Imagine if you will that you are with child, or your sister is or even your daughter; in this day and age it is usually a time for great rejoicing whether you are married or not. Now go back some 450 years and imagine yourself living in a small closed community, I’m afraid you are not rich and you are not educated and the father of the child, well he is not available. In fact he is more than likely to be your master.
If the pregnancy goes to term there will be long lasting repercussions; ignominy for the bearer, bastardy for the child and absolute disgrace for the family not just for a few years but for generations until finally the story is forgotten – what lengths would you and/ or your family go to protect yourselves?
Such is the fashion of the day that the fact that you are pregnant can be hidden; you continue to work knowing that should you be found out all will be lost. You can tell no one. It does not matter how tired you are, or if you feel unwell everything must continue as normal. Even at night there is no solace. The future looks so bleak.
Then comes the day of reckoning: is it natural or is it forced. Have you or your family been off to see the wise woman? What potions have you drunk? Has a member of your family taken matters into their own hands and brought about the event?
Everything starts to happen and you have managed to sneak away to your room; it may be at night but whatever time it is, it is more than likely you are on your own. You must make no noise. You must not be caught. Everything depends on secrecy.
The child is born, your child. Your first born.
I pray it is born dead, I am told it was more than likely to have been born dead as forensics say it was most certainly premature. All I know is that you hid the child, your shame and for 450 years it lay undisturbed and deliberately forgotten. And then, it was found, by us.
It was the beginning of 2004 and Charlie was having a week off to help the builders as they wrecked the joint. This involved the removal of the roof on one wing from either side of the massive Tudor chimney which housed two inglenook fireplaces on the ground floor and a third equally impressive fireplace on the first floor in what was once the master’s apartments.
I went off to do something or other and as I pulled away I jokingly said to mind the mummified cats, which I said they were bound to find. Charlie did and a lot more besides.
As Charlie tried to remove some wallpaper from the first floor bedroom on the opposite side of the chimney from the master’s apartments, the plaster came away and within minutes the whole wall, which was made of wattle and daub, disintegrated revealing what is colloquially termed a “Witches’ Midden”
This comprised a mummified cat, some shoes, a witches broom, a winnowing circle and a carved wooden spoon as well as a petrified mouse, a long dead bird and a couple of thatch stakes and a bill hook.
Charlie was so excited! And to be honest so was I. What a find! It was dark on my return so I had no chance of seeing everything in situ that night but the very next morning I took a closer look. What I found literally made my blood run cold.
Charlie and the boys had moved the heaps of dirt - for that is what it all looked like - into another room and were in the process of taking it down the stairs and out onto the bonfire. Charlie mentioned that he thought there was also a mummified dog but it was only partial. I was confused – in all the writings about old houses in the region I had never heard of people using dogs in this way. A sort of dread began to creep up on me and I started to look through the mess. I came across the top of a skull just the dome of it down to the top of the eye sockets – easily mistaken for a dog by it’s size but the eyes were wrong. What I was handling was definitely human.
When this happens there is ONLY one course of action. Call the police.
Within half an hour they were here and although we and they were convinced the remains were hundreds of years old we became a crime scene and all work ceased.
It started to dawn on us what we were dealing with and as I held my own baby close all I could think on was how had this happened? When had it happened? Why had it happened? And across the years my heart went out to the mother of this child.
Forensics were brilliant and within a few days we knew that what we were dealing with was a baby. More than likely born premature because of the way the bones had disintegrated and because of it’s size. They said it would have been unlikely to be put there alive; it was probably born dead then hurriedly hidden.
I still feel uncomfortable about it but I also feel that the house wanted to give up its secrets, the burden that it had carried for so long. We buried the remains in the old Church Yard at St Mary’s with a simple service carried out by our then vicar Rev Robin Jack who had cleared the way with the Diocese. The local funereal director had donated a tiny coffin and I planted snowdrops from the farm on the grave. Perhaps the child’s mother lies in the churchyard as well. I hope she found peace.
