Swings & Roundabouts by Tom Davidson

Swings & Roundabouts

A Collection of Poetry & Short Stories by Anne Whitfield & Friends

Contents []

Foreword A Summer’s Day God’s Secrets The Lost Raindrop Mother, Annie My Sisters My Family of Seven Mothers Lilly May Too Many Swings, Not Enough Roundabouts Higher Perches Tom Lucas Be Careful What You Wish For Memories of My Childhood The Race The Happy Sunbeam Autumn Gold Being Me Your Local Dairy Farmer The Stranger

3 4 5 8 10 12 13 14 15 16 18 20 21 24 28 36 38 40 42 46

Foreword []

In this book is a collection of poems and short stories written by myself and one or two members of my immediate family.The stories are based on memories of events from my childhood and the poems are all from the heart. Many thanks to Tom for his hard work deciphering my terrible writing and putting together this book. All proceeds made in selling these books will be donated to two causes that are very close to my heart â&#x20AC;&#x201C; the upkeep of the Parish Church of St John the Evangelist, Wingates, and Senior Solutions. Both are wholly worthy of the donations for playing such a big part in my life. I hope you enjoy reading the poems and short stories in this book as much as I did writing them.

Anne Whitfield A

A Summer’s Day X Anne Whitfield

The sun came out, and everything changed, The sad looking garden, shone with joy, The flowers bloomed, and the water glistened.

Then the people came out and smiled at the sun, The children played and dogs romped about, What a beautiful world now the sun’s come out. Picnics are prepared with loving care, And packed in a basket to carry somewhere, Somewhere peaceful beside a stream, We’ll sit and enjoy like a perfect dream. Sandwiches and pop to your hearts content, Then pots of jelly with squirty cream and to Finish it off coffee and cream. We wandered home at the end of the day, Feeling content in every way, Tired and happy and all because the sun Came out and beamed and shone And invited us al to join in the fun. 4

God’s Secrets X Anne Whitfield

“Right” said Grandma without more ado, “I’ve got a job that needs doing And to help me you’ll do.” So we went to the garden My Grandma and me Planting God’s Secrets, Me on one knee. We planted them deep In the earth brown and bare And it was for the winter That we left them there. “Why are we planting these secrets?” I asked with a frown, “What will they do in the earth Dark and brown?” “Now that’s a surprise,” said my Grandma to me, “That is the secret, Just wait and see.” 5

So we sat in the house with biscuits and tea, Me wondering what the secret could be. “When will we know what the secret is?” I wondered aloud, my mind in a tis. “We’ll just have to wait till God gives the word,” Said my Grandma to me, “Now stop all your mithering and drink up your tea.” I was so excited I just couldn’t wait. Then Christmas came by and oh, it was great. Then it snowed and it snowed and the North Wind Did blow so we sat by the fire in a lovely warm glow. One morning I wakened to find the snow gone So I went to see Grandma, who said, “Do come on. I’ve something to show you, oh hurry up, see.” And there in the garden waiting for me was the Loveliest snowdrop you ever did see. It stood in the cold on a slender green stem With lovely green leaves and it nodded its head In the now gentle breeze. Its head was so white with a little green frill So dainty and neat, and as I got down on one knee, I am sure that it nodded its head just for me.

Day by day more snowdrops appeared and God showed Us more secrets as crocuses cheered, followed by Iris and daffodils too and as time moved on the Tulips grew, tall and graceful they reached for the skies, Their beautiful colours a feast for the eyes. “Thank you God,” my Grandma said, “For this lovely surprise,” I nodded My head, who would have thought that Those little brown bulbs could have Held such secrets, Only God could.

The Lost Raindrop X Anne Whitfield

In the land of make believe, Not very far from here, A little raindrop lost his friends, And quietly shed a tear.

A snow cloud floating very low, Heard the raindrop down below, â&#x20AC;&#x153;Come on little raindrop, No need to cry, Come and join us in the grey winter sky. Your friends will come back When the weather is warmer. So come be a snowflake, Till winter is over.â&#x20AC;? The raindrop was lonely And so he accepted, He joined in with the snowflakes And made lots of friends, Though he missed being a raindrop And longed for winters end. 8

xa xx xv xk

They snowed all over town And children loved them so much, They made snowmen and sleigh rides, And snowball fights and such. As time went by the weather grew warm, And over the hills Came the rain in a storm, And as the wind blew, And the rain poured down, The little snowflake started melting down. And there behold was the raindrop again, Amongst his old friends In the lovely wet rain. “Did you like being a snowflake?” His friends all asked as they pattered. “Oh yes it was fun, But coming home is what mattered. I’ve learned a lot from the snowflakes, They were kind to me when I was lost So to show them how much we are grateful, Let’s join in with some sleet and then stop. And for a while, the rain stopped and the sun shone.

