Butterfly ~ Haiku

To celebrate National Poetry Month this April, Haiku Heights is hosting a month-long Haiku writing journey. This journey will take Haiku lovers through the alphabet one day at a time.  Today’s  letter is B and the prompt word is Butterfly.

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Watching butterflies

Their beauty borne on the breeze

Children barely breathe

 

Breeze

This post is inspired by haiku Heights prompt word “Breeze”.

On of my favourite places is London.  There is nothing so inspiring as the city skyline viewed from the South Bank of the Thames on a summer’s evening.  Imagine feeling a gentle breeze drifting over the river at sunset and listening to the birds singing in nearby trees ~ magical!  Do click on my link to hear the fabulous Glenn Miller Band playing one of my favourite songs ~ the inspiration for this haiku ~ with a nod to one of my favourite poets too ~Thomas Hardy.

Nightingales

Nightingale Nightingale

As gentle breezes blow

Nightingales in bushes sing

Sublime serenade

P1080455 Tower bridge 1

 One of my favourite times of year in the Vale of Evesham and generally in the Cotswold, is Spring, when the blossom covers the fruit trees and the ornamental cherry is out.

 Boughs bend to the breeze

Covering the earth in a

Blanket of blossom

 

Watching butterflies

Their beauty borne on the breeze

Children barely breathe

 

There are times when a gentle breeze can have a powerful effect, as can a still small voice.

Gazing on Taize

Sunflowers bow to the breeze

And my spirit soars

I will never forget the time I went to Taize.  In the 1940s Roger Schutz was appalled by the violence and suffering he saw across Europe.  Throughout the war years, he sheltered political refugees, especially Jews, whom he helped cross the border into Switzerland from the occupied region of France.  He began to develop the idea of a community based on mutual understanding and respect for all.  He found a suitable site at Taize near Cluny in the Burgundy region of France and on Palm Sunday of 1948, seven men took monastic vows.  They dedicated their lives to working and praying for ‘outsiders’ of all kinds; especially those living in extremes of poverty, hunger, or disease.  Taize is now famous for its gentle and powerful worship built on meditation through repetitive chants, a model of worship which has spread around the world.  Brother Roger’s work continues; to bring reconciliation, unity and peace to all the peoples of the world. www.taize.fr

There is a beautiful icon of Mary in the Church of Reconciliation in Taize.  I would recommend anyone who travels to France to make a detour so that they can spend some time there and see this Icon.
Icon of Madonna and child from the chapel at Taize Icon of Madonna and child from the chapel at Taize
When I went to Taize one summer I had an amazing experience.   I stood alone in a field full of sunflowers, at the foot of the hill looking up towards the church, as a gentle breeze blew.  The wind caused the flowers to bend and the sound they made was so strange.   It reminded me strongly of the beautiful words of one of my favourite hymns:
 Be still for the presence of the Lord
Be still for the presence of the Lord  The holy one is here
Come bow before him now  With reverence and fear
In him no sin is found  We stand on holy ground
Be still for the presence of the Lord  The holy one is here
Be still for the power of the Lord  Is moving in this place
He comes to cleanse and heal  To minister his grace
No work too hard for him  In faith receive from him
Be still for the power of the Lord  Is moving in this place

Rescue

“Photo by courtesy of Shirley Betts, www.castoncameraclub.co.uk “ “Photo by courtesy of Shirley Betts, http://www.castoncameraclub.co.uk

Written for the Haiku Heights prompt word “Rescue”

High tide rushes in

trapping cows in the mudflats

Call in the coastguard

The cows got stuck in the mud The cows got stuck in the mud

Stuck in sinking sand

In danger of drowning, cows

unable to move

We watched this drama unfold on a day at the seaside and I just had to write a little account of it for the grandchildren.  I used to write little stories down for them with photos to encourage them to read.  Now they write stories of their own and are fluent readers at 7 and 9 years old.

Ben and Rosie’s adventure at the seaside

In the Easter holidays Ben and Rosie came to stay at the caravan in Burnham on Sea with grandma and grandad.  The weather was bad and it rained a lot but they still went to play on the beach.

Rosie built a sandcastle with her bucket.  Ben dug 99 holes with his spade.  Grandma caught a shrimp.  Grandad looked for crabs.  We were having fun.  Then Ben saw a little boat and he said, “That boat is sinking grandad”.

Grandad said, “I found a crab but it is dead”.

Again Ben said, “That boat is sinking grandad”.

Grandma and grandad looked but they could not see the boat.

Just then a small rescue hovercraft came along and Ben saw it.  Then a big rescue hovercraft came along and Ben saw it.  They were both orange and black.  The big one was called Light of Elizabeth and the small one was called Spirit of Lelaina. The small hovercraft started to make a loud noise and a cloud of smoke came out of it.  Then it stopped moving.

Ben said, “The rescue boat is sinking grandad”.

This was getting very exciting so grandma said, “If we hurry along the beach we will see what happens”.

Ben let Rosie ride on his orange two wheeled bike, because she could not run very fast.  But the bike was too big and Rosie could not work the pedals, so grandma pushed her along on it.  Ben and grandad walked quickly along the sand, up the steps, over the slipway and down onto the other beach.  Then we all stood at the edge of the water and watched the big hovercraft, the little hovercraft, and the white fishing boat that was sinking.  It was very exciting!

The black rubber skirt around the bottom of the little orange hovercraft had torn.

The belt that drives the big fan on the little orange hovercraft had snapped.

The engine on little orange hovercraft had flooded.

The little orange hovercraft could not move!

First the big hovercraft rescued the little white fishing boat and helped the fishermen get their boat onto a trailer.  Then a 4 wheel drive car towed the trailer and boat safely away.

Then the big rescue hovercraft went to help the little hovercraft.  They put on a new fan belt and tried to start the engine but it would not work because the engine was flooded.  So they tied a long rope to the little hovercraft and pulled it slowly to the beach.  Then all the rescue men pushed and pulled until the little hovercraft was put on a trailer.  Another 4 wheel drive car came to tow the little orange hovercraft away to be repaired.  Ben and Rosie were sorry to see the little hovercraft so damaged and covered in mud.

