Blog 54 [9]

   Blog 54 [9]…A special….

... Birthday! Yes it was my birthday this week and although it marks the passing of time it was a vey special one; not as special as 16 or 18 or 21 even…not a landmark one such as 30 or 50 can be but extra special as it marked my retirement! Wow I’ve said it and written it and it still feels strange…

All birthdays are wonderful really no matter what age we are, it’s still exciting to wait for a card through the door…I’ve a wonderful aunt who never forgets…I received a Christmas edition of my favourite magazine and a bar of chocolate from my aunt in Ireland [she knows me so well!] so that I can sit down with a pot of coffee and read to my heart’s content! As well as cards this year I got loads of lovely birthday messages on Face Book which is a great way to celebrate the day! I was also treated to an electronic birthday card via email titled ‘Queen for the day’ from a younger cousin of mine who lives miles away but still keeps in touch! Wonderful! As for the ‘Hubby’ and the boys, ‘Bridezilla’ and her ‘Young man’ and my father: they had me thoroughly spoiled with lovely presents AND a birthday cake! What’s so special about a cake? I think we take for granted these little things…when I was 8 my mother baked me a coconut cake shaped like a fairy’s castle and it was smothered in pink icing: I know I would have had cakes before that age but this one has always stayed in my memory because I was having some friends round for tea and there was a national bread strike on and so mum had to bake the bread for the sandwiches! We had what she called ‘French’ sandwiches: open ones to you and me! Sadly the last birthday cake I had was from my mother when I turned 30…strange how that particular year she baked us all cakes, including the ‘Hubby’ and he was just my ‘Young man’ at the time…as if she knew it would be the last birthdays she’d celebrate with us all.

It was very nice this year to get the chance to blow out some candles again and make a wish!

When I was thinking about my birthday and parties I remembered my 18^th and how my mum said I could have a few friends round…only those who were 18 were allowed to have alcohol so straight away I thought it would be a flop! To make matters worse mum was making trifles, stuffed eggs, cheese and pickles on sticks stuck into a silver foil covered half cabbage…ah well it WAS the 70’s! I had been saving up for a long dress to wear…handmade in India in beautiful printed reds and golds…and I decided to dye my boring frizzy brown hair a beautiful chestnut…well that’s what it said on the pack! Of course my luck would have it…my hair ended up pink! We washed it a thousand times until there was no shampoo and no hot water left…but still it remained pinky and twice as frizzy so my mum suggested I tied as much of it into a bun on the top of my head as I could and just have soft wispy bits dangling…ha well the idea was there even if that’s not how it turned out! But the party was a success! I thought everyone would laugh at my mum still being in the house at an 18^th… but it worked out well; she spent most of the night surrounded by the lads who loved her trifle and talked about pop stars and music…I know! How cool was that? I didn’t think my mum even knew about Rod Stewart and his latest L.P. [Long playing record for the younger generation reading this…they were made out of vinyl…oh and played on a record player…the equivalent of a CD!] One of the lads had bought me this L.P; Atlantic Crossing…and after a short time at the party he announced that he had to go home to revise…mum was VERY impressed with him and they talked about university and all things intellectual! To be told the following week by friends that my mum was simply the best…ah well that was the best birthday present for me!

My birthday has also given me the chance to catch up with some friends and family and eat lots of goodies and talk and laugh…and I’m going to give an extra special mention to three wonderful, modest, ladies: I had a wonderful surprise birthday lunch with my mum’s youngest sister, one of her daughters and one of her nieces, my cousins. They brought the lunch and cakes and we sat talking like the girls on ‘Loose Women’ as my aunt said! We did have a laugh and it was great for many reasons including the fact that they had arranged this and taken the time to organise it: buying the lunch, cakes and cards as well as taking the time to knit me a lovely mug cover: a brilliant idea, cosy cup holder with star buttons and coloured co-ordinated to match my kitchen! It was also great because sitting at the table with the three of them made me think if this is what it would be like if my mum and ‘Big sister’ were still alive? It just felt right, it felt great and by no means am I saying that I’d replaced my mum and ‘Big sister’ but to have my aunt who looks just like how I imagine my mum would now be looking like and to share some of her memories was just lovely and to sit with two of my many cousins and have a laugh was almost akin to how maybe my ‘Big sister’ and I would have been sitting together. It was a great idea of theirs and very much appreciated. So thank you ladies…you know who you are…

So you see how busy the week has been? Every day there has been something wonderful and tomorrow two friends are collecting me and we are driving up to see our very dear friend who lives in the lakes…well not literally IN the lakes but the surrounding countryside! The four of us were at school together and we have a lot of catching up to do over an extended pub lunch!