Wednesday, 31 October 2007
Saturday, 20 October 2007
Another Country - My Rugby World Cup Final
It’s 8.30pm when I walk in the room, I tread diffidently and my eyes are drawn immediately to the score in black and white in the top left hand corner of the screen: Eng: 3 RSA: 6. Charlie is sitting forward on the sofa, wound up, alert.
“It’s not as bad as you think: South Africa have been lucky.” He says. As way of greeting, I start to say some inanity but something happens on the screen and Charlie twitches in sympathy with his heroes and it quite disconcerts me. I notice he can’t keep his feet still and he runs his hands up and down his thighs as if in preparation to catch the ball. I ask him if he’s like some supper. He glances at me, frowning a little confused – I am disturbing his concentration. He flicks his hand showing me his plate: “I’ve had some.” and there’s a roar from the crowd on the television and his eyes snap back to the screen.
As I walk to the kitchen he calls after me. “I’ve go to get a closer look at the scrum…” then as if remembering what it was he wanted he tersely adds: “put the kettle on!”
I get my supper and listen to his commentary from the sitting room. I am unsure whether it’s for me or for himself. I feel the professionals are making a better job of it but I say nothing. The timing would not be right.
The kettle boils and I call back to him. “What do you want to drink.” There is an almighty long pause and I am just about to shout irritably at him to answer me when he calls: “Lemon & Ginger!”
It crosses my mind that it’s a rather tame drink to be having on such an historic occasion. It should be beer really. However, it’s only him in there. The Boys are too young and in bed while I, well I never think it a good idea to watch. Call me superstitious but if I watch England they’ll lose – you’ll know who to blame then if it all goes pear-shaped.
I am now ensconced upstairs on my computer and trying to work while my ears strain to catch how the match is going.
It’s 8:56 Oh God I can hear the muffled and excited jabbering of the commentator and roar of the crowd from the sitting room downstairs. “OH YES!” Then shouting up at me “Liza! England has scored.” I shout back: “That’s brilliant!” Rather than “I know you berk – I’m listening!”
It’s quiet again – I’ll have to go and watch. I need to know the score. I’ll make myself some tea and sort of loll against the doorpost to catch a glimpse of the action – it’s not really watching….
How can they do that – It’s been disallowed! With half an hour to go England are still in with a chance its’ Eng 6; RSA 9. As I shot through the sitting room not daring to look at the screen I hear the crowd on the telly singing Swing Low Sweet Chariot and I feel that if the team hears that surely their hearts will swell and the at fighting spirit will not be dimmed. Charlie is curled up on the sofas. Tight and small - coiled I’d say. Ready to explode. The tension in the house is beginning to make the cats' uneasy. They’re always the first to vocalise what the rest of us feel.
I’ve get my bar of chocolate and cup of tea. The chocolate as some sort of release. It always calms me and I need a lot of calming. My ears are straining again a whistle has blown nothing much can be going our way as I can hardly hear a thing. Perhaps if I were in South Africa the TV would be alive with something different maybe now their commentators are gabbling in excitement and the crowds are roaring…
No noise, nothing. I can hear them again, no nothing. I will stay where I am though the temptation to dive down the stairs is overwhelming. Have another piece of chocolate. I can hear the commentator reeling off names, the ball is being passed now there’s a scrum and I can see in my minds’ eye a tumult of hard-pressed muscle green and white; thighs and forearms, a squashed English rose.
It’s quiet again from downstairs; the telly warbles in the background but the sound is indistinct. No wait. Oh my god I think they're going to score again! Shite no - its OK I hear them again…do I go down? I’ll have to….
South Africa is leading by 9 points. As I look anxiously across at the telly in the corner Charlie turns to me: “Well, South Africa has had all the luck, England are doing all the running.
“Yeh, but South Africa is winning!” I growl.
“All it will take is one try and that will change everything,” he says – I feel he is just trying to be positive for the sake of it. I don’t feel his heart’s in it. Maybe it’s mine that isn’t. Oh! I so want a fairy tale ending.
I retreat back upstairs…
There’s a build up in tension again – the match seems to have been very close but its looks like South Africa are going to take it. There’s a roar from the crowd, but I can’t hear Charlie. I think, I think it’s all over….
I peer round the corner at the telly and there are the South Africans hugging each other and the English looking sad and tired, stiff upper lips all round. I am proud of them. To come all this way.