At last the big orange rescue hovercraft was ready to get out of the water and go back to its home next to the coastguard station in Burnham.  It sailed right to the edge of the beach and the men and a little white dog climbed out.  They tried to get the hovercraft onto its trailer.  They pushed and pulled but it would not move.  Ben said, “The men need help grandad”.  So grandad took hold of the hovercraft and pushed with all his might.  The men pushed, grandad pushed and the little white rescue dog barked.  Then the big orange hovercraft slowly moved onto the back of the trailer.  The men were so pleased that they all cheered and patted each other on the back.  The little white dog was so pleased that he jumped up and down wagging his tail.  Ben, Rosie and grandma were very pleased, and proud of grandad for helping to save the big orange rescue hovercraft.

The rescue men told us they had just rescued a herd of cows that had wandered out of their field and into the River Parrett which flows into the Severn Estuary!  The poor cows were frightened and got stuck in the mud.  That is why the rescue men were covered in mud.

Everyone went home for tea very wet and very muddy ~ but very happy.

The cows were safe.

The little white fishing boat was safe.

The little white dog was safe.

The rescue men were safe.

The little orange hovercraft was safe.

The big orange hovercraft was safe.

Ben can tell his friends at school about it.  Rosie can tell her friends at nursery about it.  And grandma can tell the story to Ben and Rosie over and over again ~ and the story will get better and better!

The End x

No School Day

angel of the north in snow

It snowed overnight and the roads are a fright,

So the schools are all closed ~ on a Friday!

Mums and dads can’t drive, their cars slip and slide

So its family fun on a school day.

Dogs in bright jackets are leaping for joy

Taken out for a walk, on a school day.

Babies and toddlers peep out of their prams

They’re going to the park, on a school day.

Tiny tots muffled in mittens and hats,

Squeal in delight, on a school day.

Giggling girls, hugging their friends,

Slide down the hill, on a school day.

Teen terrors in hoodies become little boys

Throwing snowballs at girls, on a school day.

Steep slopes draw the daring on sledges and boards,

They hurtle downhill, on a school day.

I sit at the window and, like falling snow,

My thoughts pile up into drifts.

My smiles turn to tears at the sights and sounds

Of my school days, as the frozen scene shifts.

Of ink wells and blotters, of wafers and milk,

Of chalk boards and outside loos;

Of walking to school by the RiverTyne,

Of castles, and coalmines and ships.

And then there are people, who wave as they pass,

Loved aunties and cousins and friends

A sister and brother no longer in touch

A mother and father I mourned.

There are icicles hanging near a frozen stream,

The snow covered branches are bending

The field is a snow frosted wonderland

Its beauty my broken heart mending.

Small Stones ~ Starry Night Haiku

On a soft white cloud

As silver stars surround him

He silently sleeps

photo (7)

Tonight I sat and watched as Stanley slept unable to take my eyes off his tiny form ~ a miracle of perfect proportions.

ilovesmallstones
ilovesmallstones

 

A small stone is a short piece of writing (prose or poetry) that precisely captures a fully-engaged (mindful) moment. The process of finding small stones is as important as the finished product – searching for them will encourage you to keep your eyes, heart and mind open.

Fractured families ~ Haiku

These haiku are written for this week’s prompt at haiku Heights which is the word “Death”

Woodpecker on  gravestone

Woodpecker on gravestone

The Boy

Fragile and different

Defeated by the bullies

He jumped to his death

The girl

Remnants of ribbons

And fading flowers weep, where she

Fell to her death

The father

The death of his son

Drove him to despair.  Destroyed,

His life he ended.

The cemetery

Lawned garden of grief

Compassion carved into stone

Too late to show love

Small Stones 5 ~ Stanley’s first smile

I can’t believe how quickly my grandson, Stanley is developing. he is 5 weeks old today and he is already smiling! I went for a long walk with him, Jenny his mummy and my little dog, Dayna today. It was wonderful as the weather is dry and mild again. The fields all around Gloucestershire are still waterlogged though with lots of flooding near the rivers. But for me there was only one thing that mattered today ~ Stanley’s smile.

No gold nor jewels
Could be as precious to me
As Stanley’s first smile

New baby

Inspired by haiku heights prompt “New”

Clutching my finger

Stanley captures my heart with

Love overwhelming.

Stanley's hand

Stanley’s hand

Hunger satisfied.

Swaddled in safety he sleeps,

Surrounded by love

Swaddled in safety

Swaddled in safety

Little innocent

In loving arms enfolded

His life in her hands

Loving arms

Loving arms

The word ‘new’ conjures up all sorts of memories for me.

I was born in Newcastle/Gateshead in the North of England.  It is a wonderful city with 2000 years of history behind it, and I still think of it as home.  Famous in the past for coal mining and ship building, glass making and steel works, it is now more famous as a city of culture, shopping and tourism.  It also has some of the best beaches in the UK nearby and the beautiful Northumberland National Park on the doorstep.

North Sea at Whitley bay

North Sea at Whitley bay

The area around the Quayside and the River Tyne has been transformed in recent years into a contemporary scene that buzzes with activity, in the Baltic Art gallery (which used to be a flour mill), and the Sage which is a breathtaking venue for world class music events.  Then of course there are the famous bridges!  The ‘new’ bridge was built to celebrate this millennium.  It is known locally as the “Winking Eye” because of the way it opens to let ships through.  The cycle path and footpath on the bridge literally opens like an eyelid.  It is a most spectacular bridge which is a superb backdrop for all sorts of events such as the Tall Ships race.  The City Council never run out of ideas for decorating or lighting the bridge to make it even more of an attraction.

