'Memories Most Precious'
Page 3

~ Oldway Mansion - Paignton, Devon. ~

Everyone loves a garden especially in summertime, the poets like a garden to express themselves in rhyme. I am no exception I feel I must convey all the beauty I beheld one brilliant August day. I took a trip to Oldway approached the iron gate, walked along the winding paths then stopped to contemplate. Should I wander to the right, the left or straight ahead, a vision of loveliness crowned every flower bed. Marigolds and Columbine and Petunias so fair mingle with the Clematis their fragrance fills the air. Clusters of Lobelia in varying shades of blue blend with the scarlet Salvias kissed by the morning dew. The rows of sturdy Dahlias are a most impressive sight, cream bronze and purple, crimson pink and white. Multi coloured pom-poms nestle in between, a carpet of emerald lawns enhance this perfect scene. To add to the interest are the tall stately trees guarding shrubs and bushes from lands across the seas. The select team of gardeners work with diligence and zest applying skill and patience to produce the very best. In a quiet shady corner lies a pond so fresh and clear where goldfish dart to the top then suddenly disappear. Just beyond the garden in all its magnitude stands a splendid mansion much admired and viewed. The home of the Singer family who lived in a past decade, inventing machines that sew a fortune favoured trade. Purchased by the council the building and the grounds, the marble stairs re-echo with familiar sounds. Winter nights are sheer delight when men and women meet, the ancient ballroom vibrates with a thousand nimble feet. Sir Isaac in his gilded frame recalls his mortal life when he danced the polka with a young attractive wife. All the energetic people who have a yen for sport spend many happy hours upon the tennis court. When the day is over evening shadows fall, tracing mystic patterns on the grey stone wall. I breathe a prayer of gratitude for the pleasure I have known, I will return another year when all the seeds are sown. As it is this moment it will always be, a haven of remembrance, a Singers sanctuary.

~ Boronia Gardens ~

My father was a gardener the skilled professional kind, plans for his garden were forever on his mind. Situated on a hill top with a glorious sea view it displayed a blaze of colour the whole year through. I can visualise the greenhouse with tomatoes firm and red matching the beauty of the flower bed. Narcissus daffodils asters and sweet-peas never have I seen a stem as long and straight as these. Dahlias petunias cornflowers of deepest blue surrounding the arch where the roses grew. Peonies tulips carnations and fern to recapture the aroma I so often yearn. Especially the lavender with it's aromatic smell mingling with the perfume of the canterbury-bell. Delphiniums iris and dainty forget-me-nots salvias lillies and cyclamen in pots. I remember the hollyhocks standing erect and tall and sprays of lilac caressing the wall. Anthemis pansies scarlet poppies and migonette, how could they fade when memory is firmly set. There was loganberries raspberries peaches plum and pear, apples in abundance all for me to share. Blackberries and blackcurrants gooseberries so mellow encouraged by the sun's warm rays they turned from green to yellow. 'Golden Sovereign' strawberries delicious with cream, a garden of paradise, a true artist's dream. Broad-beans and runners spinach sage and thyme, it gives me great pleasure to describe it all in rhyme. Rows of crisp lettuce and cucumbers in a frame and a fine crop of potatoes 'Arran Banner' was their name. Vegetables prolific including beetroot carrots and swedes all grown in rich soil completely free from weeds. Rhubarb made an appearance in the late spring Boronia Gardens had everything. Bronze 'Desert Song' chyrsanthemums and regal pink and white as winter days approached they made a welcome sight. Then in winter proper to brighten up the hours honesty and status the everlasting flowers. Yes my father was a gardener how proud he must have been to know he was responsible for such a lovely scene.  

~ The Library ~

I often visit the library not knowing where to start, there is romance and thrillers fiction and fact and a grand display of fine art. Religion, chemistry and travellers tales, volumes where general knowledge prevails. Opera ballet stage and screen, the intimate lives of the stars I glean. Architecture cookery fashion flair, etiquette hygiene and baby care. Geography history political views, papers containing the daily news, Wildlife photography features on crime, poems in blank verse and poems in rhyme. Botany gardening fruit and trees all sections classified to please. Giving the incentive to use my eyes and look, windows of the world reflect in the pages of a book. 