Mother, Annie: Daughter, Sister, Wife, Mother, Friend, Auntie, Grandmother and Great Grandmother

Anne Whitfield A sister to five, What happiness you had, When you all lived at home With your Mother & Dad. A good friend to many, And you had good friends too, Who loved you and admired you And understood you. You chose well in our Dad And we thank you for this. And remember the years of True family bliss. A mother to lean on, Dependable, safe, We knew you wouldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t fail us, In you weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d great faith. 10

Auntie Annie to many, So proud to the end, With nephews and nieces, You thought of as friends. A Grandmother to seven, And over the years You’ve shared in their triumphs And sometimes their tears. And then a Great Granny Of fame and renown, With eleven lovely children, The stars in your crown. We are sad that you’ve left us, But we know we can say That no matter what happens, We’ll be together one day. Goodbye Mum, Rest in Peace. You deserve it.

My Sisters X Phillip Whitfield

Annette is the brainy one, She passed her eleven plus, But when itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s time to go to school She has to run for the bus. Susan is younger, Younger than Annette, And when she goes to the swimming pool The water is always too wet. Jean is much younger Much younger than nearly us all, And when you come to think of it She is not very tall. Hazel is the youngest, And so that is that, And when it comes to talking, All you hear is chat, chat, chat.

My Family of Seven X Phillip Whitfield

I live in a family of seven, And my Mum wishes she was in heaven, For from out of her facts, We are all little brats, Oh, and my age is just over eleven. My Dad is quite strong and tall, And to me he is not bad at all, But my sisters are sad When I am quite bad And I go and fight them all. Annette is older than me, She has two spoons of sugar in tea, Susan is younger, And Jean is in lumber, But Hazel is one over three.

So that is the family of seven, My Mum, Dad and Annette aged over eleven, Susan and Jean, Hazel the Queen And me, the boy aged eleven. 13

Mothers X Anne Whitfield

Written for my own Mother, on Mother’s Day a few years ago.

When you are little, Mothers are your life. Mothers are never wrong and when people trouble and confuse you your Mother’s opinion decides the issue, because Mothers are wise and your Mother is always right. When you get a little older you try to show your Mother you do not need her. You make wild statements in the secret hope that she will contradict you. You wear outrageous clothes, secretly hoping that she will put her foot down. You argue about the things you know your Mother believes in, but long suffering Mothers let you go your own way in the hope that you will learn. The hardest thing in life to come to terms with is the fact that your Mother is only human like other people. At first, this is a shock.You feel lost and insecure.This is when you grow up. Suddenly you need your Mother again. Mothers never desert you, they play a waiting game. Good Mothers never interfere but give advice when it is asked for. Mothers take abuse, criticism and sometimes ridicule, but good Mothers can laugh at themselves with you. Mothers are the heart of the world and God’s ambassador on earth. Mothers are love. 14

Lily May X Anne Whitfield

We now have a beautiful baby girl, A gift on a perfect Summer’s day Our gorgeous lovely Lily May, With mischief lurking in her eyes, And a knowing smile, We wonder what’s in store for us As she lies contented for a while. We love you now and always will, Our lovely child so peaceful. You’re a joy to know, With lovely eyes and a cheeky grin, You could soon have us in a fair old spin. Our prayer for you has got to be That you will always thoughtful be, May love and contentment be your way, As you go through life dear Lily May. Great Grandma Anne

Too Many Swings, Not Enough Roundabouts

Anne Whitfield What have I lost? The noise, clutter and mess, the disruption, stubbornness, The laughter and the joy, happiness and tears. The strength and fearlessness, your childish joy in the beauty of nature, the love and kindness, the light of my life. You. What have I gained? Peace and tranquility, order and chaos, and ache in my heart, a longing to see your face once more. Freedom to do as I please without compromise and without the joy of a big hug afterwards that takes away the breath. Memories of happy times, a sadness that wonâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t go away. What do I miss? Your unique sense of humour, the gossip, the tales and funny stories. The companionship, the knowledge of being loved, the joy of togetherness. Your strength and capability, your love. The laughter and smiles, your unconditional love and friendship. My best friend, the sunshine of my life and most of all you yourself, who I will love forever. 16

Higher Perches X Anne Whitfield

Two Blackbirds came looking For somewhere to stay, To bring up their family Sometime in May. They spotted a garden With hedgerow so neat, With flowerbeds nearby For something to eat.