Millennium Bridge Illuminated

Millennium Bridge Illuminated

Behind the new bridge is a much older one known as the Tyne Bridge, which was opened on 10th October 1928 by King George V.  My late mum was 3 years old then and she remembered sitting on her uncle’s shoulders watching this event.  This bridge carried the Great North Road (A1) from the South of England to Scotland.  It also carried buses – and trams when I was a child!  Many ships have passed under this bridge over the years.

Tyne Bridge Opening 1928

Tyne Bridge Opening 1928

The name ‘Newcastle’ was adopted in Norman times when Robert Curthose, the eldest son of William the Conqueror, built a castle on the site of the old Roman Fort of Pons Aelius.  The original castle was built of earth and timber.  But in 1172, in the reign of King Henry 11 the castle was rebuilt in stone.  Near the river, the original castle keep still stands as well as narrow medieval streets and 14th century staircases.

Blackgate

Blackgate

The Blackgate was photographed by David Simpson

Wishes and a quilt for Stanley

I have updated my post about the quilt as it fits in perfectly with the Haiku Heights theme for this week which is ‘Wish’  I have added a few extra haiku!
Stanley Jack

Stanley Jack

A shooting star streaked

‘Cross a cloudless sky, my wish

Was granted that night

 shooting star xmas

Wishes are woven

Round the world, on a web of

Wisdom and wonder

frosty spiders web

 I wanted something special and personal for my new grandchild, baby Stanley. It should be something useful that he could keep. I decided that a quilt was a good idea. Quilts are great in the pram, on the cot, as a changing mat, or on the floor as a play mat. In my former life as a teacher I loved the book “A Quilt for Baby” by Kim Lewis ~

“There is a farm far away from the town, in a valley in the hills where
a river runs. . . . This is home, my little one. This is where we live.”

quilt for baby kim lewis
In the book the new mother makes a quilt for her baby appliqued with farmyard images ~ sheepdog, sheep, grass, stream and trees. Jenny and Simon have decorated their nursery with beautiful star wallpaper in ivory and grey so that was my starting point. I wanted a shooting star to feature and wanted a material that would be safe, warm and lovely to the touch. So I bought some ivory Calico and padding. My middle daughter, Anna who lives in Barcelona, found coloured silk ~ a silvery blue/grey ~ perfect for the large stars. I had saved a piece of ivory silk from Jenny’s wedding dress for just this sort of occasion ~ that would be perfect for small stars.
Now I am no great seamstress but I have a friend who is! She has a sewing machine which does everything, including star shaped stitches, and she offered to help me. So I designed the quilt and cut out the material arranging the silk stars on the calico.
My friend then used her magic to put it all together with ivory silk thread.
The result is a lovely unique quilt for my precious grandchild. Of course I have to write some haiku about it!

Weaving good wishes,

In blue silk and ivory,

Starburst for Stanley

shooting star xmas

Shooting stars of silk,

On creamy soft calico,

Each stitch holds a wish

shooting star xmas

In spun golden threads,

I stitch my wishes for him,

Health and happiness

shooting star xmas

My love is wrapped up,

In soft silk and calico,

A wish in each stitch

A quilt for Stanley

A quilt for Stanley

I am a grandma!

Just had to post my news ~ my youngest daughter Jenny had a beautiful baby boy at 6pm on Saturday 1st December.  He is 6lb 12oz and is called Stanley jack.  He is totally adorable and I had my first cuddle with him today.   I think I might just burst with joy and pride.

StanleyJack Jervis on his first day.

StanleyJack Jervis on his first day.

Stanley and Grandma

Stanley and Grandma

Stanley Day 1

Stanley Day 1

Russian Odyssey Part 3 ~ October 1995

This is the day we had been waiting for; the chance to go into our partner schools.  Natalya’s husband arrived to pick me up.  He is a sculptor and artist.  He was obviously very successful ‘pre-perestroika’ as he has a car.  All the vehicles we saw in Sochi seem incredibly old, and made a dreadful noise.  They gave off clouds of smelly blue smoke.  However, the Lada got us to our destination.  The school was in the middle of a dense urban development of high-rise flats.  The area was quite run down with pot-holed roads and rusted metal lying around.

In Russia at that time, the schools were not named but numbered according to how close to the centre of the town or city they were situated.  So school number 1 would be very close to the centre.  Our school was School Number 15 as it was some way out.  Some of my colleagues had much further to travel with schools numbered in 30s and 40s.

School No. 15 was an experimental school.  The Director (Headteacher) and staff were ‘Methodists’ educationally speaking.  They followed the Leonid Zankov (1901-1977) model and were influenced by sociologist, Tarasov.  These were progressive approaches involving the integration of subjects and the development of the whole child.  My interest was stimulated by the fact that Zankov was a colleague of Lev Vygotsky who studied the relationship between teaching, learning and child development.  Vygotsky’s theory on the ‘zone of proximal development’ was to be the basis of the 4 year study I would work on with Natalya in our two schools.  As Zankov was the first to test Vygotsky’s theories in the Russian classrooms in the 1970’s and 80’s, this was very exciting for me.

The method was based on the development of the 3 aspects of a child’s psyche, Intellect, Will and Emotions.

Intellect ~ development involves not only the acquisition of knowledge, but also various kinds of cognitive activities, such as logical thinking, observation, memory, and imagination.

Will ~ is described as the ability to set goals and motivate oneself to achieve them. Will grows out of wishes and desires, and develops as the child achieves his or her goals.

Emotions ~ enable learning where children feel safe and cared for.  In the classroom situation, good teacher/pupil relationships were essential.

In the classroom Zankov’s theories required teachers to focus on:~

  • Teaching at an optimal level of difficulty
  • Emphasizing theoretical knowledge
  • Proceeding at a rapid pace
  • Developing students’ awareness of the learning process
  • The purposeful, systematic development of each student

On the surface the classes reminded me of the “Montessori” classrooms of the sixties in Britain.  However, I was soon to learn that it was far more radical than this.

