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'Memories Most Precious'
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When I was a tiny girl I sat on
Grandma's knee an old rag book of nursery rhymes she did recite to me. The verses were so
lilting the characters so gay arranged for little children in a most delightful way. Great was the impression it has stood the test
of time and brought the inclination to express myself in rhyme. "Memories Most Precious" I would like to share, I trust it will give
pleasure to people everywhere.
~ It Is Nice To Be Eight ~ Dear Auntie Hilda, It is well understood your nature is kind and generous and your memory is good. I knew a parcel was on the way it arrived in time for my eighth birthday. A pink brush and comb set chosen with loving care, you know how I take a pride in my hair. A great big thank you and lots of kisses too pleasure emerges from everything you do. ~ Tranquil Memories ~ Memories of my parents are like a garden of flowers, a blend of fragrance, sunny mornings and tranquil hours. Fond memories shed the light of other days in the years before we went our separate ways. ~ Looking Back ~ My childhood was carefree happy and gay, my teens sped along in a similar way. Each day an adventure searching for gold, I gave not a thought to growing old. In springtime I gathered bluebells and caught tadpoles in a jar, I made daisy chains and wished upon a star. During summer I sat in the garden a blaze of colour surrounding me, watching butterflies bobbing, honey bees buzzing and the birds sang a sweet melody. In the autumn I collected conkers and ran miles with my hoop returning back home to mummy's fresh homemade soup. Winter was even more comforting when the world was white with snow, I snuggled close to my parents beside the fire's bright glow. We often had roasted chestnuts and muffins for our tea, I felt this enchantment would last for eternity. Time marches on leaving youth far behind, sadly for the elderly life can be unkind. If ever I feel depressed or ill I have a remedy far before a doctors pill, I close my eyes and forget the pain when memories come flooding back again. ~ Mother ~ How sweet the name of mother sounds as pure as her disposition, within the regions of my heart her love finds recognition. How soothing is her gentle voice dispelling all my childish fears, creating a strong foundation to equip in future years. How capable her small neat hands performing many useful deeds, protecting me in health and sickness supplying my essential needs. How welcoming her eager step upon a neighbours troubled scene, offering support and comfort and a strength on which to lean. How will I express my feelings when I face the world alone, I will thank the Lord above for this treasure I have known. ~ My Daddy ~ My daddy is so big and strong he can cope when things go wrong. Wavy hair crowns his head he works to earn our daily bread. When I am naughty he is cross, I realise quickly who is boss. When I am good he's satisfied and then his smile is bright and wide. He loves mummy and he loves me that is very plain to see. The twinkle in his deep blue eyes is the sign I truly recognise. I say my prayers every night I am sure that this is right. Thank you Lord for a lovely day and all the time in which to play. Then I sit on daddy's knee story books are read to me. In simple words I understand I soon drift off to slumberland. Daddy lays me down to rest secure and safe in my cosy nest, to face the silent hours alone in a dream world of my own. ~ Old Friends Are Gold ~ Long ago when my mother was young at the start of her married life, she met a young lady much the same age who was also a mother and wife. She had deep brown eyes and a skin like milk, her lovely dark hair was as soft as silk. Her name was Korah, my mother is Dora, what stronger link could there be, every afternoon the two would meet for a cup of tea. The thought the future would be so bright each hour a rosy glow, if the Lord ordained there were trials in store, how could they possibly know. The first flush of youth was the innocent time to savour with all their heart, collecting the fondest memories should they ever have to part. Alas time waits for no one, time does not stand still, circumstance stood between them much against their will. They did not meet again for over fifty years, life became a mixture of happiness and tears. Looking back over the past my mother would often sigh, "How I long to see dear Korah just once before I die". Destiny came in the springtime as nature flourished anew, her name appeared in a directory, like a bolt out of the blue. Reunion was planned for the summer when gardens were gay with flowers, Korah and Dora talked for hours and hours. Through making new friends we should not lose the old, new friends are silver, old friends are gold. ~ The Photograph Album ~ Grandma has an album where fond memories flow, the pictures so enchanting of an era long ago. I return to eighteen eighty a most momentous year, when Grandma fell in love with a handsome grenadier. She was bright and beautiful the toast of the town, as proud as a queen in her silk bridal gown. Grandma with her children all very much alive, Martin and Amelia, Mary, Sue and Clive. The boys wore knickerbockers buckled 'neath the knee the girls in frilly dresses of sweet simplicity. A background of lawns fringed with hollyhocks a border of Petunias and fragrant scented Phlox. Mary is my mother she lived throughout the years, recalling every moment of happiness and tears. The sadness came one morning in the lovely month of May a sudden call from heaven, Grandpa passed away. Yet there is no gap, no emptiness to fill, in the pages of the album he is living still. I have a little secret I declare it's not a lie, when I gaze upon his portrait I am sure he winks his eye. I wait for the future and pray my dreams come true, then I will keep an album like Grandma used to do. ~ The Silent Hours ~ Doctor Clunie's surgery is a large and pleasant room yet it seem to register an atmosphere of gloom. Created by the patients in a most peculiar way they sit in eerie silence without a word to say. Mrs Butler is embarrassed not knowing where to look so she decides to hide her face in the pages of a book. Bobby Jones slumps on a chair placed near the office door counting the faded flowers in the carpet on the floor. Miss Trout prefers to knit concentrating on dimension, working at a rapid speed to overcome her nervous tension. Mr Brown feasts his eyes upon the plaster on the wall, giving it a general survey whilst he waits for doctors call. Slowly the clock hand moves on towards the final hour bringing profound relief like a sudden summer shower. If only there was conversation how much nicer it would be to receive a word of comfort or a little sympathy. Stimulating as a tonic we should feel the spirit soar, then a visit to the doctor would no longer be a bore. ~ Betty Harlequin ~ How I loved my dolls when I was eight years old, such well behaved young ladies who did as they were told. There was Peggy and Norah Susie and Joan, a ready made family of my own. I also had Joyce, and Mary her twin and beautiful Betty Harlequin. Saphire velvet fashioned her body, her legs were long and thin, her face was papier mache with a dimple in the chin. She wore a short frilled skirt of gold plaid silk a matching cap sat on her head, not the type of doll I could take to bed. So I took her in the garden to sit amongst the flowers and I became her tutor throughout the summer hours. She learned about the butterflies and the honey bees, the habits of the wild birds nesting in the trees. Blue eyes gazed intently I was sure she understood, I felt so very proud of her as any young child would. As I grew up and she grew old she was reluctantly thrown away, nostalgic memories linger to this very day. |
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