“Okay,” said he, “I quite like the outlook, You know it makes sense, There’s room for improvement But the trees are quite dense.” “Okay,” said she. “If you like it I’ll start right away, We’ll need sticks and dry grass And a good bit of hay.”

He returned quite excited, “I’ve had a look round And I’ve noticed some wool On the fence over there, It’ll line the nest easy With a good bit to spare.” He struts up and down While she gathers the grass. He tut tuts and squawks, If you should dare to pass. “Very good dear,” He nods with approval, “I’ll go find some worms Near that guy with a shovel.” At the end of the day, Which for her has been long, He perched in the trees, And gave us this song: “Sing a song of blackbirds Building a nest close by, We’ll sing you a song each morning, And at night a lullaby, And all we ask is a few crumbs, And water to drink nearby.” 19

Tom Lucas X Anne Whitfield

Welcome to you Tom Lucas, Our lovely baby boy, When you look at us and smile, It fills our hearts with joy. Remember you are special, There’s no one quite like you, The world is now your oyster, With many blessings too. So if we could have three wishes For your future happiness, We’d wish for faithful friends To cheer you on your way, And a fervent love of nature, To bring you joy each day. The third wish is so special, As to God above we pray, That He will be your Guardian, And guide you day by day.

Be Careful What You Wish For X Anne Whitfield

The people spoke to the weather, “Stop raining,” said the man, “I can’t,” said the rain, “Not until the sun shines again.” “Please shine,” said the man To the sun, “Not until the rain goes away,” Said the sun to the man. “Well,” said the man. “You make no sense, The rain comes down, And the sun won’t shine, The earth is wet, And the houses are flooded, What can we do when you are Both so stubborn?”

Then came along the warm gentle breeze, And he brought with him the wind, Who said, “There’ll have to be a summit, We’ll go over their heads.” So they booked a hall, and Made a date to discuss the threads, Well, they talked and they talked, And shook their heads, No one would agree, so they all went to bed. When the gentle breeze woke, she said, “I’ll ask God, he’ll know what to do For the Best.” God was pleased to be asked, and He said, “It’s in hand, I’ve sent for the snow to cover the land.” So that’s what he did, and believe it Or not,

The frost came as well, And then the North wind Who had a good blow, And the sun peeped out To look at the snow. She was so impressed that She started to shine, And then in the land Everything was just fine. So if you want something done, Just ask God, You will get your request, Not just as you want it, but What God thinks is best.

Memories of my Childhood X Anne Whitfield

I lived with my Mum and Dad in the middle house in a terraced row of five houses, and across the backings with their back yards, facing ours, was another row. Everybody was very friendly. There were only us three until I was four years old, when my little sister Barbara was born, and then there were four of us. Whilst I was very small I had a number of friends â&#x20AC;&#x201C; they were all very old, or so it seemed at the time. There was Mrs Pollitt and her daughter Nelly. Mrs Pollitt was a quiet motherly character who loved having me in her house, she was tall and thin and very bony, her daughter Nelly was tall too, but not thin, and she worked in the mill. Mrs Pollitt wore a black dress and an apron, woolen stockings and shoes with a buckle. She gave me a box of dominoes to play with every time I went, and I would sit under the kitchen table, out of the way, and build all sorts of things with these dominoes. Every kitchen had a big table, which was the centre of everything. Although I was busy with my dominoes, I didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t miss anything. I noticed she cooked on the fire, the kettle was always 24

steaming on one of them, and she baked in the oven at the side of the fire. She also had a gas ring. Her iron was gas too, and when she ironed it hissed and puffed and scared me to death; it also fascinated me. When it was stood at the side it hissed contentedly, but when it was in action, it was like an iron shaped space ship and it complained loudly. I kept my distance. Next door to us Old Widdup lived. He was a kind, jovial Yorkshire man. He and Mrs Widdup, a quiet kind soul, invited me to dinner every Sunday and we had Roast Beef and Yorkshire pudding. Their granddaughter came too, and she always said to us “Mop up your plates, kids!” which made us laugh, and we ate every morsel. Mr and Mrs Widdup had a daughter, Jesse, who worked in the city and wore very smart clothes; it seemed when I was there she was always stood by the fireside, sipping a cup of boiled water. They had a proper kitchen, not like the rest of us; their house was bigger than ours and jutted out at the back.The light from their kitchen window shone onto our outside toilet. I mentioned this fact to Jesse one day, and told her I would only go to the toilet at night when their kitchen light was on. “Oh, you must knock on the wall when you need to go to the toilet and I will switch the light on for you,” she said, so this became a nightly ritual, and she never complained. I would knock on the wall and she would switch the light on. I was never afraid to go out to the toilet at night again. At bedtime, you could hear them take out the oven shelf and a brick which they kept in the oven to wrap in brown 25