Inside the school I was welcomed by a student of the ‘method’ from the university, and a lecturer who trained the student teachers in the ‘method’.  We were joined by Valentina, an incredibly dignified lady who had adapted Zankov’s theories and devised the ‘method’ for the schools in this area.

I was taken to the Director’s office to be faced with a table, beautifully set and groaning under the weight of a feast.  I ate pancakes with yoghurt and drank very strong coffee.  After this I was taken on a tour of the school.

The first stop was the medical room which reminded me of a Chinese Chemist’s!  I wasn’t far off the mark as I was greeted by a meditating acupuncturist in what looked like transparent pyjamas and bare feet.  This charming man stopped meditating as soon as I walked in and offered to fix my ‘aura’.  I accepted gratefully and was led to a bed where everyone watched as he manipulated the bones in my arms, hands, legs, and spine.  He was horrified by the tension in my neck and treated this very efficiently, just like my chiropractor at home.  He then taught me how to relax by pressing on various pressure points.  As he pressed on one in my thigh, he looked worried and said I had a problem with my liver.  This could have been due to all the vodka I had consumed to get me through our welcome meal, or it could be long term damage from my gallstone operation.  Either way I was impressed.

By this time the doctor had a queue of children waiting outside his room.  He allowed me to watch as he treated children for all manner of problems with aromatherapy, massage and chiropractic.  This was definitely alternative medicine with a capital A and would lead to court cases for assault in Britain.  But the most alarming thing was that the doctor mixed up his own medicines and even injections, which he gave to children, “to help them leave their parents and settle into school without any problem”.  I could not help but worry that these children are being sedated from the age of 2.

There were 273 children at the school aged between 2 and 10.  The school is open from 7am and most children stay until 7pm.  However, they can stay until 9pm if their parents work unusual shifts; or they can leave early if parents are at home.  The young children slept for 2 or 3 hours in the afternoon.  All of the children were given 4 meals a day of very nutritious food from a detailed menu plan.  All of this was free as the government was very concerned about the poor health of the population generally at this time, and the children particularly.

The children had a wide variety of opportunities in the school.  There was a qualified gymnast to develop the children physically.  I watched two of his lessons which reminded me of drill at the Victorian school in Blists Hill.  There was a trained musician who taught the children to listen and speak through song, dance and drama.  And there were students from the University on teaching practice working with classes.  During the day I saw an integrated curriculum that was intended to develop art, language, music, and nature study.

Some lessons were heavily teacher led.  For example The Butterfly lesson:

The teacher started by demonstrating how to “splatter paint” on a folded piece of paper.  She then allowed the children to choose their own colours and do the same.  She then demonstrated how to cut out a butterfly shape.  The children had a stencil in front of them which they drew round.  They then cut out the shape.  Finally they drew around the butterfly shape and cut it out of their painted paper.  The finished object was very professional.  All the children finished at the same time and placed their butterfly on a perfect paper flower they had made earlier.  They then sat on the carpet and the teacher talked about the life cycle of butterflies.  She showed them photographs of butterflies and told them their names.  The children then sang a song about a butterfly and acted out a little play.

During all this time the ‘nurse’ sat and watched every move the children made.  She clearly had a different role to our nursery nurses as she did not help the children with their work, or take any active part in the lesson.  I assumed that she did the setting up of materials and she may have done the clearing away.

The children all produced an attractive finished butterfly but I was alarmed to be told that these pictures would now be given to a psychologist to analyse for any mental health problems.  One butterfly was shown to me and the Head said, “you can see this child has psychological problems because of the colours she has used.”  It looked perfectly ok to me and I did wonder if they were being over-analytical.

The children did not take their artwork home until the end of the year, which runs from January to December.  Much of their work is stuck into an individual record book.  I looked through many of these books and they were all exactly the same, lots of Origami, scraps of material made into pictures, and cut out ducks, trees and animals.  There was no evidence of children expressing their own imagination or creativity

Newspaper photograph of me joining in a dance class at School number 15

Typical classroom in the kindergarten

Exquisite scenery painted by Head’s husband for a play in school hall

Wonderfully painted little wooden chairs every child had one.

A wonderful interactive maths lesson

Children stop lessons to do physical exercises every so often.

Small group hard at work

Relaxed children working on a collaborative project

The Little Match Girl by Hans Christian Anderson

Most terribly cold it was; it snowed, and was nearly quite dark, and evening– the last evening of the year. In this cold and darkness there went along the street a poor little girl, bareheaded, and with naked feet. When she left home she had slippers on, it is true; but what was the good of that? They were very large slippers, which her mother had hitherto worn; so large were they; and the poor little thing lost them as she scuffled away across the street, because of two carriages that rolled by dreadfully fast.

One slipper was nowhere to be found; the other had been laid hold of by an urchin, and off he ran with it; he thought it would do capitally for a cradle when he some day or other should have children himself. So the little maiden walked on with her tiny naked feet, that were quite red and blue from cold. She carried a quantity of matches in an old apron, and she held a bundle of them in her hand. Nobody had bought anything of her the whole livelong day; no one had given her a single farthing.

She crept along trembling with cold and hunger–a very picture of sorrow, the poor little thing!

The flakes of snow covered her long fair hair, which fell in beautiful curls around her neck; but of that, of course, she never once now thought. From all the windows the candles were gleaming, and it smelt so deliciously of roast goose, for you know it was New Year’s Eve; yes, of that she thought.

In a corner formed by two houses, of which one advanced more than the other, she seated herself down and cowered together. Her little feet she had drawn close up to her, but she grew colder and colder, and to go home she did not venture, for she had not sold any matches and could not bring a farthing of money: from her father she would certainly get blows, and at home it was cold too, for above her she had only the roof, through which the wind whistled, even though the largest cracks were stopped up with straw and rags.