My week has turned from just a birth-day to a birthday week!
So, I am retired. I made the decision a while ago after taking the advice of other teachers and decided that if I wasn’t going to go back to teaching then instead of being unemployed and contributing nothing to my family I would take what teacher’s pension I could and enjoy it whilst I can. So that was it! I’m no longer unemployed, out of work…but retired and it’s beginning to feel great. Physically I’m the same, same chronic pain, same frustration, same ups and downs but mentally, strangely, I feel lighter, less worried, less anxious…relief almost! There was just a tinge of sadness when I realised that this is it my teaching career is over…not quite how I imagined retiring to be: no fond farewells, no acknowledgement of all my years in education…just an emailed confirmation of the date I officially retire. There! Kaput! As my mother used to say! Will I miss it? Well I have been missing the cut and thrust of the work place...ha! I have missed watching the children I teach blossom…seriously…I’ve always taken pride in my achievements…but the time is right to wave goodbye to the blackboard…er white boards nowadays…perhaps it’s time to do something completely different…

 It has been a lifetime and yet it seems to have gone in the blink of an eye. In 1976 I embarked on my Catholic teacher-training course in Liverpool. As you all know from an earlier blog it wasn’t my first career choice but I went along with it to keep the peace at home. I worked hard and struggled with the most awful home sickness. My nerves often got the better of me and I would feel my legs shaking when standing in front of groups of students during discussions and practicing teaching. We did what was called Micro-teaching: teaching the first part of a lesson in front of a camera and then having it played back to the other students so that they could offer praise …or in my case criticism! I shook like a leaf in front of the camera…I stuttered and leant against the table where my ‘visual-aids’ were displayed; it was a Maths lesson on graphs and I was using tower blocks of coloured wooden bricks to explain my point…naturally I knocked them onto the floor…

“Oh shit…oh God I said shit…oh shit I said God in front of the class…oh shit I said shit again…”

I think you can guess what criticism I was offered…

My first teaching practice was in a brilliant school in the docklands and the children were amazing, resourceful kids who had very little of anything except for a great sense of humour and a quick eye for anything that could be recycled! In my first week there I had to accompany a group of them across the road to the church for their Friday afternoon confession. They all sat in rows by the confessional box waiting to take turns with the priest to confess their ‘sins’ before mass on Sunday. When they each came out they sat and said their repentance prayers before getting up and quietly walking around the church, stopping at each statue with the candles flickering in front of them and obviously saying extra prayers as they bowed their heads.

“Are you going in miss?”

“Oh I don’t think so, not today…”

“Our miss always goes in…

“Yeah and she takes ages!”

Mmm well I thought I’d better set a good example and do what their teacher usually did. So I entered the dark confessional and began my ‘Forgive me father for I have sinned…’ when I heard a lot of scuffling and shuffling of feet and whispered giggling…

“Excuse me father, I need to just check the children…”

“You’re with THEM and you’re in HERE?”

I quickly jumped out to see a group of children standing by the door with an angry looking teacher and as I approached she calmly asked where had the other five boys gone? OMG a few of them had ‘clocked off early’ and the ones she had stopped at the door were asked to empty their pockets. What?

Ah well it would appear that you NEVER leave children unattended…even the oldest ones in the school…and as they began to empty their pockets I couldn’t believe what I saw…the bowing of the heads in front of the statues had been the action of blowing the flames out and putting the candles in their pockets…only taking one per statue at a time so as not to raise the alarm…the gentle walking round the church to pray had been so that they could take a bible or cushion pad; one of those that were hand embroidered; it made the lad look 7 months pregnant with it up his jumper…and one or two had taken the baskets from the back of the church used for collections during mass…one little girl had a handful of flowers… “AW they’re fur me mam…”

I’d like to say it got better but you know it didn’t.

I had to teach a topic on birds…and I was thoroughly prepared for all possibilities…or so I thought. My nerves made me feel sick to the stomach the very minute the teacher left me on my own with her class of thirty- seven 9 and 10 year olds. They all sat staring…not a peep out of them. I stood in front of the board and with a piece of chalk in my right hand I leant against the blackboard eagerly awaiting their responses to my questions…basic ones like ‘Let’s see what we know about birds?’ So that I could write the answers on the board and then we could correlate all the information…yeah right. The first few answers; ‘they shit on me mam’s washing…they dive bomb our cat’…and other similar answers I had to try to ignore by suggesting we look at how many different types of birds could we all think of…now the answers came thick and fast and I swayed to and fro in front of the board writing furiously…and when I paused to talk I leant on the board again and found that by swinging my leg up and down my nervous shaking seemed to settle. The lesson was going well and the board was filling up with bird names and I moved about feeling a little less nervous and then I noticed that one little lad at the front of the class didn’t look too good…just as I stopped swinging my leg I lowered it and I stepped back and unfortunately got my foot stuck in the paper bin…at exactly the same time as this, the little lad lurched forward from his desk and puked up over my foot in the bin…just as the class all said “Uew” the teacher re-appeared: she took one look at me and asked “What on earth…?” just as a voice from the back of the class said:

“The new Miss 'as made Johnny sick…and she’s written TITS on the board…” Dear Lord please let the ground open up and swallow me…who’d have thought I’d classify a certain group of birds under that heading!