“It was a good match?” I ask.
“I think England played much better,” says Charlie meaning much better than South Africa. I love him when he is like this. Proud in defeat. “If we’d been allowed that try it would have been a different game,” he adds
The commentator echoes the sentiment.
I watch the wind down and as I clear up and put the dogs out and I hear Brian Corry being interviewed:
Interviewer: All that heart all that courage…
Brian Corry: Yes, but it’s such a shame that all that heart and all that courage comes to nothing.” His disappointment is palatable.And my last thought is how wrong you are – we was robbed and in another time we’d be celebrating fairy tale ending! I believe in fairy tales…and I can hear the sound of “Another Country” and my heart swells with joy and pride….just you wait next time!
“It’s not as bad as you think: South Africa have been lucky.” He says. As way of greeting, I start to say some inanity but something happens on the screen and Charlie twitches in sympathy with his heroes and it quite disconcerts me. I notice he can’t keep his feet still and he runs his hands up and down his thighs as if in preparation to catch the ball. I ask him if he’s like some supper. He glances at me, frowning a little confused – I am disturbing his concentration. He flicks his hand showing me his plate: “I’ve had some.” and there’s a roar from the crowd on the television and his eyes snap back to the screen.
As I walk to the kitchen he calls after me. “I’ve go to get a closer look at the scrum…” then as if remembering what it was he wanted he tersely adds: “put the kettle on!”
I get my supper and listen to his commentary from the sitting room. I am unsure whether it’s for me or for himself. I feel the professionals are making a better job of it but I say nothing. The timing would not be right.
The kettle boils and I call back to him. “What do you want to drink.” There is an almighty long pause and I am just about to shout irritably at him to answer me when he calls: “Lemon & Ginger!”
It crosses my mind that it’s a rather tame drink to be having on such an historic occasion. It should be beer really. However, it’s only him in there. The Boys are too young and in bed while I, well I never think it a good idea to watch. Call me superstitious but if I watch England they’ll lose – you’ll know who to blame then if it all goes pear-shaped.
I am now ensconced upstairs on my computer and trying to work while my ears strain to catch how the match is going.
It’s 8:56 Oh God I can hear the muffled and excited jabbering of the commentator and roar of the crowd from the sitting room downstairs. “OH YES!” Then shouting up at me “Liza! England has scored.” I shout back: “That’s brilliant!” Rather than “I know you berk – I’m listening!”
It’s quiet again – I’ll have to go and watch. I need to know the score. I’ll make myself some tea and sort of loll against the doorpost to catch a glimpse of the action – it’s not really watching….
How can they do that – It’s been disallowed! With half an hour to go England are still in with a chance its’ Eng 6; RSA 9. As I shot through the sitting room not daring to look at the screen I hear the crowd on the telly singing Swing Low Sweet Chariot and I feel that if the team hears that surely their hearts will swell and the at fighting spirit will not be dimmed. Charlie is curled up on the sofas. Tight and small - coiled I’d say. Ready to explode. The tension in the house is beginning to make the cats' uneasy. They’re always the first to vocalise what the rest of us feel.
I’ve get my bar of chocolate and cup of tea. The chocolate as some sort of release. It always calms me and I need a lot of calming. My ears are straining again a whistle has blown nothing much can be going our way as I can hardly hear a thing. Perhaps if I were in South Africa the TV would be alive with something different maybe now their commentators are gabbling in excitement and the crowds are roaring…
No noise, nothing. I can hear them again, no nothing. I will stay where I am though the temptation to dive down the stairs is overwhelming. Have another piece of chocolate. I can hear the commentator reeling off names, the ball is being passed now there’s a scrum and I can see in my minds’ eye a tumult of hard-pressed muscle green and white; thighs and forearms, a squashed English rose.
It’s quiet again from downstairs; the telly warbles in the background but the sound is indistinct. No wait. Oh my god I think they're going to score again! Shite no - its OK I hear them again…do I go down? I’ll have to….
South Africa is leading by 9 points. As I look anxiously across at the telly in the corner Charlie turns to me: “Well, South Africa has had all the luck, England are doing all the running.