paper, and put in their beds for warmth at night. After that, Mr Widdup would rake out the fire, and it sounded like his was coming in, but all these neighbourly sounds were very comforting. On the other side of us were old Mrs Westbrook, her son and daughter. Mrs Westbrook was very old and very poorly, so we had to be quiet. We very often could hear her coughing, and my Dad would say, “Mrs Westbrook doesn’t sound so good tonight.” She eventually died, and her son and daughter, Alfred and Alice, lived on their own. Alice was a very quick and busy little person, and Alfred was a very shy little man. Every evening he would come out to shake the table cloth outside the back yard, and he always wore his cap to do this. If I spoke to him, he would smile shyly and retreat quickly. At the other end of the row of terraced houses was Mrs Tronter, or Lotty, as she was known. The neighbourhood gossip, she was very kind, little and plump. I spent many happy days with her. Sometimes she would bring out boxes of buttons and cards, and she taught me how to sew buttons on the cards, for sale in the local shop. Mrs Tronter used to roast her joint of meat in the oven beside the fire, and without getting out of her chair, she would get the roast – spitting and bubbling – out of the oven and place it on the table beside her where she would proceed to pour lashings of pepper on it (it smelled delicious) and then return it to the oven, all without once getting up. 26

One of the highlights of my visits was when she brought out her ‘promise box’, and I was allowed to choose a little rolled up piece of paper. She would then read it to me. A promise box is several neatly rolled pieces of paper with a bible text on each, which you pick out with tweezers. When she made a pot of tea, she would pour out the first cup for herself – she never had milk in it – and because it was so hot, would pour it into the saucer to drink it. On Mondays, everybody did their washing and you couldn’t walk through the backings without getting tangled up in sheets, nighties and longjohns. There was nowhere to go because everybody was busy with their boilers, mangles and ponchers – oh, and not to mention rubbing boards and scrubbing brushes. No wonder they were always mending. One Monday morning, I wandered up to see Mrs Entwistle, a friend of my mothers. Well, Mrs Entwistle was getting her tubs and mangle out, and she placed on a low stool a bath of hot, soapy water. Being a busybody, I had to climb up and look, and before long I was up to my elbows in the hot soapy water when something made me jump. Next thing, I’m head first in the bath of water. I can remember Mrs Entwistle carrying me – dripping and screaming blue murder – home to my mother, who was aghast. I’ve never liked water since, nor Monday mornings.

The Race X Anne Whitfield

The day of the final heat had arrived at last, and the girls were all keyed up. It was very exciting, but the weather wasn’t being kind. It meant everything to Angela and Janice – they had worked very hard for this moment – but there was some rivalry between the girls, which made it all the more important to them to show who was best. When it was getting near their race, the adjudicator insisted they couldn’t carry on, as the weather was too bad. The girls were distraught. How could she do this? A bit of rain wouldn’t hurt them! But no, she was adamant. She eventually decided she would let them do this race the next morning if it was fine, and the first two would qualify for the championships.There wouldn’t be as many spectators as today, because this was a one off race and the adjudicator could only fit it in at 9.30 a.m. if it was fine. The girls, Angela, Janice, Val and Jenny were relieved that the heat wasn’t cancelled all together, and agreed to wait for the following morning. They took this opportunity to have at least one more practice run and prepare for the day to come. The morning came, bright and sunny, and Angela woke up full of excitement for the event to come. On her way to school, she met Janice who said, “Today Angela, I know 28

I am going to win, and Val will beat you too!” as she ran off laughing. Jenny came alongside Angela and said, “It’s all bluff. She is truing to put you off.” “I know,” said Angela, “but they could beat us you know.” “Well,” said Jenny, “We can only do our best.” Val and Janice wrote little notes to Angela saying ‘You’ve no chance!’ and ‘Give up now!’ Angela was beginning to get worried. Now here they were, at the start of the race. Miss Woods, their form teacher, agreed to start the race off. The adjudicator was at the finishing line with two older girls. There were not many people about, and the sun was shiny brightly, but Angela felt troubled – especially when Janice and Val smirked at her and mouthed the words ‘You’ve no chance.’ “Now, do your best girls!” Miss Woods said. “We’ve only this one chance, any false starts or mistakes and Miss Pierce will announce the race null and void. “Are we ready? Then go!” Off they went, Angela in the lead from the start, Janice close on her heels, with Val next and then Jenny. Now, alongside the track were a minor road and a row of terraced houses on the other side. Mrs Peabody lived in one of these houses and she has always been a friend of the schoolgirls, many of whom did little errands for her as she was bad on her legs. She has promised Angela 29