My second teaching practice was brilliant…I was in a great school in Bootle and the staff had the best ever attitude towards teaching: all the children had to leave school able to read, write, do mental calculations and survive in the outside world; regardless of any other topics or new fangled teaching techniques. I learnt a great deal from these experienced, talented people who showed love and affection for the children they taught. These children came from deprived backgrounds and whose lives were hard enough without teachers making it harder by setting unreasonable tasks. For example there was no homework set as a lot of them went home to houses with no heating or lighting so extra lessons after school were offered and for the most were successful as it gave them a longer time in the warmth and safety of school as well as securing their chances of a better education. The school had access to a swimming pool across the playground and this was where most children had their weekly bath! The standard of teaching was second to none and I was happy there; I felt as though I was blossoming and perhaps I could be a great teacher. However, this was short lived as the last teaching practice school was a slightly tougher area of Liverpool…on my first day I asked the lollipop lady if I was at the right school…she looked me up and down and said:

“EY queen…I’d turn around and run like f**k outta ‘ere… they’ll eat ya alive…”

The first words from the headmaster were:

“Your surname isn’t a common one…I have to ask are you related to the family of the same name from this area?”

“Er no sir…why?”

“It’s that there’s a lot of trouble with rival gangs and the leader has been sent down due to being 'dobbed' in by a person with your surname…you’ll need to watch yer back…”

Good God…really? This goes on in real life and not just on the telly? This has to have been one of the toughest schools I have EVER taught in, in my entire career!

The Headmaster had a cane hanging on the back of his door...and told me he wasn’t afraid to use it if I had any problems. The top juniors, aged 10 and 11, were like men; tall, bulky and tough. They spat and swore and asked staff what were they going to do about it? They ran around the school yard like a mini mafia. My class were younger but just smaller versions…three of the girls mugged a secondary school pupil as she ran across the yard to her school one morning because she was late. They tripped her up, pulled her bag off her, sat on her back and ate her packed lunch…all in view of the rest of the children. I shook with fear every morning when I had to go out on duty with the class teacher who warned me not to make eye contact with any of the parents at the railings or question the older pupils who used the yard as a short cut to where they wanted to be. It was also suggested that I never accept any sweets or cakes that the children may offer…which despite everything they were generous children…

“It’s a hygiene thing…”

“But I ate some chocolate yesterday from Mary…her sister works in the chocolate factory…”

“Think about how she would get it past the security guard…”

“What? I thought they’d get discount…”

“Think about it…”

Dear Lord! It turned out Mary’s sister smuggled bars of chocolate out of the factory…without paper wrappings…down the front of her nickers…defying any security guard to search there…!”

 I was told in confidence if I managed to keep all the children in the classroom for most of the day then I’d pass my practice…it was just a case of getting through another day. The class ignored a lot of what I tried to teach them…one child sat all day under the desk at my feet, pulling at my tights and cutting them with little scissors…another preferred to stand swaying against the wall and pick the display work off bit by bit…another loved going to the toilet and staying there until the Headmaster found him during his daily rounds of all places where children could hide….one child cut her pig tail off and then proceeded to do the same to her friend…

“LoooK miss…we’re ‘airdressers!”

The Bishop came to do his dutiful rounds of all Catholic schools and we had to stand at the door of the class room with just a handful of pupils on show…the ones who were capable of answering the Bishop’s questions…my group were asked;

“What can you say about the miracle of the feeding of the five thousand…what did Jesus do with the fish and the loaves?”

“Please yer ‘ighness he made fish sarnies…I’m glad I wasn’t there I hate fish and me mam says it’s good for you but it stinks the hell out of the kitchen…”

Please now seriously let the floor open up and swallow me…I’m not responsible for what comes out of their mouths…but the look of the Bishop and the Parish priest and the headmaster were enough to make me feel a total failure…I had practiced that story all week…and this is what that child came out with!

This staff were tired, depressed and disillusioned. My college tutor was young, enthusiastic, highly intelligent and in cloud cuckoo land. She suggested that I had a wander around the estate and get a feel for the area and how the children lived. ‘Take a camera and make a folder of photos of the locality and use it as a point of discussion with the children…’ So I proudly set off one lunch time…all the shops were boarded up by metal shutters which were covered in graffiti …only shop doors were open…I guess you needed to know by routine which shop was which…there were no plants, no trees just piles of burnt out bonfires, discarded furniture and burnt out cars…groups of people hanging around smoking with no where to go…and as I clicked clicked away with my trusty little camera I found myself walking along the road where my bus stop was…and I was being followed…now I was frightened and now I realised how dense I was to think I could walk around their domain and intrude on their lives. Surrounded by a group of lads I feared the worst…from nowhere came a voice…

“Oiy yer theiving gits! Get away from er…”

“F**k off you ****

“You f**k orf or I’ll ram yer arses with this…go on…git…”

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry…the sight of the lollipop lady waving her lollipop stick in the air and cursing and swearing as the lads laughed and stuck their fingers up at us was quite something!

She escorted me back to school; warning me that it was not safe to be alone…and to stay in school at all costs…she asked me why did I think there were iron railings all around the school entrance and at the windows…for the safety of those inside…her way of saying “Alright ‘dere now queen…” has never left me!