Her little hands were almost numbed with cold. Oh! a match might afford her a world of comfort, if she only dared take a single one out of the bundle, draw it against the wall, and warm her fingers by it. She drew one out. “Rischt!” how it blazed, how it burnt! It was a warm, bright flame, like a candle, as she held her hands over it: it was a wonderful light. It seemed really to the little maiden as though she were sitting before a large iron stove, with burnished brass feet and a brass ornament at top. The fire burned with such blessed influence; it warmed so delightfully. The little girl had already stretched out her feet to warm them too; but–the small flame went out, the stove vanished: she had only the remains of the burnt-out match in her hand.

She rubbed another against the wall: it burned brightly, and where the light fell on the wall, there the wall became transparent like a veil, so that she could see into the room. On the table was spread a snow-white tablecloth; upon it was a splendid porcelain service, and the roast goose was steaming famously with its stuffing of apple and dried plums. And what was still more capital to behold was, the goose hopped down from the dish, reeled about on the floor with knife and fork in its breast, till it came up to the poor little girl; when–the match went out and nothing but the thick, cold, damp wall was left behind. She lighted another match. Now there she was sitting under the most magnificent Christmas tree: it was still larger, and more decorated than the one which she had seen through the glass door in the rich merchant’s house.

Thousands of lights were burning on the green branches, and gaily-colored pictures, such as she had seen in the shop-windows, looked down upon her. The little maiden stretched out her hands towards them when–the match went out. The lights of the Christmas tree rose higher and higher, she saw them now as stars in heaven; one fell down and formed a long trail of fire.

“Someone is just dead!” said the little girl; for her old grandmother, the only person who had loved her, and who was now no more, had told her, that when a star falls, a soul ascends to God.

She drew another match against the wall: it was again light, and in the lustre there stood the old grandmother, so bright and radiant, so mild, and with such an expression of love.

“Grandmother!” cried the little one. “Oh, take me with you! You go away when the match burns out; you vanish like the warm stove, like the delicious roast goose, and like the magnificent Christmas tree!” And she rubbed the whole bundle of matches quickly against the wall, for she wanted to be quite sure of keeping her grandmother near her. And the matches gave such a brilliant light that it was brighter than at noon-day: never formerly had the grandmother been so beautiful and so tall. She took the little maiden, on her arm, and both flew in brightness and in joy so high, so very high, and then above was neither cold, nor hunger, nor anxiety–they were with God.

But in the corner, at the cold hour of dawn, sat the poor girl, with rosy cheeks and with a smiling mouth, leaning against the wall–frozen to death on the last evening of the old year. Stiff and stark sat the child there with her matches, of which one bundle had been burnt. “She wanted to warm herself,” people said. No one had the slightest suspicion of what beautiful things she had seen; no one even dreamed of the splendor in which, with her grandmother she had entered on the joys of a new year.

Haiku Heights prompt ~ Starve

Girls chat on smart phones

As babies sit in puschairs

Starved of attention.

I notice these days as I wander about that everyone seems to be on the phone chatting.  Of course smart phones are wonderful in emergencies or for generally keeping in touch when  away from home.  But the one time I get really upset is when I see a young mum or dad with a precious baby in a pram, or a toddler pottering alongside them, being IGNORED!  This time before children start school is so special and it will never come back.  I wish I could say to the parents or carers, “Please put the phone away and talk to the child!”   I would say that conversation is one of the most basic needs that every child has a right to.  It stimulates interest in their surroundings; develops their relationships; makes them feel safe, loved and cared for; promotes curiosity; and opens the way to learning.  Tone of voice used, making eye contact and paying attention to the child are really important factors in encouraging his or her self confidence and self esteem.  Conversation also increases the child’s vocabulary and their speaking and listening skills, which are vital first steps towards learning.

So please do yourself and your child a favour “TURN OFF YOUR PHONE & TALK TO YOUR CHILD!”

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The Spirit of Our School

Rest not! Life is sweeping by; go and dare before you die. Something mighty and sublime, leave behind to conquer time. — Goethe

St Thomas More School was a huge part of my life.  In the early 1970’s I watched the new school building rise in the middle of an open field that had once been farmland and an orchard.  There was an ancient hedgerow all around the site and just one magnificent old oak tree in what would be the playing field.  When it was opened in 1975, I was having my third child so was not available for teaching.  But, as I drove past the school every day, I vowed that one day I would work there.

I got my wish in 1984 when my youngest child was ready to start school.  I was offered a job and jumped at the chance.   The next decade was a time of great blessing as I worked in virtually every class, teaching all age groups, then became deputy Head.  In 1994 the original Headteacher was due to retire and, to my surprise, I was offered his job.  He had been such an inspirational Head that the school was a joy to work in.  Taking on his role, I tried to emulate him while making my own mark and bringing my own vision for the school into being.

Due mainly to the quality of the staff and their outstanding teamwork, the school became a strong and successful community, ‘an oasis of excellence’, appreciated by staff, pupils and parents alike.

In 1999, as the new millennium approached, the staff wanted to mark the year 2000 with a special feature.  We wanted the whole school community to be involved in creating something totally unique and meaningful.  We came up with the idea of making a large tile frieze.  Each year group was asked to brainstorm their favourite lessons, subjects, or topics, and represent their ideas on paper.

Reception class, the youngest children were just 4 or 5 years old and had only just started school.  They had their photographs taken in their shiny new uniforms, so that was their contribution.

The Year 1 class had helped to build a pond and were raising ducklings which they had hatched from eggs in an incubator, so they drew pictures of that.  I have a wonderful memory of the day the ducklings hatched out ~ the local policeman had called up to the school on a social visit and he watched as the first duckling struggled to crack open the shell.  When it finally succeeded and out popped this beautiful and perfect little bundle of yellow feathers, he was overwhelmed by emotion and had tears in his eyes.

In Year 2 the 7 year olds made their first Holy Communion as it was a Catholic school so they drew a chalice and host.  Being the most significant event in the year, that was their contribution.

Year 3 was the first year of juniors and the children enjoyed learning about Vikings and the Human Body, so they drew lovely longboats and skeletons.

In Year 4 things got much more subject focussed so Maths was represented by a calculator and mathematical symbols.