she would be cheering her on in the race. As Angela sprinted along, out of the corner of her eye she saw Mrs Peabody come out her front door – she moved very slowly. After all, she was 92. As Janice was getting closer, Angela put extra effort into it, and as she was gaining ground, she saw Mrs Peabody fall. Nobody else seemed to have seen her except Angela. Any spectators had their backs to the houses, and the other girls were finding the race hard going. Angela knew Mrs Peabody was badly hurt because of the twisted way she was lying. Without even thinking about it, Angela was under the fence and across the road towards her. Angela looked Mrs Peabody over, and then knocked on next door to ask Mrs Dilly if she could call for an ambulance. That done, she took two cushions off the rocking chair and a travel rug off the settee. Mrs Dilly and Angela then tried to make Mrs Peabody comfortable without moving her, before the ambulance arrived. Mrs Peabody was very upset because she had caused Angela to lose the race, but Angela wouldn’t have any of it, and told Mrs Peabody she was more important than any silly old race. Meanwhile, Janice won the race with Val in second, which meant they were both in the final. Angela realised she had lost her chance, but she knew that if it happened again she would do the same. What is a race compared to Mrs Peabody’s life? She had broken her hip and arm, and the ambulance driver said if Angela hadn’t acted so swiftly, Mrs Peabody would have died from the shock alone. 30

Janice and Val were jubilant and laughed at Angela. “You’ve blown it now!” jeered Janice. “What were you thinking of? Mrs Pierce isn’t best pleased either.” Angela carried on at school the rest of that day feeling depressed, but relieved that she had saved Mrs Peabody. Jenny agreed with her that she did the only thing she could have, and Jenny wasn’t all that bothered about losing the race for herself, but felt sorry for Angela. All day, Janice had a group of jubilant girls surrounding her, and when they saw Angela they all sneered at her. “You were chicken!” they said, “You knew you couldn’t win the race, so you opted out!” That evening, Angela and Jenny went to see Mrs Peabody in the hospital. She was so pleased to see them and loved the flowers they bought for her. “She really is a nice old lady,” said Jenny. “I know,” said Angela. “How could I have left her for a race?” Still feeling a bit low about losing the race, Angela set off for school the next day. As she drew near, there appeared to be a crowd at the school gates. “Here she comes!” shouted someone. Out of the crowd appeared a TV reporter and cameraman. “Tell me, Angela,” said the reporter, “What does it feel like to be a hero?” “Me? A hero?” questioned Angela. “Yes indeed!” said the reporter. “Mrs Peabody would have died if you hadn’t acted so swiftly. I hear you lost the race because of it. Tell me, how important was that to you?” “Oh, very important! I practiced all year for it, but Mrs 31

Peabody is much more important.” “You are indeed a good Samaritan, Angela!” said the reporter. “And I am sure your parents are proud of you, aren’t they?” “I guess so…” said Angela, feeling a bit bemused. “Come along girls!” called Miss Woods, “What is going on here? Oh!” she exclaimed. “I expect you are all very proud of Angela,” said the TV reporter. “Indeed we are!” exclaimed Miss Woods, smiling sweetly at the camera. “Will she be able to go through to the final?” asked the cameraman. “Oh, well, that isn’t up to me,” said Miss Woods, “it is up to the adjudicator and the Games Management Committee,” she smiled. The TV reporter wanted to know all about Angela, her running and her other interests before eventually wrapping up the report. “Gosh, thank goodness that is over!” exclaimed Angela. “I wasn’t prepared for that.” Janice and Val were green with envy. The reporter hadn’t mentioned them at all, and after all, they were the winners. Day by day, Mrs Peabody improved – she had her hip repaired and her arm in a plaster. Angela and Jenny went to see Mrs Peabody a number of times, and the whole business of the race was fading fast, except in the minds of the winners, and Angela. One morning, Angela’s Mother woke her, very excited. “There is a letter for you, Angela!” she said. “Open it, and 32