“Yeh, but South Africa is winning!” I growl.
“All it will take is one try and that will change everything,” he says – I feel he is just trying to be positive for the sake of it. I don’t feel his heart’s in it. Maybe it’s mine that isn’t. Oh! I so want a fairy tale ending.
I retreat back upstairs…
There’s a build up in tension again – the match seems to have been very close but its looks like South Africa are going to take it. There’s a roar from the crowd, but I can’t hear Charlie. I think, I think it’s all over….
I peer round the corner at the telly and there are the South Africans hugging each other and the English looking sad and tired, stiff upper lips all round. I am proud of them. To come all this way.
“It was a good match?” I ask.
“I think England played much better,” says Charlie meaning much better than South Africa. I love him when he is like this. Proud in defeat. “If we’d been allowed that try it would have been a different game,” he adds
The commentator echoes the sentiment.
I watch the wind down and as I clear up and put the dogs out and I hear Brian Corry being interviewed:
Interviewer: All that heart all that courage…
Brian Corry: Yes, but it’s such a shame that all that heart and all that courage comes to nothing.” His disappointment is palatable.And my last thought is how wrong you are – we was robbed and in another time we’d be celebrating fairy tale ending! I believe in fairy tales…and I can hear the sound of “Another Country” and my heart swells with joy and pride….just you wait next time!
Monday, 15 October 2007
48 Questions…and as many answers
1. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE?
I was going to be called Sian but Grandad put a stop to that saying with a surname like Helps I wouldn’t be off to the best of starts!!!!
2. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED?
Last week in frustration over the state of my life and everything that that encompasses.
3. Do you like your handwriting?
Nope it’s awful and I am very aware of that fact. Was publically humiliated by my father-in-law over the state of it too
4. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH MEAL?
Roast beef sandwiches with horseradish.
5. DO YOU HAVE KIDS?
Yes, two edible boys.
6. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU?
Unsure of that. I’m told I have a very sharp tongue and I might scare myself.
7. DO YOU USE SARCASM ALOT?
I don’t think so.
8. DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS
Yes.
9. WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP?
No way there are plenty of safer ways to scare myself silly – looking at my bank statement springs to mind!.
10. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL?
All of them bar All bran or anything too healthy – currently eating Cheerios in the morning. Sometimes have a run on Porridge. Never been known to refuse Frosties/Cocopops/Frutloops etc.
11. DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF?
Very, very rarely although I mean to ‘cos it’s such a fag when you have to put them on again!
12. DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG?
Depends what’s facing me. Strong to climb Everest? Then perhaps but very very slowly. Strong to face loneliness? Well not in company but would get on with it on my own.
13. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM?
Not ice cream - sorbet and if that, then lemon every time!
14. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE?
Eyes.
15. RED OR PINK?
Red.
16. WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF?
Being fearful. I am such a wimp and always worried about what people think!
17. WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST
Granny Sue.
18. DO YOU WANT EVERYONE TO SEND THIS BACK TO YOU?
Yes.
19. WHAT COLOUR PANTS (TROUSERS) AND SHOES ARE YOU WEARING?
Dark blue jeans and faded blue Sloppy Joes.
20. WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU ATE?
Piece of cake which I promised to save for The Boy but decided to eat ‘cos I thought it would go stale - now have to replace it so he won’t notice, which means buying a whole new cake!
21. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW?
The hum of my computer and the thumping and banging upstairs of the whippet as she rolls ( I think) around on the floor - I have no idea why she’s doing this just a manic Monday I suppose.
22. IF YOU WHERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE?
Purple - of course!!!!!!
23. FAVORITE SMELLS?
Cut grass – reminds me of summers as a child and being allowed to ride in Granny Sue’s wooden wheelbarrow up and down the garden.
24. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE?
The registrar at school to say I had not found anyone else to replace me as Parent Schools Liaison so I’d be doing it again this year…..
25. DO YOU LIKE THE PERSON WHO SENT THIS TO YOU?
Yes
26. FAVORITE SPORTS TO WATCH?
Show jumping
27. HAIR COLOR?
Brunette with natural white highlights.