Half way through my practice my tutor decided perhaps if I changed the topics I was teaching and gave the children more practical experiences then they would respond…I certainly was never doing a project on birds again! I spent a full weekend changing plans and getting them passed by my tutor…she had also had a word in confidence with the psychology department and they decided I needed an effective method of praising the correct behaviour and ignoring the poor behaviour…sweets was the answer. So she provided me with an everlasting supply of sweets…stating that as I was a poor student no one expected me to pay for these ‘magic’ beans myself….hey presto! I doled these things out constantly…sit up, fold your arms, don’t call out, put your hand up, line up straight, walk quietly, don’t hurt any one, stop spitting, stop swearing, tidiest table, quickest pupil to get changed for P.E.…you name it a sweet was the praise and quite literally I had them eating out of my hand! It all began to go swimmingly…only one minor hiccup…during an art and craft session when the children were making collages of winter scenes I had piled loads of old materials on a desk and they had the freedom to choose what they wanted to use…my tutor arrived and unbeknown to me she had placed her purple, furry hat and her raincoat on the same table before wandering round the room watching my interaction with the children. Imagine my horror when she was leaving and reached for what was left of her hat…and a hole in her raincoat where one of the pockets had been! Well…those children certainly were responding to being more creative!

I qualified in 1979…just in time for the shortage of teaching jobs due to cut backs…so for a short while I worked in a warehouse…whole different blog on careers is that experience! But then just after the Christmas day in December 1979 I received a phone call from a headmaster of a school in Liverpool…he was desperate for a strong teacher who had experience of a ‘certain’ type of pupil and area and he had been having lunch with an ex-tutor of mine who had recommended me for the job…was I interested?

Hell yes! I’d gone through a lot of heartache to just fritter away my teaching qualification in a warehouse packing catalogues [although I did get promoted to counting order forms…!] His instructions were very clear…

“Get the Southport train from Liverpool Central…get off at Waterloo…come up the steps…follow the children in the grey uniform walking towards the church spire you can see from the station and you’ll find us…looking forward to having you on our staff…”

“What about an interview?”

“No need…I’ve heard all about you…”

“And you still want to give me a job?”

“ Ha ha! Just what I expected to hear…see you on the 7^th January…”

            ... Best get my jar of sweets ready then...

....and so began my very long and varied teaching career…

Footnote: Johnny and Mary are not the real names of those children.

Blog 54 [9]

Copyright©GML2012

Blog 54...

Blog 54...slight delay...

Hello and happy Wednesday everyone...
please excuse me as I have had a very busy week...which I shall tell you all about later...
so the blog will be posted tomorrow...
apologies for this delay...

best wishes x

Blog 54 [9] tomorrow!!

Blog 54 [8] Just one of those days...

Blog 54 [8] Just one of those days… 

Right now I am sitting in front of the keyboard and monitor; safe, sound and warm after having done the school run. I have no plans to leave the house again until the next school run tomorrow. Heaven. Not just because I’m at home and it’s so cold outside; but because today was just one of those days whereby everything that could go wrong did and I need a break! I encountered 5 different problems to be precise…

The day had started quite normally: I am getting back into the routine of driving the ‘Intelligent-Computer-Programmer’ [or as I prefer the ‘Cutie-pie’…!] to school …we go early to miss the traffic but also so that he can sit in the canteen with his friends and have a hot chocolate to start their day! As each day goes by the nerves that I have about driving again after all this time of illness seemed to be lessening…it’s part of my ‘recovery’ from long term illness and living with chronic pain…getting back out into the real world! I couldn’t have done it any sooner really as I no longer take the really strong pain killers or use the pain relief patches quite as much these days, during the day: if I did I would be in danger of not being able to find the car on the drive let alone drive it! So this morning when the ‘Intelligent-one’ needed to go into the town to get a train to Manchester for a Student Conference he was attending, I happily offered to drive him there instead of him waiting for a bus...ooohhh too brave ! We had plenty of time and so I announced that I needed to nip to the bank and get some petrol on our way…this was problem number one and number two! The car park of the bank was empty except for the security van and I parked easily and confidently. As it was raining I dived out of the car and walked very quickly down the side of the van to avoid the wind and lashing rain…I wasn’t quite running as it’s a long time since I’ve done that! I slipped on something, probably leaves, and put my arm out to stop me falling: this arm, with a life of its own, banged heavily against the side of the van as well as dragging me against the van with a loud thump: I imagined I could have caused some kind of computerised voice to say something like: “Alarm, step away from the vehicle…” and was chuckling to myself when I saw the security guard, who had been standing in the doorway with his box of money, turn and look at me as if I was about to raid his van! I hurried in through the door behind him, my cheeks flushed red…he was about 6’ tall, his body armour made him look bulky, his helmet added to his height and from his belt there were chains and something that looked like a truncheon …surely he didn’t see little me as a threat? Thankfully he disappeared through a different door and I approached the counter. There was no one around, no cashier…it is a small branch, almost like a village bank really and I wonder how they manage to justify staying open…probably specially for women like me who find it difficult to squeeze onto the larger bank’s ridiculously small car park! So I stood waiting aware of the time passing and worried that I couldn’t risk making the ‘Intelligent-one’ late for his train. I attempted to knock on the glass partition separating me from the bank clerk…that is if one was ever going to appear…of course this safety glass is so tough you can’t actually make a noise on it. I knocked on the counter but that was just as dull. So I looked around for a bell and thought that maybe the pile of leaflets by the pen holder were hiding it…with my free hand I slid the leaflets to one side whereby they slid themselves into the tray/ drawer of the cashier’s counter…and the rest of them fell on the floor. I awkwardly stooped to pick them up. Unable to straighten myself properly, I made a grab for the counter …dropped my handbag, pulled the pen and holder off the counter and ended up on my knees…as I managed to pull myself up I came face to face suddenly with the cashier who had appeared from nowhere and was visibly shocked at MY sudden appearance and let out a squeal…as I managed to stand fully she stepped back from the glass partition…I think she half expected me to ask her to empty the till! The security guard re-appeared and I was faced by two total strangers who were wary of me…