In Year 5, Music, Dance and Art were the main features, so a pot of paint and a brush was drawn.  Science too was represented by the planets.

By Year 6 the children were getting ready to move on to secondary school.  In order to give them a taste of independence and adventure, it was our tradition to take the class away to Shropshire for a week to stay in a Youth Hostel.  Here, in the Ironbridge Gorge, birthplace of the Industrial Revolution, we had a wonderful time.  We visited the Iron Museum, The Jackfield Tile Museum, Blist’s Hill Reconstructed Village, River Severn Museum and of course the first Iron Bridge ever built.  We also had amazing night hikes, midnight feasts and parties.  Altogether it was an incredible opportunity for fun and learning.  So naturally the Ironbridge at Coalbrookdale was the emblem of Year 6.

The staff gathered all these pictures and images together and chose the ones that would be painted on to the tiles.  The Year 5 teacher, ABW, a wonderfully creative artist and teacher, took on the challenge of putting all the ideas together and creating a design on tracing paper which could be transferred onto numbered ‘green’ tiles.  It was agreed that we would go to Jackfield Tile Museum to create the finished work.

A representative group of staff, parents and children spent a weekend at the Youth Hostel and were each given a small area of the tile frieze to paint.  ABW had done a magnificent job scaling all the children’s artwork up or down so that the frieze would reflect the life of the school.  It was agreed that the year 2000 would go at the top, as well as the 4 trees, oak, ash, poplar and beech, which were the school emblem.  In the top corners would be tiles depicting the Ironbridge itself. The children’s artwork would go around the edge, and at the centre would be the Holy Spirit in the form of a dove surrounded by flames.

We painted the tiles in coloured glaze.  I will never forget the atmosphere in that studio at Jackfield as we worked on the frieze.  There was a stillness and peace in the room which was truly sacramental.  While we worked, the Spirit moved in that place and heaven happened.

When we finished, the tiles were left at the Jackfield tile Museum to be fired.  A couple of weeks later they were collected and set into a frame made by the reception class teacher’s husband.

Bishop Mervyn Alexander of Clifton RIP came in the year 2000 to celebrate the school’s 25th anniversary and he blessed the tile frieze.

Although most of the staff who worked at the school have retired or moved on now, the frieze is still there in the school hall.  And with it is a little piece of all of us who made it.

Gone Fishing

Under a fishing umbrella by the side of a lake in the pouring rain with husband and grandchildren, heaven happens.  There is nothing quite so exciting as being at the mercy of the elements but safe!  It appeals to our most basic human need for shelter and protection.  All our needs are met.  We are together, warm and dry and we have a picnic.  We are relaxed and at peace.  There is nothing we must do but enjoy ourselves.  It is a precious gift ~ time to be.  Grandchildren learn how to fish.  They watch the fluorescent tip of the float marking the place where the line enters the water.  The bait of sweetcorn gently drifts in the depths as we throw more corn in to attract the fish.  And it does.   The float waggles then dips down ~ a bite!    Ben gets the landing net ready and Rosie slides the unhooking mat into place.  The mat is clean and padded to protect the fish from injury or infection.  Gerry reels it in and Ben slips the net into the water and under the fish, gently lifting it clear of the water.    It’s heavy, maybe 8lbs.  A beautiful mirror carp.  It has a golden belly and silver scales along each side of the backbone.  The hook slips easily out of its mouth with the help of tiny forceps.  The children take a photograph of this beautiful creature then it is placed gently back in the net and returned to the lake.  We don’t throw the fish back like the match fishermen.  We let it rest in the net for a few minutes then tilt the net so it can swim out safely, unharmed.

The rain stops, ducks settle on the bank.  The sun comes out to end the day on a glorious note.   The match fishermen leave, but we stay to watch the sun go down.  The sky glows golden and the lake glitters.  Flies abound and the fish leap up to catch them.  Bats swirl around silently.  Then huge wings darken the sky as three herons appear over the tree tops.  They dominate the lake as they swoop down and help themselves to a fish supper.

It is an amazing sight and all we can do is watch in awe, then write Haiku about it!

Sun sets, fishing stops

Herons hover overhead

Fish glide into reeds

Grandad teaching Ben to fish, Rosie practising with a stick!

He’s got it!

Heron waiting for a fish supper

Easter 1997

An unforgettable day for me was Easter Sunday in 1997.  I had travelled to kisumu in Kenya with a group of educationalists from Gloucestershire.

Sunday is market day in Kisumu and Easter Sunday is no exception.  Strolling around among the goods laid out on the ground,  we saw an abundance of bananas and mangoes, maize, and spices galore.  There were shoes made out of old tyres and handsewn clothing.   Dolrosa bought a live chicken for our evening meal.   Purchased goods were carried home by the women in baskets on their heads.  Heavy goods were bundled on top of a matatu, a type of minibus.

I went off to Mass at St Theresa’s Cathedral where I was due to meet the Archbishop.  I had brought gifts of rosary beads, bibles and prayer books from STM to be distributed among the small churches in the tribal villages.  I also brought a silver Chalice for the Archbishop.  The Mass was a total revelation to me.  The congregation were dressed in the most beautiful and colourful outfits I had ever seen.  The children were adorable and particularly well dressed as they were to make their First Holy Communion.  The Mass was in Swahili which I did not understand but the singing was absolutely wonderful.  It was accompanied by African drumming.

It was cloudy, hot and humid outside but lovely and cool in the Cathedral.  When Mass ended and we walked out, the heavens opened and the rain came down in torrents.  In no time at all the roads were awash and there were puddles appearing by the roadside.   From out of nowhere children appeared stripped to the waste and leaped into the puddles.  They were full of joy and having a whale of a time.  It was great fun to watch them.