28. EYE COLOR?
Hazel but it changes in the light from grey to green to brown - so I’ve been told.
29. Do you wear contacts?
No.
30. FAVORITE FOOD?
Apart from Sorbet? Proper Chinese food. Husband hates it; so get it oh, so very, very, rarely…
31. SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS?
Always happy endings even in horror stories...
32. LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED?
Ice Age on TV. Bourne Ultimatum in the Cinema.
33. WHAT COLOR SHIRT ARE YOU WEARING?
Wearing a brown stripey fleece and black padded waistcoat – it’s cold outside!
34. SUMMER OR WINTER?
Both – summer for lazing on the lawn and dozing in the heat; winter for brisk bright mornings and getting a move on!
35. HUGS OR KISSES?
Cuddles when feeling sad, kisses when feeling … well I leave that to your imaginations!
36. FAVORITE DESSERT?
Lemon sorbet.
37. MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND?
Purple people!
38. LEAST LIKELY TO RESPOND?
My Dad.
39. What book are you reading now?
Atonement by Ian McEwan; Cow by Hannah Velten; Lollipop Shoes by Joanne Harris and The Devil’s Cub by Georgette Heyer. I like to have a choice at bedtime/bathtime etc.
40. WHAT IS ON YOUR MOUSE PAD?
Dirt.
41. WHAT DID YOU WATCH ON T.V. LAST NIGHT?
Ugly Betty/Argentina vs RSA.
42. FAVORITE SOUND?
Laughter.
43. ROLLING STONES OR BEATLES?
Beatles – I enjoy singing along and anyway Mick Jagger scares me!
44. WHAT IS THE FARTHEST YOU HAVE BEEN FROM HOME?
In physical time the Magnetic North Pole; in distance (if home is the UK) then Hawaii/Hong Kong and the bit inbetween.
45. DO YOU HAVE A SPECIAL TALENT?
Still looking for it….
46. WHERE WERE YOU BORN?
Carmarthen in Wales
47. WHOSE ANSWERS ARE YOU LOOKING FORWARD TO GETTING BACK?
Anyone’s - I'm nosey.
48. WHAT TIME IS IT NOW?
1402hrs. Monday
I was going to be called Sian but Grandad put a stop to that saying with a surname like Helps I wouldn’t be off to the best of starts!!!!
2. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED?
Last week in frustration over the state of my life and everything that that encompasses.
3. Do you like your handwriting?
Nope it’s awful and I am very aware of that fact. Was publically humiliated by my father-in-law over the state of it too
4. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH MEAL?
Roast beef sandwiches with horseradish.
5. DO YOU HAVE KIDS?
Yes, two edible boys.
6. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU?
Unsure of that. I’m told I have a very sharp tongue and I might scare myself.
7. DO YOU USE SARCASM ALOT?
I don’t think so.
8. DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS
Yes.
9. WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP?
No way there are plenty of safer ways to scare myself silly – looking at my bank statement springs to mind!.
10. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL?
All of them bar All bran or anything too healthy – currently eating Cheerios in the morning. Sometimes have a run on Porridge. Never been known to refuse Frosties/Cocopops/Frutloops etc.
11. DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF?
Very, very rarely although I mean to ‘cos it’s such a fag when you have to put them on again!
12. DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG?
Depends what’s facing me. Strong to climb Everest? Then perhaps but very very slowly. Strong to face loneliness? Well not in company but would get on with it on my own.
13. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM?
Not ice cream - sorbet and if that, then lemon every time!
14. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE?
Eyes.
15. RED OR PINK?
Red.
16. WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF?
Being fearful. I am such a wimp and always worried about what people think!
17. WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST
Granny Sue.
18. DO YOU WANT EVERYONE TO SEND THIS BACK TO YOU?
Yes.
19. WHAT COLOUR PANTS (TROUSERS) AND SHOES ARE YOU WEARING?
Dark blue jeans and faded blue Sloppy Joes.
20. WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU ATE?
Piece of cake which I promised to save for The Boy but decided to eat ‘cos I thought it would go stale - now have to replace it so he won’t notice, which means buying a whole new cake!
21. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW?