“I’d like to pay this in please…” I muttered, totally ignoring their stares and the pile of leaflets stuffed in her drawer…!

I then proceeded to the garage for the petrol. By this time the wind was howling and the rain was lashing against my face and eyes. How I long for those wonderful days when an attendant would run out and fill the car for you! Instead I had to slide my debit card into a machine, press buttons and then discover that when it said I could now take the petrol I hadn’t opened the petrol cap…from inside the car! I hobbled quickly back to fumble under the driver’s seat for the lever, flicked it, remerged into the rain and proceeded to reach for the petrol pump…OMG what is it? Green handle or black handle? Diesel or Un-leaded? I froze…my mind went blank for a moment and I stood in the pouring rain unsure of what to do…the wind was flapping the petrol tank cover and I noticed that there was a sticker on the inside of it that said:  ‘Use only Un-leaded fuel’ Phew!! A couple of clicks of the handle and we were finally on our way to the train station. Now for problems number three and four… I realised I couldn’t remember where to park for the train station or indeed which road to travel along. I have always had time to plan any journeys in my head…visualising where to go but with all the commotion and fuss I was flustered. So I nipped down a few side streets and followed behind a bus that was heading for the bus station…who cares if I had to stop behind him at 7 bus stops…who cares if I looked like a learner driver…the ‘Intelligent-one’ was busy texting so I wasn’t getting any grief from him and the cars behind me had the choice of over-taking…we were in good time for the train so I wasn't taking any chances! Then I collected my thoughts, took a turning and landed on the correct road leading into the part of the town near the train station where there is a huge, single storey car park, pay and display, just by the shopping centre…or shopping mall as it is now often referred to. As we approached the entrance barrier I collected the blue token and passed it to the ‘Intelligent-one’ and we made plans for an early lunch. Ah now this was lovely! We had a box of chicken nuggets and chips for two…sharing…with BBQ sauce and I had a coffee: I needed the caffeine. We actually HAD a conversation face to face with no mobile interruptions or grunts and groans. We even had time to wander into the shopping mall and look at computers, IPADs and talk about the latest technology for Christmas. We strolled across to the train, purchased his ticket and I showed him how important it was to always keep an eye on the electronic information boards for platform changes…especially as he is always plugged into his phone; he’d never hear the mumbled instructions coming from the loud speakers! I felt a pang of guilt that I have known that one day he would need to travel without me and yet it’s now, last minute, that I am preparing him for grown up journeys…will he cope at University in just a few short months? I also felt a surge of that all too familiar sadness nowadays at the thought of him leaving home and as his train pulled in he turned and hugged me and promised to text me and off he went…choo, choo, chooing away from me…only for a day but even so…and I waved and turned and pulled my coat collar up to shield me from the wind on the car park…OMG the car park…the token…my ‘get me out of prison card’! I’d given it to him whilst I parked up and then we got carried away with things! So, problem number four…what the hell do I do now?

I struggled to control the panic, I searched and re-searched my handbag. It was definitely not in there! I entered the shopping mall to look at the machines that were eagerly awaiting my plastic token, my coins and then these machines would let me out of the car park…but I didn’t have my blue plastic token and neither did the lady next to me who was apologising to a man in a dark uniform: “I know I put it in my pocket…I had it in my hand…I’m sure…” He didn’t seem interested in her story, how was he going to react when I said my token was on it’s way to Manchester? Ah well, some times we mistake these little men for budding night club bouncers; they are not all bad mannered or bad tempered : this parking attendant turned out to be helpful and showed a compassionate side as well as a sense of humour: because the lady thanked him for his help and as she put her umbrella up out fell her token! He smiled at her and turned to me…how I wish my token was in an umbrella! He very kindly sorted me out, I was honest how long I had been parked, I paid my debt and he gave me a token to set me free.