then we can see what it’s about.” Angela tore open the envelope. ‘Dear Angela’ said the letter, ‘It has come to my notice that prior to the unfortunate events on the day of the race, you were in all probability going to win that event, but because of your selfless act of kindness, you lost out. After much discussion and consultation with Miss Pierce and Miss Woods, it has been decided that in this instance, your name will be put forward to run in the final, along with the other two finalists, Janice and Val.’ Angela was ecstatic, and hugged her Mum with excitement. “Oh, isn’t that wonderful?” exclaimed Angela’s Mum. “You do deserve the chance!” Angela took the letter to school and showed it to Miss Woods, who was smiling broadly. “I know,” said Miss Woods “isn’t it wonderful?” When Janice and Val found out, they were not pleased at all – but the matter had been decided. Jenny was very pleased for her, as were all the class. Mrs Peabody was improving rapidly, and when Angela and Jenny took the letter to show her, her face beamed. “Guess what, girls?” she said. “I am going to live in the Happy Days Nursing Home.” It was only round the corner from school, and where Mrs Peabody had lived, and she was delighted. “I shall have my own room, with my own bathroom attached, and patio doors onto the garden.” Angela and Jenny had been in that garden, and knew how lovely it was. Sometimes, the girls from school go to the home to help with the gardening – it was a lovely place. 33

“Oh, won’t that be wonderful?” said both girls. “We can come and see you more often then!” “I’m moving in next week,” smiled Mrs Peabody. Eventually, the day of the games arrived, and it was a beautiful day. There were crowds of people there, and the TV crew had turned up. Angela kept away from Janice and Val, to avoid any trouble, and when it was their turn to race, she took her place amongst the finalists from four other schools. As the race started, Angela decided to pace her self and keep cool about it – some of these girls were good…very good – but it seemed Angela was that bit better, and as the race continued she found she was leading. At last, she had won the race! The cheer that went up was amazing. Apparently, the whole race had been filmed for TV, and Val and Janice weren’t even placed. She took the medal for Moorside High School, and the school was very proud. Angela was very proud too, and very surprised to see Mrs Peabody presenting the medals from her brand new wheelchair. Mrs Peabody grinned and said, “Well done, my little Samaritan!” She then got out of her wheelchair and took a few steps forward, to hug Angela. Angela was very proud.

The Happy Sunbeam X Anne Whitfield

Early one morning, as the Sun rose from her comfortable bed, she looked down on the Earth and thought, ‘This is going to be a lovely day. Today I will send my little sunbeams down to earth, to warm up the ground so that all the little bulbs will start to grow.’ So she gathered together all her little sunbeams and told them to go down to the Earth. Off they went, chattering happily as they slid down a shaft of sunlight to the Earth below. They danced on the flowerbeds and danced on the grass, they danced on the rooftops and on the branches of the trees, they chased one another round and had a wonderful time. The little bulbs in the earth felt the warmth around them, and stretched and yawned and said to each other, “It feels warm today, it’s time we started to grow.”

The little sunbeams were having such a wonderful time, that when a dark cloud crept across the sky, one little sunbeam didn’t notice. Her sisters very slowly danced back to the sun, and even though they called her, she never heard them. The happy little sunbeam kept on dancing and was surprised when she noticed her dancing partners were raindrops. She cried,“Ooh! What shall I do? 36

I’m all alone!” But the raindrops were gentle raindrops, and they said to her, “Don’t be afraid little sunbeam, let’s dance together, and between us we will help the little bulbs to grow!” So the little sunbeam danced happily with the gentle raindrops, and she had such a wonderful time that when she eventually looked up, she saw a beautiful rainbow. “Just look at that!” gasped the little sunbeam. “Yes,” said the raindrops, “that is because we danced together – we have made the rainbow together.” Her sisters looked down from their Mother’s side, and said, “We too will go down and dance with the raindrops!” So, they slid down the rainbow and hand in hand the raindrops and the sunbeams danced merrily upon the Earth. Eventually, the raindrops became so warm that they decided to have a rest. Then the Sun smiled on the Earth, and it was a beautiful day once again.

Autumn Gold X Anne Whitfield

The Autumn Sun shines through the trees, Showing leaves of red and gold, And the farmer turns his tractor homeward At the end of another day, While the haunting song of a single Robin Fills the evening air, And brings peace at the end of the day As the sun sinks slowly in the sky. A Harvest Moon large and round delights the eye As it nearly touches the ground, You can see the face of the man in the Moon, As he peers dead pan in the gathering gloom, And wonders what to make of us as we hurry And bustle below. “Why don’t you stop and stare and breathe the Cold and crisp night air?” The Moon shining gold whispers quietly on This peaceful Autumn night. The Moon rises higher into the night, And the Robin now silent goes to roost, As a Mouse peeps out of the rustling leaves And scurries across the woodland floor, 38

The night is his now the rest of us sleep, Until a cry echoes loud in the woods, And an Owl perched high on a sturdy branch Lets the world know that he too is there. The Moon now silver peers through the trees, And the Mouse turns silver amongst the leaves, The Owl glides silently through the night, His feathers now tipped with a silver light. Can we stay sad and covered in gloom While the Sun shines gold and the flowers bloom, When the Robin sings and leaves turn brown, And the farmer brings his harvest home? Can we not thank the Lord for this When the moon shines down with its deadpan face, When even the night wears its evening dress, And the moon whispers quietly to all â&#x20AC;&#x153;God Blessâ&#x20AC;??