~ The Blind Child ~

I met a wee girl dainty and fair with an angelic face and long golden hair. She wore a blue velvet dress with a collar so neat and pretty red shoes protecting her feet. Her footsteps falter as she grasps for my hand this state of confusion I soon understand. Her lovely grey eyes are searching for me sad and bewildered unable to see. I was a stranger just passing by but the memory will linger until I die. I now disregard trivial things accepting with courage whatever life brings, realizing dame fortune has smiled when my thoughts return to the little blind child.

~ The Brief Bag ~

My father had a brief bag which he took to work each day, to keep his gardening tools in an orderly way. When he returned home there was often a surprise, I hovered over it trying to surmise. Would it contain a skipping rope, schoolgirl books or a rubber ball, however heavy it became he did not mind at all. His wealthy employer had a daughter of her own, she gave away a lot of things she felt she had outgrown. I wish she would grow faster and send a lot more, at school there were some little girls who were really poor. I always felt elated and as happy as could be, if I could help others less fortunate than me. "Have you anything in your bag Dad" was a frequent cry, he did not consider me selfish, he knew the reason why. 

~ Bones For Billie ~

My neighbour had an old brown dog her name was Billie, Mistress Morley told me she could sing which I thought was rather silly. Even so I was fond of her and arranged a weekly treat, a large bag of bones saved from the Sunday meat. She bounded towards me in a highly emotional way, her body quivered her tail thumped I could not keep her at bay. Then she threw back her head and started to whine a purely musical note, it was hard to imagine such a sound could emerge from an animals throat. I was no longer in doubt, I suppose the thought of a juicy bone gave her something to sing about.

~ Hilary ~

I met her for the first time a happy smiling girl, yet she is so far removed from the social whirl. Living in a little world all her very own a world of compassion where seeds of love are sown. She was born retarded with diminished intellect, no one frowns upon her she is treated with respect. Her way of life is simple and care is all she needs, she understands affection and responds to kindly deeds. I count my many blessings wherever I may be and seek the sweet contentment instilled in Hilary. 

~ The Bluetit ~

A tiny bluetit fell out of the nest frail and helpless separated from the rest. We gave him a home in the greenhouse on the branch of a large pear tree, he soon settled in as happy as could be. Hard boiled eggs made a perfect diet with fresh water to revive, he flapped his wings and chirped, it is good to be alive. He grew fatter and stronger day by day until he was ready to fly away. I miss my little feathered friend more than I can tell but in the freedom of the outside world I wish him very well.

~ Primrose Time ~

Walk again in primrose time through a pleasant country lane, listen to the babbling brook or a robin's sweet refrain. Gaze in silent admiration at the tall stately trees and watch the golden daffodils swaying in the breeze. Find joy and contentment on this glad spring day, happiness will reign supreme, dull care will fade away. 

~ My Grandparents ~

Tall grass will never mar your grave or windswept dandelions wave, I have vowed to keep it neat scrub the headstone and complete - with the seasons fragrant flowers reminding me of tranquil hours. The clock goes back I am a child sitting on your knee, love and affection was conveyed to me. A kiss and a cuddle sweets slipped in my hand, walks through the park or fun on the sand. Searching for pretty shells in every shape and size, never losing patience with my everlasting whys. Grandma and Grandpa you were so very nice, hard working kind and gentle treasures beyond a price. Your thoughtful nature was instilled in me, I'll remember and appreciate until eternity.

~ A Special Garden ~

A garden of happiness a garden of dreams, a garden of perfection a garden of extremes. A garden of love a garden of pride, a garden of effort a garden denied. A garden of pleasure a garden to treasure so enchanting in their own way. My special garden, fragrant and small, is the fairest garden of all. A garden of children surely endears blooming with laughter and watered with tears.

~ Little Brown Teddy ~

Little brown teddy we never will part, you have become so dear to my heart. Though you have lost an eye and your arm needs mending, you are my best friend I am not pretending. I recall the day that you were grand and new, all my playmates worshipped you. Marjorie Daw brought ribbons so gay to tie round your neck on the Sabbath day. Now you are old and very forlorn, the children reject you and treat you with scorn. I will always love you from this day hence, as I've told you before it is not pretence.