By this time it was time to join the school run and I promptly set off on a familiar route out of the town centre. This is where the problem number five occurred. For the past few months there have been continuous road works…constant digging, temporary traffic lights, traffic cones, you name it our local roads have suffered from it…and we drivers have suffered too. At some points you do not know what to expect and which direction the arrows or diversion signs will take you. I had been sitting at the temporary ‘STOP’ sign for what seemed an age whilst all alongside me trucks and diggers clattered away, I was chilling nicely to some soft music on the radio when the sign changed to green for ‘GO’ and as I set off a dumper truck rolled in front of me and the driver was waving his right arm…I took it that the road ahead was closed off…it certainly would look that way with all the flashing lights and cones; so I quite happily followed this truck, which I presumed was leading me to another lane, around the newly widened roundabout. He mounted what had been the pavement but was now a heap of mud and broken concrete and drove towards a stationary lorry…I was a bit unsure but I followed him in my little Kia, all the while smiling at the workmen standing at the other side of the cones…nothing strange there I’ve seen them for weeks standing around…but to my horror I had to stop suddenly as the dumper truck driver jumped down and approached me.

“Er, where yer goin?”

“I thought you were diverting the traffic…”

“Nope, I was cutting across that lane to get to this coned off area…see…” he retorted waving his arms around him and I think you can imagine my horror as I realised that I had entered a works vehicle only area and was surrounded by huge piles of muck and mud and angry looking workmen…

It was pointless trying to bat my eyelids and pretend I was a damsel in distress…my hair had frizzed beyond help due to the rain at the petrol station…what little make up I had used had left streaks on my face due to the shower I got in whilst returning to my car on the car park…looking like a drowned rat was not going to get me anywhere…oh to be a beauty queen and exert some power over these gruntled men and have long legs dangling as I stepped from the car…I had to get out, I was stuck in the mud which is why the dumper truck has such wonderful big tyres and why I should have stayed on the road!

Ah well, lesson learnt…NEVER follow a truck even if the driver is waving you on…always follow your instincts and never drive towards a pile of broken pavement if you feel it’s the wrong thing to do…

So you see why I’m glad to be at home tonight? I am warm, dry and safe from security guards, parking attendants and dumper trucks…and I can curl up in front of the T.V. and prepare myself for the simple school run in the morning…well...here’s hoping!

Blog 54

Copyright©GML 2012.

Blog 54 [7] Pumpkins, spider webs and...

Blog 54 [7] ...things that go bump in the night...

As Hallowe'en is now upon us everyone’s mind turns to pumpkins, skeletons, dressing up in spooky clothes not to mention the dreaded ‘Trick or Treat'...I’ve often wondered what the teenagers who knock on the door would say if I only tricked them? Would they come back next year? Perhaps they may slash my tyres or push my bins over in retribution... so I’ve never been brave enough to try tricking anyone!

I have to say that the whole Hallowe'en experience has become a tradition in our house...as little ones I dressed the boys up; they have been pumpkins, vampires, ghouls and skeletons. They have been to discos and even won prizes for their spooky costumes and ghostly dancing! Over the years we have cut out pumpkin lanterns, had our tea at a table set with monster styled goblets and toffee eye balls staring at us from the centre of the table. We have eaten bright orange and black iced cakes. We have even had pretend spider webs with large black spiders hanging down strewn across the walls and tape that declared that the front door and windows belonged to a crime scene! If anyone were to ask the boys if they have a favourite Hallow’een time I am sure they would say it was the Hallow’een that we went across to Ireland for a surprise birthday party! Ah those were the days when we could just pop over at the drop of a hat! We were surprise guests for one of my uncles...the husband of my Irish aunt I have often spoken about! We had our costumes packed in the suitcases…the masks raised a few eyebrows at security…my uncle had no idea we were coming over and the thrill of his surprise made it all the more exciting. My aunt had arranged for a Hallowe'en party...the house was decked out superbly, you could say in Hollywood style! Complete with a lit up grave stone on the front porch to welcome the guests...all the decorations and food and drink were second to none...and the atmosphere was brilliant with everyone in costume including a headless woman and the ‘Hubby.’ It’s his costume that caused the most trouble...that and the fresh Irish air, oh and the drink! Not one for doing things by half if he’s dressing up then he’s dressing up in style! The ‘Hubby’ became the Hulk: complete with ripped shirt, ripped trousers, Hulk mask and of course the obligatory green body paint. The party was in full swing until the early hours when I finally managed to get a giggling ‘Hulk’ up the stairs. Then panic set in...there was no way I could let him sleep on the beautiful, crisp, white, Irish linen bedding...! So, I managed to wedge him in between the ensuite toilet and bidet whilst I promptly pulled the covers off the bed and laid bath towels on it ...then I proceeded to wash as much of the green off him as I could whilst holding him against the wall...not an easy task when he has had too much ‘fresh air’...and tries to kiss my forehead and tell me how much he loves me...I did fleetingly try to get him into the shower which would have been quicker and easier but then the thought of trying to restrain a naked ‘Hulk’...well I’ll leave that to your imagination. So, the only thing I could do was try to get as much of the body make-up off by wiping with a face cloth...successfully I might add and just in time ... as I wiped the last green streak he lunged forward with his eyes closed and I do believe I  detected a hint of a snore...so I gently pushed him back towards the wall and before I could grab him to lead him to bed he slid down the wall, across the bidet and smack into a cupboard...I swear I heard his ribs crack! He giggled and shushed me and promptly fell asleep slumped on the bathroom floor...ah there’s nothing funnier than the sight of a half naked sleeping hulk!

