Tag Archives: Memories

Seasons – Poem

This is one of a series of poems, written by my Grandmother, that represent a portrait of her childhood in Thomas Hardy’s Wessex, places and people she loved who are, for the most part, no longer with us. She dedicates each and every poem to her daughters, and has kindly given me permission to share them with you all, enjoy…

 

Seasons

There were rich pickings in the hedgerows then,

Where the blackberries crowded out the sloe

And hop vines twined about the wild rosehips

And hawthorn berries cast a scarlet glow.

 

To the music of birdsong we would pick

Our fill throughout the season; then the mist

of autumn would sparkle like jewels, from

Cobwebs flung down with a prodigal fist.

 

On branches where the fruit had lately been,

And through the winter, feasting on the good

Rich harvest of the summer, round fires of logs,

Pale summer ghosts curled from the smould’ring wood.

 

© Dorothy Davis-Sellick 1998 onwards

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Filed under Meet The Family, Other Folks Writings That I Like, Poem Of The Week, Poetry

Harvest Service – Poem

This is one of a series of poems, written by my Grandmother, that represent a portrait of her childhood in Thomas Hardy’s Wessex, places and people she loved who are, for the most part, no longer with us. She dedicates each and every poem to her daughters, and has kindly given me permission to share them with you all, enjoy…

 

Harvest Service

Welcoming us, the rector said,

“I wish that we could see you here

More often than just once a year, at harvest.”

 

Avoiding his eyes, we looked around

At the results of a year’s work

Piled high above the altar. The best

 

Of all that we had worked for

Throughout a lonely year – fruit and

Vegetables, and a tall ladder, which

 

Entwined with flowers and greenery,

Reached up the wall and raised our eyes

To where the autumn sunlight cast a rich

 

Jewelled pattern through the old stained-glass.

I wondered why we’d come that day.

Were our motives truly estimable –

 

And were we thinking of Our Lord

Or did a memory stir, deep down

Of Gods more ancient and implacable?

 

© Dorothy Davis-Sellick 1998 onwards

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V E Day At Chickerell – Poem

This is one of a series of poems, written by my Grandmother, that represent a portrait of her childhood in Thomas Hardy’s Wessex, places and people she loved who are, for the most part, no longer with us. She dedicates each and every poem to her daughters, and has kindly given me permission to share them with you all, enjoy…

 

 

V E Day At Chickerell

I remember V E Day. Some of the

Ladies from the village organised

A celebration. In a field high up

Above the village, they realised

 

A childhood dream. A mound of furniture

Higher than the houses round about,

Or so it seemed, and seated on the top,

An effigy of Hitler. No doubt

 

Their happiness was touched with sadness

For sons and husbands who would not

Return, and lost years, when children grew

Without a father’s care. But see

 

The baker’s wife proudly upon the

back of an old lorry. Dressed as Churchill,

Complete with huge cigar, her hands raised in

Victorious salute. Nothing will

 

Erase the thrill as that gigantic pyre

Flared up to set alight again a world grown

Used to darkness. And for one night, at least,

Fire cauterised our fears, and hopes were sown.

 

© Dorothy Davis-Sellick 1998 onwards

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After Morning Service – Poem

This is one of a series of poems, written by my Grandmother, that represent a portrait of her childhood in Thomas Hardy’s Wessex, places and people she loved who are, for the most part, no longer with us. She dedicates each and every poem to her daughters, and has kindly given me permission to share them with you all, enjoy…

After Morning Service

After morning service we would walk for miles;

Outside the village, over stiles

And up a softly sloping hill

Where violets hid beneath the hedge, till,

From the top, we could look out across the trees.

To where the ocean skittered in the breeze.

And if there ever had been any doubt –

What, we had wondered, was it all about –

It soon dissolved itself, faced with the drama

Of that supernal panorama.

 

© Dorothy Davis-Sellick 1998 onwards

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Night Sounds – Poem

This is one of a series of poems, written by my Grandmother, that represent a portrait of her childhood in Thomas Hardy’s Wessex, places and people she loved who are, for the most part, no longer with us. She dedicates each and every poem to her daughters, and has kindly given me permission to share them with you all, enjoy…

 

Night Sounds

 

Nights were never lonely then at their house,

For all night long steam engines shunted

In the railway yards beyond the park,

The hollow clang of buffers blunted

By the distance: across the play park

Where I paddled in the pool and high

Up in the air would swing on summer days;

And through the trees, whose restless leaves would sigh

As if in answer. I never feared

The dark or loneliness in those days;

Untroubled mind absorbing what might come

Not yet bewildered by life’s tangled maze.

 

© Dorothy Davis-Sellick 1998 onwards

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The Old Church – Poem

This is one of a series of poems, written by my Grandmother, that represent a portrait of her childhood in Thomas Hardy’s Wessex, places and people she loved who are, for the most part, no longer with us. She dedicates each and every poem to her daughters, and has kindly given me permission to share them with you all, enjoy…

 

The Old Church

Old churches fascinated us.

