be suitable and I found that quite sad. The lives they had in the parsonage overlooking the church and the graveyard, the loss of their mother and older siblings, then the loss of each other is reflected in their poems. The troubled Branwell the most melancholy, fighting his demons.

I chose a poem I wrote in memory of our nephew, David. Today marks fourteen years since he was murdered.

Rondeau In memory of David

Think happy thoughts and always smile.
This might not be the hardest mile
To walk on our journey of life,
But just another time of strife;
So stop and rest here for a while.

Remember days of carefree style
Before the death, before the trial;
Before the bastard with the knife…
Think happy thoughts,

And not of the murder so vile
And let nothing spoil or defile
The joyful mem’ries of his life,
His little girl, bewildered wife.
Hold still and wait here for a while,
Think happy thoughts.

PMW 2009

Robert Peston will lift my spirits. I'm reading one of his books, 'Whistleblower'.

Thanks for reading, Pam x

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The Night Sky - Stars

There are many things I enjoy about staying in Dumfries& Galloway. One thing, free to all in abundance is the total darkness around the vast area of Galloway Forest Park. On a clear night, the sky sparkles with millions of stars, their brilliance natural and clear, unspoilt by the pollution of town lighting. We can step out of our lodge and just look up into the night sky. This is when I wish I had better vision; so much is lost on me. For the sharper eyed or keen astronomers, the Scottish Dark Sky Observatory is situated at Dalmellington in Ayrshire at the far north east of the forest.

It is comforting to feel at-one with nature beneath this celestial blanket, listening to the owls, catching a glimpse of a deer, fox or rabbit and the smaller creatures that come out at night. This is my heavenly, happy place.

Last week was Bonfire Night. It’s not my favourite time of the year and this is the first time that my priority hasn’t been to keep our spaniel calm. I found myself agreeing to stroll down to the park with my eldest grandson, aged four, and his parents, to watch the annual firework display at the cricket ground. We live in a family-popular area so there were lots of fireworks around us. No sooner had we left the house, all of us wrapped up for the cold, than we were subjected to a barrage of bangers going off from all directions around us. My gloved hand tightened the grip on my grandson’s as I reassured  him that the bangs were only noisy fireworks, nothing scary, and if we keep looking up to the sky, we’ll see the lovely patterns and bright colours. And we did. We stood on the perimeter of the park and watched the fireworks from the surrounding neighbourhood before the cricket club started theirs.  Nearby, some people were behaving recklessly with fireworks. We kept moving out of their way until we gave up and made for home. My grandson enjoyed it, which was the main thing.

Soon I’ll be back in Dumfries & Galloway. The night sky might be cloudy, heavy with rain or possibly snow hiding the stars and moon from view. I won’t mind.

Stars by Emily Bronte

 

Ah! why, because the dazzling sun
    Restored my earth to joy

Have you departed, every one,
And left a desert sky?

 All through the night, your glorious eyes

Were gazing down in mine,
And with a full heart's thankful sighs
I blessed that watch divine!

I was at peace, and drank your beams

As they were life to me
And revelled in my changeful dreams
Like petrel on the sea.

 Thought followed thought—star followed star

Through boundless regions on,
While one sweet influence, near and far,
Thrilled through and proved us one.

 Why did the morning rise to break

So great, so pure a spell,
And scorch with fire the tranquil cheek
Where your cool radiance fell?

 Blood-red he rose, and arrow-straight,

His fierce beams struck my brow;
The soul of Nature sprang elate,
But mine sank sad and low!

 My lids closed down—yet through their veil

I saw him blazing still;
And bathe in gold the misty dale,
And flash upon the hill.

 I turned me to the pillow then

To call back Night, and see
Your worlds of solemn light, again
Throb with my heart and me!

 It would not do—the pillow glowed

And glowed both roof and floor,
And birds sang loudly in the wood,
And fresh winds shook the door.

 The curtains waved, the wakened flies

Were murmuring round my room,
Imprisoned there, till I should rise
And give them leave to roam.

 O Stars and Dreams and Gentle Night;

O Night and Stars return!
And hide me from the hostile light
That does not warm, but burn—

 That drains the blood of suffering men;

Drinks tears, instead of dew:
Let me sleep through his blinding reign,
And only wake with you!


Emily Bronte  1818 - 1848

Thanks for reading, Pam x

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Tower - Jewel of the North West Coast

My son once told me that he could just about see Blackpool Tower if he stuck he his head out of the rear Velux window in his new loft conversion bedroom.  I was horrified, knowing that he must have climbed on to the wrong side of the banister and be sitting or standing on it with the drop of the stairs behind him. He certainly wasn’t tall enough to stretch from the other side. With visions of his mates coming round to see, and the real possibility of accidents, I locked the window and told him I did not want bits of broken boys on the landing. He was eleven at the time. The threat of being sent back to his old bedroom was enough. These days, it’s the attic again as we find ourselves housing many items for our grown up children who have long since fled the nest into homes of their own, homes lacking in storage space it would seem.

Both son and daughter had their fourth birthdays at the Tower. It was Jungle Jim’s, a ride to the top and the circus. The aquarium had recently moved to the Sea Life Centre when our son was four and the space was taken up with a dinosaur exhibition. A bit scary, for me. The view from the top is incredible. I haven’t ventured on to the outside platforms, so it could be argued that I haven’t actually been to the top, though I have stood on the glass floor known as the ‘walk of faith’ and looked down.

The highest building I have elevated is the Empire State Building many years ago. That was a great view of New York and surrounding areas. I’m not worried by heights but I can’t cope with crowds and it was too busy for me to wait to get an ‘I’m at the top of the Empire State Building’ medal. I think it was still the tallest skyscraper in New York at that time.

There’s something about building towers that fascinates children.  I worked with young children in an infant school and I watch my grandchildren doing the same thing. They nearly always build upwards and have fun knocking it down. Occasionally a child will make a straight line instead.

 

 

 

 

 

One day I might follow in the footsteps of Sir John Bickerstaffe and visit Paris, where a trip to the top of the Eiffel Tower would be a must, and maybe I'd share his vision.

My poem was originally written as an exercise, now slightly re-edited.

 

Blackpool Tower       (McGonagal style)

 

 

“I know what we need,” Mr Bickerstaffe said,

Leaning back in his chair with his hands in his head.

He’d been to Paris and seen their tower

So decided to exercise some mayoral power.

“We could have one. Build it here.

There’s space just north of Central Pier.”

 

From his own funds he chucked in two grand

For building to commence on Promenade land,

And in September, 1891

The architects laid the foundation stone.

 

“They’ll come from miles,” Mr Bickerstaffe cried

“When to the very top they can ride!

Here in Blackpool we’ll have the most

Amazing tower on our golden coast!”

 

Girder by girder the tower took shape

As cynics below would stare and gape

And mutter about how long it would be

Before Bickerstaffe’s folly got washed out to sea.

 

“I’ve another idea!” Mr Bickerstaffe exclaimed,

With pride at the thought of being acclaimed.

“We’ll put in a circus with lions and clowns

And be the envy of all other towns.

Sixpence admission, another sixpence to pay

For the circus, and again for the ride; 1/6d for all day!”

 

And then, at last it was complete,

Reaching nearly 519 feet

And to the public, opened its door

On the 14^th May, 1894.

 

 Pamela Winning 2010 (edited 2018)

 

 

(The photo of Blackpool is from Visit Lancashire and is the best I've ever seen of the Tower)

Thanks for reading, Pam x

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