I have always denied my children the thrill of knocking on neighbours’ doors but they seemed to have survived! Instead they wait, dressed up in their finery with bowls of sweets, their spooky voices and witch’s cackle practised to perfection...ready for any little ones who dare to knock...this year is no exception even though they are older and wiser: we still had to buy the sweets and trim the pumpkins. I shall miss this fun when they have left home...perhaps I’ll turn into one of those little old ladies who sit in the dark complaining about the noise and the stupidity of it all! I cannot remember when Hallowe'en became so popular in this country or when trick or treating became the ‘done’ thing! But suffice to say it happens and for one night of the year for a few hours there is always a knocking on the door...and an anticipation of ‘Who is it?’

What is this fascination with being frightened? It’s not a real fear it’s what I call a pretend fear: the sudden shock of someone in a mask, the appearance of a large dark shadow, an almost excited kind of feeling anticipating someone or some ‘thing’ jumping out at us and making us scream then laugh...it’s a bit like playing hide and seek as a child: you curl up in the dark end of a wardrobe and wait; your heart beating ten to the dozen in case the door is flung open and you are discovered. [I’ve always hated that game...I’d wait for ages and then need the loo! The only time I have enjoyed it was playing ‘Sardines’ at a party as a teenager...the best looking lad at the party squeezed in next to me in the cupboard under the stairs...mmm this could be interesting I thought to myself...then the door creaked open and in stepped his girlfriend...ah well that’s life!]

Yes, Hallowe'en is pretend fear...not real fear: I know what real fear is...

As a very little one, probably from about aged three I used to wet the bed. Nothing frightening about that I hear you say, it’s common. But for me it was the worst experience ever. At the time we were living in a Victorian terraced house that was always dark with dark corners and shadows cast by the lights that never seemed bright enough to light up the entire house. I remember that feeling of being watched: as I grew up I realised I was feeling as though there was someone else in the house that didn’t belong: I would lie in my bed at night too scared to get up and walk along the dark landing, down a few steps and up on to a second landing to the bathroom. I just couldn’t go there and no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t wait until daylight. Somewhere under my bed was a chamber pot, or ‘potty’ as we called it. During the day it would sit proudly just under the foot of the bed but at night in the dark it chose to slither away from me and be out of reach of my little arms. For some reason almost as soon as I had wet the bed I would be hauled out of my bed and taken to the cellar: where my ‘big sister’ would already be standing having wet her bed too! This was our punishment. We stood together in the dark. I would squeeze her hand and we faced the cellar door which would then be shut. It was so dark I couldn’t see my sister but I could hear her breathing: she didn’t speak; neither of us spoke. We cried silently and as the tears rolled down my cheeks my head ached with the fear of the unknown; what was in the dark with us? We stood in silence and fear on the third step. Always the third step...any further into the dark dungeon and we would be lost forever...the black beast that lived in the coal pile at the side of the stairs would come and get us...if you don’t move and don’t speak and don’t cry out loud...he’ll stay in the darkness and we’d be safe.

I grew up with the fear of the cellar which was so bad that I hated passing the cellar door: I had this strong feeling that the door would fly open and something would haul me in and drag me down the steps...so I would walk backwards into the kitchen so as not to turn my back on the door and kept my eyes firmly on the handle in case it turned. This fear also had me panicking about the toilet seat...I know for goodness sake: I would walk slowly into the dark bathroom and lift the seat lid carefully half expecting a monster’s head to be stuck there and waiting for me...worse still I used to sit on the loo all the time looking up at the hatch into the attic to make sure that the monster who lived in the attic didn’t open the hatch and pull me up to sit with him in the darkness. No wonder I had bowel problems!

During my teaching career it has been different in every school regarding the way Hallowe'en was approached: some of the schools allowed rooms to be decorated, children dressed up and even  staff dressed up plus there would be fun activities to just mark the day such as dunking for apples, silly songs, scary stories and fancy dress competition. One school in particular was a single faith one, my own faith so I should have known better, I stupidly presented the children with a classroom disguised as a witch’s coven complete with broom, hat, silhouettes on the window and a huge display of witches and goblins and ghosts flying high in the sky over a skyline of houses and a full moon! I had planned ghost story writing, spooky poetry and my own version of Hallowe'en mathematics! However, the Chairman of Governors was horrified... in order for any of the displays or activities to remain I was instructed to counter display an angel for each silhouette or figure and the children were to be informed about the true meaning of the Hallowed Eve as well as being instructed in a set of prayers to protect them that night. This was the first time I had encountered such fear of Hallowe'en and made me realise that not every one sees it as some form of fun. It was the first time that I became aware of an adult’s fear of ghosts...this was different to my childish fear of the dark. I think maybe most people at some stage in their lives have experienced some kind of encounter whether it is a sound, a sighting or just a feeling or perhaps have grown up frightened of the ‘Bogey Man’ under the bed. We do not need it to be Hallowe'en to be reminded of these things...

