~ Home Town ~

South Devon is the county Paignton is the town, with golden sands and sailing boats bobbing up and down. Summertime is wonderful the sky intensely blue no mass of ugly buildings to obliterate the view. So many miles of countryside where flowers grow wild and free, sheep cows and horses graze contentedly. Away in the distance I can see the rolling moors the old-fashioned cottages have ever open doors. Here I spent my childhood and here I will remain, my love for glorious Devon will never ever wane. Just a little bit of heaven it must surely be, no place in all the world is quite the same to me. 

~ Ella ~

I met Ella at Sunday school I invited her home to tea, my mother spent hours in the kitchen as busy as could be. Making butterfly cakes, custard tarts and trifle lashed with Devon cream, her strawberry coconut gateau really was supreme. She covered the table with a lace cloth arranging every fold, and decided to use her best tea set, blue china edged with gold. At the appointed time Ella duly arrived and was promptly sat in her place, she disapproved of the goodies I could tell by the look on her face. "I never eat trifle," said Ella, "I do not like tarts or cake, I only eat bread and butter for my figures sake. I want to grow up to be beautiful and not be left on the shelf, I always study my diet and take great care of myself." My mother was devastated her efforts were all in vain, needless to say pompous Ella was never invited again!

~ Beauty Puss ~

I knew Jennifer was home from school when she started calling her cat, all afternoon the lazy old thing had been asleep on the mat. He pricked up his ears and raced down the hill, "Twinkle, Twinkle your a beauty puss," I can hear her still. He certainly earned the compliment his black coat shone like silk, he was a really healthy pussy cat, brought up on Devon cream and milk. His paws were white a repeat on his face, he strolled around with an elegant grace. Long stiff whiskers and amber eyes made him seem so worldly wise. Jennifer was destined to be a nurse in far away Zimbabwe, all that remains of the beauty puss is a precious memory. 

~ Italian Annie ~

A little white hut stands on the seafront established over fifty years, when the doors reopen at Easter-time the public give three hearty cheers. A cue for 'Italian Annie' to sell her delicious ice-cream, chocolate, vanilla and strawberry pink a truly mouthwatering dream. Her method remains a secret which rivals would like to obtain, it was discovered and perfected in Queen Victoria's reign. In far off sunny Italy her grandfather made a start, children danced with excitement at the sound of his horse and cart. Annie has served a growing community and observed the fashion change, a beach graced with bikinis seem so very strange. Of one thing she is certain ice-cream will never expire, the little white hut continues until Annie decides to retire. 

~ Scamp ~

Up the road and down the road constantly each day, I met a little mongrel dog with a most appealing way. His fur was black and curly obscuring his eyes, he displayed a red tongue that had told no lies. As I stopped to fondle him he wagged his tail with glee, it was his way of showing affection for me. A quiet gentle creature as good as gold, everyone loved him the young and the old. He did not bark at tradesmen he was far too polite, all they could expect was a woof of delight. In the spring he fell asleep my spirits are damp, there will never be another dog quite like Scamp. 

~ Cockington ~

I found the road to paradise as I approached Torquay, a realm of old-world beauty and sweet tranquility. I refer to Cockington a place where time stands still, and everything co-operates according to God's will. Flowers bloom in gay profusion brilliant colours blend and tone, all the roses reign supreme in a garden of their own. I espied a rippling pond where the ducks play hide and seek, catching many tasty tit-bits in their sturdy yellow beak. I adore the friendly donkey surveying with his sad brown eyes, so relaxed and undisturbed no reason to be otherwise. I watched the thatchers working on a charming cottage roof, cool in summer warm in winter and completely waterproof. Close behind is a blacksmiths forge making horseshoe souvenirs in the same exacting way as the smiths in bygone years. A little shop sells handicrafts and displays the weavers skill, materials in vibrant shades to delight and thrill. I stopped inside the lovely church the beginning for many a bride, very ancient and historic where phantoms of the past abide. I tread gently o'er the flagstones the bells peel a sweet refrain, the sound is so endearing I will return again. Oh how joyful the next visit will be with so much beauty surrounding me.

~ The Wonder of Woolworth ~

Paignton was a residential town the shops were quite elite, we had a lovely Woolworth store it really was a treat. Every Saturday morning my friend Peggy and I, wandered around the counters deciding what to buy. Most items were threepence and sixpence it seldom rose above that price, our pocket money was quite adequate which was rather nice. There were dolls, scrapbooks, crayons and plasticine, glossy postcards of stars on the silver screen. Biff-bats, yo-yo's, jigsaws and spinning tops, miniature brushes dust pans and mops. Jewellery, confectionery and Christmas decorations all so exciting far above our expectations. A gramophone was playing the records of Gracie Fields, the wonder of Woolworth a rich harvest it yields. That was perfectly true in my young day, with the passing of time it has faded away. 

~ The Dolls House ~

When I was in hospital getting better every day the Sister allowed me to get up and play. Something to keep me as quiet as a  mouse busy spring cleaning a large dolls house. It had green lattice windows a pale yellow door and a roof of the brightest red, the back slipped off to reveal a miniature four poster bed. The floor was gaily carpeted the walls were papered too, a wardrobe stood in the corner painted powder blue. A matching dressing table with a comfy seat, pink muslin curtains crisp and neat. A tiny kitchen and wooden stairs, a dining room set with tables and chairs. A bathroom toilet and grand library, I have never ceased to wonder at the intricate artistry. From those happy hours sweet dreams have grown, I am now spring cleaning a house of my own!  

~ Alison ~

A little girl called Alison lives next door to me, so bonny and appealing at the tender age of three. Her eyes are like forget-me-nots her hair a rich nut brown, tumbled curls are bobbing as she races up and down. Such a busy person on the go the whole day through, I must not disturb her she has such a lot to do. Helping daddy in the garden helping mummy in the house, contented and observant and as quiet as a mouse. In her own patch of garden she spends many happy hours, explaining to her friends how she 'growed' all the flowers. She also has a tortoise once named 'Tired Tim', she renamed it 'Dougal' then 'Silly Billy' and finally 'Sonny Jim'. The carefree days of childhood are like a breath of spring, I love to watch her playing and hear the laughter ring. All too soon the time will pass tiny feet will skip no more, no longer will a chubby hand tap upon my door. I capture every word and deed however great or small, the memories of a child's life are the loveliest of all.     


More wonderful poems from Beryl very soon.