The hum of my computer and the thumping and banging upstairs of the whippet as she rolls ( I think) around on the floor - I have no idea why she’s doing this just a manic Monday I suppose.
22. IF YOU WHERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE?
Purple - of course!!!!!!
23. FAVORITE SMELLS?
Cut grass – reminds me of summers as a child and being allowed to ride in Granny Sue’s wooden wheelbarrow up and down the garden.
24. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE?
The registrar at school to say I had not found anyone else to replace me as Parent Schools Liaison so I’d be doing it again this year…..
25. DO YOU LIKE THE PERSON WHO SENT THIS TO YOU?
Yes
26. FAVORITE SPORTS TO WATCH?
Show jumping
27. HAIR COLOR?
Brunette with natural white highlights.
28. EYE COLOR?
Hazel but it changes in the light from grey to green to brown - so I’ve been told.
29. Do you wear contacts?
No.
30. FAVORITE FOOD?
Apart from Sorbet? Proper Chinese food. Husband hates it; so get it oh, so very, very, rarely…
31. SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS?
Always happy endings even in horror stories...
32. LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED?
Ice Age on TV. Bourne Ultimatum in the Cinema.
33. WHAT COLOR SHIRT ARE YOU WEARING?
Wearing a brown stripey fleece and black padded waistcoat – it’s cold outside!
34. SUMMER OR WINTER?
Both – summer for lazing on the lawn and dozing in the heat; winter for brisk bright mornings and getting a move on!
35. HUGS OR KISSES?
Cuddles when feeling sad, kisses when feeling … well I leave that to your imaginations!
36. FAVORITE DESSERT?
Lemon sorbet.
37. MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND?
Purple people!
38. LEAST LIKELY TO RESPOND?
My Dad.
39. What book are you reading now?
Atonement by Ian McEwan; Cow by Hannah Velten; Lollipop Shoes by Joanne Harris and The Devil’s Cub by Georgette Heyer. I like to have a choice at bedtime/bathtime etc.
40. WHAT IS ON YOUR MOUSE PAD?
Dirt.
41. WHAT DID YOU WATCH ON T.V. LAST NIGHT?
Ugly Betty/Argentina vs RSA.
42. FAVORITE SOUND?
Laughter.
43. ROLLING STONES OR BEATLES?
Beatles – I enjoy singing along and anyway Mick Jagger scares me!
44. WHAT IS THE FARTHEST YOU HAVE BEEN FROM HOME?
In physical time the Magnetic North Pole; in distance (if home is the UK) then Hawaii/Hong Kong and the bit inbetween.
45. DO YOU HAVE A SPECIAL TALENT?
Still looking for it….
46. WHERE WERE YOU BORN?
Carmarthen in Wales
47. WHOSE ANSWERS ARE YOU LOOKING FORWARD TO GETTING BACK?
Anyone’s - I'm nosey.
48. WHAT TIME IS IT NOW?
1402hrs. Monday
Sunday, 14 October 2007
Stumbles, trips and blips
Sometimes you just can’t say the right thing in fact you can’t seem to write at all! No matter how hard you try all your thoughts seem to shrivel away in the glare from the computer screen. You trip and stumble and rough your words and it all comes out – well, just awful.
When the words you write are full of import they just seem to die and the clarity you had just moments before cannot be transferred to the page. The frustration!
Then…the doubts.
I write for a living, usually it comes out pretty clean, not too much effort but there again I have been writing about the same specialised subject for years. I was thrown the other day by a simple conversation and I tried, unsuccessfully, to explain. The words I wrote just wouldn’t. They came out messy, convoluted, mean, condescending, arrogant, crap!
And suddenly my whole world went up in the air! If I could not explain the basics of a subject that I have been in the heart of for eight years, what sort of writer was I? Obviously not a good one.
I was trained to believe that a good writer, in a few short sentences, should be able to explain everything - and I mean everything - to his or her reader. It is something that I used to pride myself on – in fact something I used to be employed for. No, I wasn’t your leading columnist. No, I wouldn’t be getting by-lines in the nationals but I have/had a reputation for the clarity of my writing.
I’m not so sure now….