When the rain stopped the children all vanished then reappeared carrying empty tin cups, jugs or buckets.  This fascinated us and we were curious as to what they were waiting to collect.  Within minutes of the ground drying we found out.  Flying termites!!  They crawled out from every nook and cranny and took to the air.  But the children were obviously expert at this and they caught millions of the creatures.  They were so proud of their haul as they showed us how many they had caught.

By the time we reached home we were curious as to why they would want all these termites.  We soon found out when we got back to Dolrosa’s house.  There she was sitting on the kitchen floor over a gas ring with a frying pan full of flying termites.  She was preparing them as a treat for our Easter breakfast after church.

Mangoes on a market stall

Shoes made out of old car tyres

Easter Sunday buying lunch

fruit, vegetables, fish, meat, clothes, shoes, spices, all available at the market

Easter Sunday lunch is fried flying termites after heavy rain ~ nature’s bounty

Easter Sunday Mass in Kisumu

Instant swimming pool after heavy rain

Heading out to fish on Lake Victoria

Journal of a Journey

What an adventure I was about to have, a trip to America all on my own.  I have never flown alone before and to go so far first time is extremely daring for me.  I have left nothing to chance.  I have been preparing for weeks so that I will be calm and relaxed and enjoy the whole experience.  Friends and family have amazed me with their understanding and support.  So with just one day to go and everything packed and ready I have planned a perfect day. 
I go swimming with Eunice in the morning then wallow in the jacuzzi at Cascades in Tewkesbury.  Afterwards Eunice gives me a bottle of  Bach’s Rescue Remedy which she says is sure to keep me calm.  
In the afternoon I drive to Blunsden for my final session of EFT with Ina.  This is very powerful and cathartic and I am sure that it has cured me of my terror of flying.  As I leave, Ina gives me a pretty little glass angel to take with me.  She reassures me that all will be well and that I am now whole and grounded and surrounded by a bubble of white light.  I am not sure how I feel about this but it is a very sweet gesture.
In the evening my sister turns up with a beautiful bottle of frankincense and myrrh anointing oil from Jerusalem.  This is intended to open up spiritual channels so my guardian angels and the Holy Spirit will give me strength, comfort, wisdom, and all the other gifts of the Spirit.  She also gives me a beautiful black, leather bound journal to record all my adventures in.  There is nothing I love more than writing in a new journal so this is a very welcome gift.
Absolutely certain that I am now as prepared as it is possible to be I have an early night. I need to be up at 4am for the drive to Birmingham Airport for a 6am check in. 
So what can go wrong?
Got up at 4am no problem, showered, dressed, loaded car for an easy drive to the airport.  There is hardly any traffic and the weather is fine; No queues at check in so that is good too.  Have a cooked breakfast with hubby at BurgerKing before kissing him goodbye.  He has to get back to go on dialysis which is why he can’t travel to Vermont with me, and why we have not had a real holiday for six years!
All is going so well – gate 48 – through security –wait to be called.  The posh folk board first – business class, then frequent flyers, platinum etc. etc. The rest of us are gradually called through and by 8.30am I am ON THE PLANE! 
I have paid extra for a premium seat with leg room and, as the plane is full to bursting, it was definitely worth it.  A lovely young man sits next to me.  He is heading to Chicago to work – welding.  I settle down and go through my handbag for all the relaxation aids my lovely friends and family have given me.  Pop 5 drops of Rescue Remedy under my tongue; rub a few drops of anointing oil on my wrists; unobtrusively massage the EFT points, quick prayer with my Rosary beads; check that Ina’s angel is still close and that I have my cross and chain on!  As well as all that I know I am uplifted by my friends’ thoughts and prayers. But just in case all else fails I have taken 2 Diazepam!  At last I am ready to settle down with the Guardian – newspaper that is – not angel.
Mm– it is taking an awfully long time to leave the boarding area.   I have read the Guardian from cover to cover – even the Sports section!  I know all there is to know about welding in Chicago.  I have eaten all the complementary pretzels and drunk the water.  I have watched the whole safety film and now I am ready to go – please.
But what is this?  The door is opening and men in yellow jackets are boarding the plane. More men in yellow jackets are putting orange cones of the traffic variety around the plane’s wheels.  Are we being clamped?
No.  The captain comes on the tannoy and reports that there is a fault with the air conditioning unit.   It will only take about 10 minutes to fix –tut, tut.  Another message 30 minutes later tells us that the men in yellow jackets can’t fix the fault.  They need a new part from the stores..  Unfortunately ‘the stores’ is in Gatwick and the plane is in Birmingham.  No matter, the part is ordered and will be here in a few hours.  Then they can fix it and we can take off – but not for a few hours!   Oh dear the welder will miss his connection to Chicago and I will miss my lift from New York to Vermont. 
Oh Lord I am going to be alone in New York in the middle of the night with nowhere to stay and no way of getting to Vermont!  However they will give us a £10 lunch voucher if we disembark (can you do that from a plane?) and go back through the airport to the check in desk.
Everyone stands, gathers all their hand luggage and waits for the bus to take us back tot he terminal, and waits, and waits.  At last it arrives and we are taken back. It is now 11am.  I have been awake since 4am, checked in since 6am, and sitting on the plane since 8.30am.
We queue up as instructed, and queue, and queue until someone tells us that this queue is only for people with onward flights, others queue somewhere else.  I notice that Business Class passengers and Frequent Flyers are taken through into a separate area – no queuing for them then.  So off we go to the other end of the airport and queue again.  My nerves are starting to fray a bit now, especially as some people don’t understand the concept of taking turns as part of queuing!  But eventually I speak to a pleasant young man who tells me I can cancel if I wish and claim my money back.  Does he not realise how excited I am about this trip and how much preparation has gone into getting this far? Actually I would prefer to wait – not to CANCEL. Ok I can have my £10 voucher for lunch and listen out for further information; but we are aiming for a 9pm take off – 12 hours late!!