Not so much the content, as it were –

We knew God was up there above

The sky, and down below, set to lure

 

The unwary, old Nick himself –

But in the churches round about, we

Blended with our past, the old knights

Even kings, in marbled prayer, the key

 

To open every mystery and myth;

Ethelred, lying there at Wimbourne

And various Salisburys and such.

But, when we were young, we did not scorn

 

The humbler buildings. One night at

Portesham, we left the hall where we

Were dancing, and sat in darkness

In the nearby church. we could not see

 

Much more than a suggestion of

Slightly less dense blackness where windows

Ought to be. We did not know what

To expect would happen, or what foes

 

Should lurk within the house of God;

But when the wheezing clock struck midnight

We bolted, though I never knew

The true reason for our craven flight.

 

Was it fear of undead spirits

At this bewitching hour? Or just then,

Did we remember that my mother

Had expected us since half-past ten?

 

© Dorothy Davis-Sellick 1998 onwards

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A Nostalgic Evening In – Hic!

 

For all those still awaiting the pics of the new house, they WILL be forthcoming very soon, I promise! I have finally recovered them from the dead hard-drive, but due to my ancient old PC taking a lifetime to upload pics, I shall do that post at the weekend, probably on Sunday evening once BabyMibs finally heads off to sleep!

 

You’d think on this auspicious “extra day” Leap Year week that I’d have been able to catch up with everything, but NO, not a chance, that day had just as few hours in it as every other!

 

This week has been one of many colours. I finally got the very last of the boxes and bags unpacked…resulting in a pile of stuff to   sell online   in order to finance my next venture…. making things from home to sell! ( I had no idea how much “stuff” you actually NEED in order to engage in the simple act of card making!)

 

BabyMibs and myself have also been busy planting lots and lots of every kind of seed for the garden that you can imagine..a whole post on that subject will follow! ( bearing in mind we now have half a field to populate., unlike the old place where we just had one row of pots!)

 

It’s now Friday night, I have neglected ( run out of time and energy) to do my FF’s, (twitter fans will know what that means), my comping prowess has waned somewhat due to swollen over-typed fingers, and instead have chosen to fire up some very old tracks from my nightclubbing youth days!

 

It’s great NOT to have to worry about annoying any neighbours….we don’t really have any!

 

SO, loud nostalgic music whacked up, a slightly tipsy Mibsy dancing barefoot around a huge house, and a lot of memories of the “good old days” flooding back.

 

Am I the only one who has these flashbacks, and conveniently forgets all the bad times there really were, how many times you’d manage to scrape just enough money together for the extortionate entry fee to whichever club it was you wanted to go to, leaving barely enough for one drink in the hope that some blokey would take pity on you and not only buy you a drink but also ask you to dance?

 

I haven’t actually heard some of these tracks for years, yet know each and every one of them inside out. ( see   HERE   if you really want a giggle!)

 

How many bands/acts out there today have come up with such imaginative titles as     “Bango To The Batmobile”    , “Jack To The Sound Of The Underground” , “The Funky Worm”   and   “Humanoid?”

 

Yes, I know, I am really showing my age now!

 

Interestingly, once when I was DJ’ing, I asked the audience what their favourite era’s were, and then,  what they liked in modern times…anyone liking music form the 50’s to the 70’s, simply didn’t like anything else unless it was of a similar style to their era, whereas us 80’s and 90’s “kids” seemed to have much more varied tastes through the ages.

 

I think my all-time favourite tunes way back when that hold the most nightclub outing memories for me have to be    Alexander O’Neal – Criticise,    Adonis – The Poke,   Beatmasters – Burn It Up   and Funky Worm – Hustle To The Music ( which had my 5 yr old in stitches!)

 

Oh, and does anyone remember the horrid ritual of the little black dress and handbag? All girls were obliged to wear a little black dress, and plonk their handbag in the middle of the dance floor, then dance tentatively around it , whilst the shiny-suited lads were supposed to form a line around them awaiting the nerve to ask one gal to dance?

 

The old rules were, the club would always play one slow dance at the end of the night, and if you hadn’t “pulled” someone to dance that one with, then you had failed! ( remember these?  Bird Of Paradise  and Songbird  ( is it just me or is it a total coincidence that the end-of-night tunes were all related to feathered fiends?)

 

Needless to say, my nightclub days fast waned when they decided to only play either disco or ballads. I went “underground” and discovered the delights of the Prodigy,     The Orb,    Shamen,     System 7   etc , (although I have never quite shaken off my secret love for   Lionel Richie’s Hello  the original stalker song lol , or   George Michael’s Careless Whisper! )

 

For me, songs are as good as photographs, they bring back little snapshots of memories. Play me almost any track from the 80’s, and I not only will most likely be able to name it, I’ll also know the lyrics, AND be able to tell you where I was and who with the first time I heard it! Yes, there were some sad moments, but there were also some great times!

 

What songs bring back memories for you?

Me off to prance around to the   Theme From S’Express   now! lol

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