Someone sweetly said loads of working mums feel like I do from time to time and that my confidence will return. Well, least I’m writing this again…
When the words you write are full of import they just seem to die and the clarity you had just moments before cannot be transferred to the page. The frustration!
Then…the doubts.
I write for a living, usually it comes out pretty clean, not too much effort but there again I have been writing about the same specialised subject for years. I was thrown the other day by a simple conversation and I tried, unsuccessfully, to explain. The words I wrote just wouldn’t. They came out messy, convoluted, mean, condescending, arrogant, crap!
And suddenly my whole world went up in the air! If I could not explain the basics of a subject that I have been in the heart of for eight years, what sort of writer was I? Obviously not a good one.
I was trained to believe that a good writer, in a few short sentences, should be able to explain everything - and I mean everything - to his or her reader. It is something that I used to pride myself on – in fact something I used to be employed for. No, I wasn’t your leading columnist. No, I wouldn’t be getting by-lines in the nationals but I have/had a reputation for the clarity of my writing.
I’m not so sure now….
Someone sweetly said loads of working mums feel like I do from time to time and that my confidence will return. Well, least I’m writing this again…
Thursday, 4 October 2007
RESPECT your chickens....
I am rapidly revising my ideas about chickens mostly I think of them as dumb clucks, sometimes a feather short of a full wing but in no way do I think of them as cunning, vicious killers.
However, today my blood ran cold. Today I realised that though the velociraptor is extinct its legacy lives on in its feathered descendants far more than may commonly be realised.
I had just been round to check on “Said Chicken” and ascertain if she really was one of my flock – I couldn’t get close enough to work it out so prepped Roger to catch her later in the day - and went to open up the Chicken shed.
I call to the tree chickens first; they roost in the trees at night and are more bantam like than their Chicken Shed cousins. I think that being smaller they need to get a look in before the bigger birds are let out. Then I usually open up the small chick cage to let out the babies and when I think they’ve had a good old go, I nip round the back and open the hatch.
Out they pour, clucking and cackling, a blur of black, brown speckled, white and grey blue feathers. Clacking yellow, pink and black long toed feet on the ramp a few jump and a few fly and whoosh they are round the corner and tucking in – only today something else happened.
There was the most god awful strangulated squawk from behind me and I swivelled on my feet to witness one of the younger cockerels chasing down what I thought was a chick – just as I started to burst into action and chase the bugger away, Blue – my Old English Game hen - joined in from the opposite direction. The “Chick” jinxed and got passed Blue who had made a lunge at it missing it by inches. Having survived that it seemed to falter and I realised that it was a juvenile Moorhen. I must have been slow because I could have grabbed it and rescued it but it dodged round me with both Blue and the young cockerel quite literally on its tail only to run straight into a few other hens. I thought it would be OK and relaxed a bit only to find that all the others turned on it as well.The bird was trapped and then all the hens all started to peck and jump up and down pulverising the unfortunate creature to death. It was all over within seconds and then my blood ran truly cold for with it dead the chickens started to feast. And those who has not taken part started to flock over and it was like out of some horror film – chickens grabbing at bits of gore, fighting, squawking and then it was all over and they were back to normal pecking away in the sunshine at the left over corn or wandering off to check out the garden, drink by the moat or else dust bathe in the sunshine. Just another normal autumn morning…and I am left standing looking about for evidence of this extraordinary goings on. Just a pair of yellow feet and some dusty grey black wing feathers…I am not so sure I will dismiss my chickens in quite the same way as before. RESPECT your chickens.
However, today my blood ran cold. Today I realised that though the velociraptor is extinct its legacy lives on in its feathered descendants far more than may commonly be realised.
I had just been round to check on “Said Chicken” and ascertain if she really was one of my flock – I couldn’t get close enough to work it out so prepped Roger to catch her later in the day - and went to open up the Chicken shed.
I call to the tree chickens first; they roost in the trees at night and are more bantam like than their Chicken Shed cousins. I think that being smaller they need to get a look in before the bigger birds are let out. Then I usually open up the small chick cage to let out the babies and when I think they’ve had a good old go, I nip round the back and open the hatch.