Being Me X Rebecca Whittaker

Written from the perspective of a child I have worked with

The world is such a confusing place, Where should I explore? Do I dare? Why do things move at such a pace? Why do people feel the need to stare? I am lively and bubbly, I donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t have much to say, I am shy and I am quiet, but I love to giggle. Sometimes I want the world to go away, Sometimes I want a bounce and a wriggle. I love walking in the woods in the rain, Splashing and dancing in the puddles, I can write all my favourite words again and again, But when people talk to me, I get in such a muddle. Sometimes I have too much energy, too much to burn, I donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t like loud noises or busy places, But I can amuse myself for hours at a turn, Looking at myself in the mirror and making funny faces.

People often wonder what’s going on inside my mind, Well I couldn’t begin to tell you, it’s difficult for you to see. I am energetic, I am gentle, I am happy, But most of all you need to know, I am just being me.

Your Local Dairy Farmer X Barbara Whitfield

He rises at five twenty, The farmer of Old Hall, He has a radio alarm clock, For his early morning call. He milks his herd of Friesian Cows, With tender loving care, And feeds them on sweet silage (Complain of the smell, if you dare!) When milking time is over, And Cows are watered and fed, The farmer returns to the homestead, For his breakfast of bacon and egg. Then it’s back once more to the farmyard, The scrape up, muck out and bed down, Then on to the next job that’s waiting, Is it fencing, or draining? He thinks with a frown. After milking the Cows Each morning and night, There’s many more jobs, Which to do, is his plight, 42

In the Springtime he ploughs, And makes straight lines and furrows, Sows his seed from the drill, Then he rolls and chain harrows. In Summertime he makes silage and hay, Which is food for his Cows On a cold Winter’s day. The Autumn time Brings the ripe golden corn, But long days in the field Make him weary and worn. In the Winter the Cows Are in from the fields, At first they don’t like it, It shows in milk yields, But after a short time On that prize winning silage, The Cows are quite happy, And up goes the mileage. From the Autumn through to Spring, There are plenty Cows to calve. So he’s busy with midwifery too, This farming’s a job and a half. He pushes and pulls with them, And helps the cows along, And when the calves are finally born, He hopes that they’re healthy and strong. 43

So when you think about your daily pinta, Be it full cream, long life or skim, Just think of your Dairy Farmer Who toils day out and day in, He says as well as a job, to him it’s a way of life. And the reason I’m able to tell you this tale? Well, I am the Farmer’s Wife.

The Stranger X Anne Whitfield

Hilda is a fun loving, hard working lady of 71. She lives alone, except for her cats – Snoozy and Lizzy. She can’t stand dust or footprints and everything else that spoils her immaculate home. She goes to Church every Sunday, and goes to the women’s auxiliary every Tuesday afternoon. She shops at the Co-op and bakes her own bread and cakes. She also bakes for two ‘elderly’ relatives and goes to dominoes on a Wednesday, when she delivers her baking on the way to Uncle Fred and Auntie Maud. Hilda does a lot of little things to help others, but she never makes a fuss, or wants any. On this particular day, Hilda was on her way to dominoes, with the basket of cakes and bread, when she noticed what appeared to be an old man hunched up in the doorway of a derelict shop. “Hello there,” she said, “what are you doing here?” The ‘old’ man wasn’t old at all, just a young man of about 40, in a bad way. His eyes were big and frightened. He didn’t speak, but his eyes said it all. “Come with me,” she said. “I only live round the corner, and I’ll put the kettle on.” She 45