The second house I grew up in was equally as dark as the first house but definitely spooky. I grew up with this sense of fear but I didn’t know what I was frightened of! At night there were footsteps that walked from the bathroom to our bedroom door and then stopped...if my ‘big sister’ stood by the door she would feel the floor board moving as if someone was standing on the other side of the door. We would hear the light switch go on but no light would appear. Cupboard doors would open and close themselves, ornaments would drop off the window sills and cupboards...and once my make up bag lifted and moved to the other side of my dressing table...whilst I was in the process of ‘tarting’ myself up for a really big date! This is fear of the worst kind. Not wanting to be left alone in the house in case something awful happened. You could leave a room and close the door behind you and then return to find the door opened wide. Often things would go missing and turn up in the strangest of places: for example my beautiful pearl on a gold chain, which had been given to me for being a bridesmaid, disappeared and for years I searched every drawer and toy box and handbag. Then when we were decorating our bedroom my ‘big sister’ and I rolled back the old carpet and discovered my necklace in between the floorboards...how did that happen? We had a large mirror in the hallway and sometimes you could walk past it and catch a glimpse of a shadow moving past or there would be a blowing of breath on the back of your neck.

I know there will be those of you reading this who are sceptical and there is always a reason for a noise or movement: but we didn’t have central heating in those early days so it wasn’t a case of pipes warming up or cooling down that caused the floorboards to creak: and could the sound of something heavy being dropped and dragged across a floor upstairs be explained when nothing was out of place? What about walking up the garden path in the dark approaching the front door and knowing that everyone is out yet you see the shape of someone in the upstairs window...waiting for you? Ah yes this is all very spooky and we grew up sharing our home with this ‘other’ presence and our father laughing and refusing to do anything about it! In fact not many people would believe it...then one day when some relatives were staying one of them woke up with the sight of a young boy standing at the foot of the bed and in a the blink of an eye he was gone! I had seen this same figure just once in all the years I lived in that house...he was sitting on the stairs. I was 11 and at home after having a bad fall at school. I was in the house alone and curled up in the back room when I heard the front door open and eagerly awaited my mum’s appearance . When she didn’t come in I got up to greet her and discovered that I was still alone. I returned to my reading; when I heard the door again and went to see her to my horror there was no sign of my mum but the middle door was now open and pushed against the wall...struggling not to cry...I know I’m a wimp...I came back through the hallway and as I turned towards the stairs a small boy was sitting there smiling...and then he was gone! I suppose you could say it was obvious it would be a child haunting the house with all the things that happened being quite childlike and certainly it was childish things that occurred when many years later when I was looking after the house during my father’s absence.

I was in charge of checking the house’s security and I tried to make it look like the house wasn’t empty...oh believe me I know it sounds daft but I thought if I moved things about each day then any potential burglars would peep through the window and think that the house was occupied! So the first day I put placemats out on the table, set mugs by the kettle and moved the mail as well as setting a newspaper by my father’s chair. On returning the following day I discovered the placemats in a pile in their normal place in the centre of the table, the mugs in the cupboard and the paper was nowhere to be seen. Mmm... I thought one of my brothers must have been in. So day two I placed the iron and ironing board in the kitchen, put a few things on it to look like someone was busy, I moved the cushions to look like they were being used and opened the curtains in the front room...I think you can guess what I saw on the third day! The iron and board were put away, the clothes were on his bed and the curtains were closed. I rang both brothers and no, neither of them had been in...that was it...I was done...I wasn’t going back alone...the ‘Hubby’ had to check the house at night with me...that wasn’t easy either! We moved the mail, checked the doors were locked; re-set the house alarm and returned to the car...only for the ‘Hubby’ to say; “Why did you put the upstairs lights on?...” I hadn’t even been upstairs... “Just drive...” was my reply...

So with all these spooky memories I am now preparing for Hallowe'en, the ‘Cutie-pie’ [...Intelligent-programmer... as he now wishes to be known!] has his costume ready, we have the wigs and masks and we have the pumpkins cut out...the cobwebs sway in the draft from the door, the plastic bats and paper chains are hanging and there is an air of expectancy with the bowl of toffee eyeballs, ghost shaped marshmallows and creepy, bloodied hand peeping out of the lollipops...all set by the door…  

                             ...all we need now is the dark...

                                 ...“Whoahha...eee heeeheeeh arrrggghhh...”

...well you get the picture...

I hope you have fun this Hallowe'en and that the spooks you see and the bumps and crashes you hear and the fear you feel are... all only pretend...

Blog 54[7]

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