Out they pour, clucking and cackling, a blur of black, brown speckled, white and grey blue feathers. Clacking yellow, pink and black long toed feet on the ramp a few jump and a few fly and whoosh they are round the corner and tucking in – only today something else happened.
There was the most god awful strangulated squawk from behind me and I swivelled on my feet to witness one of the younger cockerels chasing down what I thought was a chick – just as I started to burst into action and chase the bugger away, Blue – my Old English Game hen - joined in from the opposite direction. The “Chick” jinxed and got passed Blue who had made a lunge at it missing it by inches. Having survived that it seemed to falter and I realised that it was a juvenile Moorhen. I must have been slow because I could have grabbed it and rescued it but it dodged round me with both Blue and the young cockerel quite literally on its tail only to run straight into a few other hens. I thought it would be OK and relaxed a bit only to find that all the others turned on it as well.The bird was trapped and then all the hens all started to peck and jump up and down pulverising the unfortunate creature to death. It was all over within seconds and then my blood ran truly cold for with it dead the chickens started to feast. And those who has not taken part started to flock over and it was like out of some horror film – chickens grabbing at bits of gore, fighting, squawking and then it was all over and they were back to normal pecking away in the sunshine at the left over corn or wandering off to check out the garden, drink by the moat or else dust bathe in the sunshine. Just another normal autumn morning…and I am left standing looking about for evidence of this extraordinary goings on. Just a pair of yellow feet and some dusty grey black wing feathers…I am not so sure I will dismiss my chickens in quite the same way as before. RESPECT your chickens.
Wednesday, 3 October 2007
One of your chickens is missing….
I’ve just had a call from a lovely lady in the Village who informs me that one of my chickens is missing.
“Really?” Says I, “which one?”
“The brown one.”
“Right, um… do you know which brown one?”
“Well the one that’s missing…”
“Are you sure it’s mine?”
“Well, I asked Annie and she said it was….”
Now I don’t mind holding my hand up to ownership of said chicken it just depends whether the said chicken has been behaving itself. So I tremulously asked what the chicken had been up to. Imagination in overdrive after reading an article which linked Jurassic Park velociraptors to chickens, I imagined said chicken stalking unwary village folk, flying out at head height and scaring toddlers into dropping their sweets, chasing old age pensioners into their sheds then scrabbling away at the dirt outside the doors in an attempt to get in and all the time my said chicken was growing from bantam size into something the magnitude of a small Nissan Micra.
As she started to speak my heart started thudding rather uncomfortably….
“Oh no, the chicken’s just been wandering around for the past few days and we were getting worried about it.”
After recent events in the Village I was mighty relieved to hear those comforting words – all it had been doing was causing people to be worried…phew!
I have now arranged to catch it tomorrow and bring it back to the flock… I’m not sure if it is going to be too pleased about these events as it is obviously enjoying the attentions of several households, which have been feeding it a variety of food from crisps and breadcrumbs to hamster food.
“Really?” Says I, “which one?”
“The brown one.”
“Right, um… do you know which brown one?”
“Well the one that’s missing…”
“Are you sure it’s mine?”
“Well, I asked Annie and she said it was….”
Now I don’t mind holding my hand up to ownership of said chicken it just depends whether the said chicken has been behaving itself. So I tremulously asked what the chicken had been up to. Imagination in overdrive after reading an article which linked Jurassic Park velociraptors to chickens, I imagined said chicken stalking unwary village folk, flying out at head height and scaring toddlers into dropping their sweets, chasing old age pensioners into their sheds then scrabbling away at the dirt outside the doors in an attempt to get in and all the time my said chicken was growing from bantam size into something the magnitude of a small Nissan Micra.
As she started to speak my heart started thudding rather uncomfortably….
“Oh no, the chicken’s just been wandering around for the past few days and we were getting worried about it.”
After recent events in the Village I was mighty relieved to hear those comforting words – all it had been doing was causing people to be worried…phew!
I have now arranged to catch it tomorrow and bring it back to the flock… I’m not sure if it is going to be too pleased about these events as it is obviously enjoying the attentions of several households, which have been feeding it a variety of food from crisps and breadcrumbs to hamster food.
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