took his cold hand, and helped him up. He was so weak he could barely walk. She helped him to cover the short walk to her house, and opened the door so the warmth and the smell of baking greeted them. She sat him in a chair near the fire and put the kettle on. “Let’s get this wet coat off you.” It wasn’t raining then, but it had been overnight, so obviously he had been outside all night. Next, she handed him a hot, steaming mug of tea and a slice of fruitcake. He was hungry, and soon demolished the cake and drank the tea. Hilda sipped her tea, watching the man – obviously he was very hungry, so she said “Would you like me to make you a sandwich?” “No, no,” he said, “just…well…could I have another piece of cake? It was good.” Hilda was surprised; he hadn’t spoken before, and he was quite well spoken. “Oh! Of course,” she smiled, “would you like more tea?” “Thanks,” he said. After he had eaten the cake, she said ,“Now, tell me where you are from and how come you are in this state?” “I’m from Manchester, and recently my wife died. My two sons are married and living in the South. I was lonely. So I shut up the house and set off on the road. I had enough money to pay for hotels and B&B’s. I had my clothes in a rucksack and thought ‘I wonder if my real Mother is still alive?’ I was adopted, and my adoptive parents are both dead, and so I have nobody who cares.” Hilda smiled, and said, “I don’t know your name yet?” 46

“Oh,” he said, “it’s Mark. Mark Andrews.” He smiled for the first time, and noticed what lovely teeth he had. “Mark,” she said, “Why are you like this? Covered in mud and unable to walk?” “Oh. I forgot you wouldn’t know. I was mugged and beaten and attacked by a gang of youths. They took all my money, credit cards and clothes, even my mobile phone.” “That’s terrible!” cried Hilda, visibly shocked. “Now let’s see if we can sort you out. First of all call your credit card company and cancel your cards. Which cards are they?” He said two names. “One of those is the same as mine, so we’ll soon find that number.” She gave him the phone while she tidied up their cups and plates. After a while, it was done, and the company said they’d trace the other card company and cancel that card. “Now, up them stairs if you can, and I’ll run you a hot bath.” She had to help him up the stairs, but they made it. “I’ll find you some clean clothes. I’ve not yet got rid of Bob’s things.” She found him underwear, a short-sleeved t-shirt and trousers. “Come down when you’re dressed, and I’ll find a sweater for you.” She pretended to hunt for a sweater. Her baby who had been adopted had a large port wine birth mark on his upper arm. When Mark came downstairs, there, on his right upper arm, was the birth mark. Hilda was frozen to the spot. “What’s the matter?” Mark asked,“Have I done something wrong?” “No, no!” said Hilda. “On the contrary, you scrub up nice.” 47

They sat and chatted for about an hour or so, and she found out all about his life, and she told him about hers. “Well, what are you going to do now? You’ve no money. Are you still looking for your Mother?” “Well,” he said, “if I can get to a bank, I’ll be able to withdraw some money. But the banks are shut now, so… do you think I could possibly stay the night here? Then I can continue my search tomorrow. I’ll sleep on the couch, if the cats don’t mind.” “Alright,” she said, “but first, we ought to let the Police know about the mugging. Did it take place here, in the street?” “No.Two streets away. Near the park.” He rang the Police, and they waited for an officer to come and interview him. She’d rung and told Aunty Maud and Uncle Fred she’d bring the cakes tomorrow. It was time to get tea ready, and while she did so, she mulled over when she would tell him that he could be her son. Just then, Hilda’s friend Lottie appeared. “What’s going on, Hilda? You missed dominoes, are you alright?” “Of course I am, Lottie. I just came across a stranger in the draper’s doorway.” “Is that you?” Lottie asked, poking him. She wasn’t known for her tact. “Yes,” he said, somewhat amused. Just then, there was a loud knocking on the door. ‘Just at the right time’, thought Hilda. ‘Lottie would be in her element.’ Two tall Policemen followed Hilda into the kitchen. Hilda told them to take Mark into the front room, and she 48

would bring tea. “So!” said Lottie, “What’s this then?” “Well, Mark was mugged and the police need to get the facts.” “Oh!” she said. “Shall I take this tea in for you? It must be a strain having a stranger in the house.” “No, thanks. I’ll do it.“ she said, arranging slices of cake. After gleaning every scrap of information she could, Lottie left – no doubt to spread the word. The officers were there about an hour, and when Mark came back into the kitchen, he looked happier. “Apparently, the Police know this gang, and they hope to get some – if not all – of my property back, and with luck they’ll be able to arrest them for theft and grievous bodily harm if I testify. So… they don’t want me to move away.” “That’s okay,” agreed Hilda. “I do have a spare bedroom, and you are welcome to stay… especially as I think… I might well be your Mother.” “Did you just say what I thought you said?” “Yes. Now, come and get your tea.” It was Wednesday, so it was cottage pie day. “What makes you think I could be your son?” “That birth mark on your arm. My baby had one identical to that.” After tea, she dug out the birth certificate she had kept all those years, and they studied it together.

Designed by Tom Davidson For Design & Photography enquiries, contact me: tom-davidson@hotmail.com Special thanks to Becky Rotheram for proof reading this text.