Well, I suppose I could sit down quietly, compose myself and text all my friends to hold off on the prayers for a bit.  But what is this –  a red flashing thing where the battery symbol should be?  Oops– phone is dying and all my numbers are in it. Now where is my charger?  Oh yes, in my case on the plane.  It is at this point that the glass angel from Ina hides in my bag, the gifts of the Spirit have been taken back, the Rescue Remedy has reached my bladder and the Diazepam is wearing off.  But hey, it’s an airport,there must be someone with a charger – a business centre, Virgin store or somewhere to charge up a phone.  So I ask at the customer service and get sent to the yellow jacket ‘Help Desk’, then forward to the Business Centre and on to WH Smith.  Hooray for a lovely Scottish lady who sells me a gadget which will charge anything – at £21.99!  Can I claim that back I wonder, as my charger has effectively been hijacked by the airline? No.  I thought not.
Ok back to the business centre with dead phone and new charger.  Do they have a socket I could use?  Yep at £1 for 15 minutes.  Since my phone takes hours to charge, I reckon this is not the “friendly, helpful service” advertised, and leave.  A yellow jacket man points out a socket on a wall in a public area that I can use for nothing.  Hooray!
So here I am, sitting behind a pillar in no man’s land between Arrivals and Departures with phone plugged in charging away and getting very strange looks from airport security and occasional passing policemen.  When it is fully charged I will go and spend my voucher on a healthy lunch.  Better not have wine as the diazepam has not completely worn off.  Then I will have a wander round the airport shops and look forward to a night flight, a hotel in Newark, and a drive through NewYork State to Vermont tomorrow.  I think that sounds ok.  Maybe the prayers, the love, the support, the rescue remedy, the angel, the tapping, the oils and the tablets are working after all.  But then it is only 1 o clock.
There followed silence for hours.  I wandered the hell that is the neon lit, air conditioned, glitzy shopping parade that passes for an airport terminal.  Any seating is dedicated to fast food outlets. There is nowhere comfy to just sit and wait.   I read the whole of On Chesil Beach while sitting/squatting on a metal grid over a heating pipe (off thank goodness).  I relieved the boredom by eating a pizza in Frankie and Benny’s although I really was not hungry.  One of the people who lightened up the day was the lovely young waitress, Rachel I think, who was bubbly and ridiculously sweet.  She happily went off to get me a cup of green tea from another outlet.  I think I was buzzing quite enough and could not risk drinking coffee or alcohol!
After that I wandered round aimlessly again looking for clues as to what was happening and when, if ever, my plane would take off.  9pm came and went and the information board just switched from delayed – departure 21.00, to, delayed – departure 22.00 without any reason or apology.  By this time I was getting very upset and tired. My hand luggage which had been so tidy when I arrived was now heavy and messy.  I went into the ladies loo and sat and cried.
Here the next angel in disguise comforted me. She was cleaning the loos and asked me what was wrong.  Bless her, she was wonderful and took me to find someone who could help.  Here were two more angels working on the airline’s desk. One of them, it was her first day, had been working since 5am and should have gone home hours ago.  Apparently they are not allowed to leave until the flight leaves so she was almost as tired as I was.  These girls got me a cup of tea, sat me in a comfy chair and chatted away merrily as I sobbed about how much I had looked forward to this trip and how desperate I was to get to Vermont to see my daughter who lives there. All my lovely positive thoughts are slipping away like sand through my fingers and being replaced by sheer exhaustion and old fears.
Just then the information board tells us that we can go through for boarding in 5 minutes.  But that message stays there for another 30 minutes by which time other passengers are starting to get distressed.  Stories of longed for breaks, years of planning, husbands dying, come pouring out onto these two tired girls on the customer care desk.  They soak them all up and try hard to stay positive and reassuring.
Then at last we go through to the departure lounge. But this is not relaxing.  Here are loud young people who are obviously drunk: There are the Captain and crew surrounded by men in yellow jackets: And, by the door, two armed police officers, one male and one female.  In their new combat style uniforms they look nothing like comforting ‘British Bobbies’. I know we are in a new world situation now but it seems really odd to see a lovely young woman in combat gear toting a huge rifle in a British airport.  Is that sexist?  It just made me feel really uncomfortable and not a bit reassured.  I felt they were there to protect the captain and crew from the passengers!
More waiting then at last buses turn up to take us top the plane.  Numbers have reduced dramatically as so many passengers took other flights or cancelled altogether.  It is dark, it is raining, we are tired, we board.  I paid extra for a premium seat with leg room.  I find a very large man who did not pay extra has plonked himself down next to me.  I feel sick and I feel cross.  At the door the bored, tired and harassed cabin crew stand around while men in yellow jackets still seem to be working on the plane.  No-one tells us anything.  Throughout the day rumours have spread.  Was it the air conditioning?  Was it the fuel pump?  Was it the engine?  Was it suspicious luggage?  Is it all fixed?  Who knows? The doors stay open – we are not apparently ready to take off.  I later found out that the repairs had been completed but Houston (home of the airline) would not sign them off.
It is 11.30pm now.  I have been up for 19½ hours.  I checked in 17½ hours ago.  The plane has been delayed 14½ hours.  The huge man next to me smells.  I have had enough.  If we leave now I will get to New York at 3am US time.  I am so tired  I can’t think straight anymore, I just want to go to sleep.  So I stood up, got my hand luggage out of the rack and told the crew I was getting off the plane.  Not one member of the cabin crew tried to reassure me that we would be going soon and all was fixed.  A woman in a yellow jacket just rang up for a bus to take me back to the terminal.  A man in a yellow jacket asked me for my final destination so he could locate my luggage.  Then the bus took me back to the terminal along with a young woman who was exhausted and traumatised too.
After getting my luggage I wandered out into the cold night and found an airport hotel for what was left of the night.  I don’t think I slept at all.  I tried to make sense of it.  Why had it all gone so wrong even though I had all that physical, mental and spiritual support?  Only time would tell.
And it did!  In no time at all my husband was rushed off to hospital with Pneumonia.  If I had not been there to call a doctor who knows what would have happened?  Thank goodness I did not get to America after all!