~ Working In The Shed ~

Of all my precious memories there is a lot to be said, for the happy hours spent working in the shed. My father gave me an orange box and sectioned it in three it proved to be a most inspiring thing for me. I transformed it into a dolls house, a hospital and a school imagination and patience was the golden rule. Match boxes made the furniture and a row of beds, tissue paper fashioned the pillows to nestle little heads. My characters were extracted from a magazine, every week I enjoyed a complete change of scene. It kept me amused and out of my mothers way, how different are the activities for children of today.

~ Kippy ~

Kippy Koala that is my name I am not wild a wooly I am gentle and tame. Across the wide ocean where I was born I sat in a window all sad and forlorn. As the 'Aussies' passed by they would all stand and stare nobody claimed me they just left me there. One beautiful morning the sun shone so bright a kind lady murmured "You're such a cute little mite". Soon I must sail far over the sea I would like a pet for my family. Come my sweet Kippy no more will you roam a welcome awaits in a fine English home. I am now so happy and bubbling with joy which I cannot express 'cos I'm only a toy.

~ Days Long Ago ~

I remember I remember of days long ago, I would give the world to meet the folk I used to know. They were so reliable a promise was never broken, during conversation only kind words were spoken. Always ready and willing to lend a helping hand in sickness and sorrow, what could be done today was never left until tomorrow. Finding time for everything however great or small, the twenties and the thirties were the very best of all. The world revolved at a leisurely pace, a sunny smile lit every face. Reading this book sweet memories I revive, I remember I remember it was good to be alive. 

~ The Book of Remembrance ~

In the book of remembrance a proud name appears, a name to cherish a name that endears. The name of my father no longer on earth, the date of departure and the date of his birth. Also his affection for my mother and me and his life's work in gardens he can no longer see. I know in heaven there are joys beyond price, A garden of perfection the garden of paradise. Where flowers bloom forever they do not fade or die, how wonderful how glorious is the realm beyond the sky.

~ Abiding Love ~

I love you dear mother I love you I have told you so many times, words were never expressed more sincerely than in my poetical rhymes. I did my best in your lifetime all I possibly could, I nursed you through a long illness as a good daughter should. When the summons came from heaven it was as natural as could be, to hold my hand and whisper your fondest love for me.

~ The Clock ~

Tick tock, tick tock the only sound I hear, tick tock, tick tock echoing loud and clear. Operating in a silent house entirely my own having lost my parents I now reside alone. The clock wakes me in the morning and lulls me to sleep at night, I set the hands to ensure the time is always right. My life is regulated in much the same way just a set routine day after day. Each hour chimes as sixty minutes pass by, I cannot halt the rhythm however hard I try. Tick on trustworthy friend until my life comes to an end.

~ The Monastery ~

Chirp, chirp, the birds are singing in their favourite sanctuary all among the leafy trees that shade the sacred monastery. There it stands straight and tall a mark of man's endeavour built in eighteen eighty two it will remain forever. The bell tolls in the early morning young priests bow their heads in prayer honouring the Virgin Mary her presence lingers everywhere. They arise and step outside their feet light upon the soil black gowns relieved with a silver cross their hands untouched by earthly toil. Troubles will beset the world bringing strife and friction here they find celestial hours according to God's diction.

~ Smithie ~

Smithie was a hospital porter with a heart of gold, he was very fond of children and equally fond of the old. Running around the whole day through at everyone's beck and call, of the many in attendance patients liked him best of all. Such a frail little man he must have felt worn out he said "We live by one another and for one another that's what life is all about". When I was a child patient he was wonderful to me, a supply of books and comics were brought constantly. To ensure I was kept in a happy mood I had no cause to sit and brood. For many years I met him in town he was the same old Smithie with the same smiling face he never wore a frown. When his unblemished soul the Lord did claim a plaque was erected to honour his name.

~ The Singer Sewing Machine ~

I felt as proud as a queen having received a brand new Singer sewing machine. A birthday gift from my father on my twenty-first the realisation of an ambition I had secretly nursed. The woodwork was smooth and polished it revolved on oiled wheels, I was so enchanted I could hardly stop for meals. I made cloths for my parents and my wardrobe greatly increased, I was besieged by friends and neighbours the orders never ceased. A perfect stitch the straightest of seams, the fulfillment of my dreams. Fifty years later it still whirrs away and I am sure it will continue for many a day.