THERE IS A SPIDER IN MY SHOWER  HELP!!

Six months in Whitley Bay’.

We lived in Leeds, Roy and I were engaged to be married. The firm Roy worked for, Crowe’s, a Leeds Drapery Wholesaler, decided to move him to their Newcastle office. Roy was then, the firm’s youngest ‘Commercial Traveller’, his claim to fame that he ‘travelled in Ladies Underwear’, which explained the bra in his glove compartment and the knickers in his pocket.

Well!! What were we to do? Bring our wedding forward of course! We married in September 1959, had a week’s honeymoon in the Lake District, returned to Leeds to say our goodbyes to our families. The first Sunday in October we left Leeds. We were so excited and giddy and couldn’t wait to arrive in the North East.

We had chosen a house in Cleadon Village, Sunderland, but it would not be completed until February 1960. One of Roy’s’ customers had put us in touch with a widowed lady, who offered us two rooms in her house, with use of kitchen and bathroom.

The house, in Whitley Bay, was in a huge Victorian terrace house in a tree-lined street, Two blocks away was the Sea Front. For ‘two kids’ from Leeds this was fantastic. Our landlady Etta, (short for Henrietta) told us.

‘Locals don’t go on the beach when the tourists are here’.

We used to go down late evenings, walking down to the front, cutting a corner by going through the Amusement Park called Spanish City. A big white complex built in the Spanish style. We would walk along the beach to St. Mary’s Lighthouse, do a ‘turn’ around it and retraced our steps.

Roy had lived away from home from being 15 years old, but this was my first experience of moving to a different area. I joined the Library and found out about local history and geography. Etta confirmed where we ought to visit. We started exploring the west or, ‘Military Road’, which was a Roman Road going from Newcastle to Carlisle. We visited many delightful rural villages and towns along the banks of the River Tyne, including going ‘Along the Scotswood Road to Blaydon’, but not to the races! We saw Rowlands Ghyll, Corbridge and Hexham.

Then we explored to the North. Roy did a lot of driving over his large selling territory, Monday to Friday, but always ready to take me out at the weekends - he did love driving in those days. His life was fast and furious in its pace. North of Whitley Bay are some glorious beaches, long and deserted. There are also some dreadful ones, where coal mine waste was dumped on the beaches. Along with discarded and rusting machinery. There were beaches where opencast mining digging out ‘Sea Coal took place. A better name would have been ‘black beaches’

As we explored further up the Coast Road, we were amazed at the large number of Stately homes, ancient buildings, and the Castles, big, small, romantic ones, the dark, brooding and menacing ones.  We loved them all. Eventually, we found the stunningly beautiful Beadnell Bay, which passing through leads you to the huge red stone Castle which is Bamburgh Castle. In the sunlight, is stones shimmer and glisten and take your breath away.

Not far north of Bamburgh, is the road that leads down to the Causeway that you drive across to The Holy Island of Lindisfarne. It is a dramatic drive across, you have to be aware of tide times, the Causeway is underwater parts of the day. On your right side, you can see the Pilgrims Way, Stakes in the sand that the ancient Monks  and now, modern Pilgrims use. On your left are the high sand dunes that hide your view of the Priory and the Castle which sits on its rocky outcrop. The first time we rounded the corner and saw them, we held our breath in an instant it began our love affair with the Island. We were lucky at that stage to see it before the mass tourism

If you head north of the Castle, the beaches are isolated, lonely places, you can sit hidden in the sand dunes and look across at the Farne Islands. You have whirlingseabirdss,with their eerie cries, it is so wild and exposed there.

To the south of the Island is a beach area, where old upturned rowing boats are used as sheds and storage places. The village part, has  Churches, houses, pub and the entrances to the ruins of the Priory. This wonderful place became our ‘special place’. If we cannot visit it, we return in our imaginations anytime we feel the need. The Island ‘drew us in’ and called us its own.

Our time of ‘living in’ with Etta was magic.  One day when Roy was expecting a ‘Sunday dinner like his mum cooked’. Etta found me in the kitchen sobbing and staring at the raw meat, not knowing what to do with it. Etta took me under her wing, teaching  me cooking and cleaning, which my mother had never thought to do. If she had not, I do not think our marriage would have lasted for six weeks, never mind the six months our friends were betting on. It has, this year our 49th Wedding Anniversary.

Late February 1960, we moved into our own home, happy and full of curiosity of what adventures County Durham would hold for us was a second reason for our excitement and anticipation, was that I was four months pregnant. We were going to be a family not just a couple…. But that was another experience and another story….

Note: Time of re-writing, we have known each other for 60 years, been married 58 years and have a son, daughter and three grandchildren - not bad for ‘two kids from Leeds’.

(‘Life experience writing’, work done with Beccy in October 08.}

                           

Marjorie Lacy, May 2017.

Exhibition of Hats from Wakefield One Museum. 17th May 2017.

The Brown felt hat with ribbon and feather!

This hat reminded me of my mun, around about 1940/1950’s. mum had a similar one. It matched perfectly the brown and green check coat she wore.

Mum would have made the coat herself; Uncle Billy, who was a tailor would have sourced the material for her and also have cut it out for her. As an ex-machinist for Montague Burton’s factory in Leeds, mum would have sewn the pieces together. Auntie Madge would have done the ‘finishing off’ of the collar, buttons and tie belt, then pressing it. - The making of the coat was a real family affair!

When mum put the coat on, she was very happy with it, then she decided it needed a hat to complete the ‘look’. We went to the hat shop on Harehills Lane, it was next door to our Doctors Surgery. Mum tried several hats on, we laughed at them knowing they were not ‘the ones’.

The milliner handed her a brown woollen felt hat with green trimmings. It was just right, the hat colours blended perfectly with the colours of the check coat. As Grandma Precious said later, ‘You look a right Bobby Dazzler!’

A prisoner in the bed.                             

Mary lay in bed. She looked at the clock, two more hours before the carer came in to get her out of bed. She felt bored and grumpy. Looking around the room, it seemed tired and dingy. Very little light came round the corners of the closed curtains. This told her outside it was another grey day, would spring never come?

She looked at the clock again, two minutes had passed. Her eyes focused on the plant someone had given her for Christmas, months ago. No one had watered it, now it was withered, dark and dusty, spiders had made webs through it. Why had no one thrown it away?

The radio was next to the plant, she moved to turn it on, then drew a line in the dust. Filthy, the place was filthy! She had always been so house proud, the cleaner did a lick and promise, not a deep clean like she had. There was a card sticking from under the radio, she poked it out. Squinting at it, it was the number for the office that the carer’s worked out of. She considered ringing and blasting them, telling them how useless they were. Never here when she needed them!

The strains of music burst into her consciousness. An old song, a favourite that she and Billy danced to. She fingered the silver chain and locket she always had round her neck. Billy had the locket engraved with a heart and their names. They had really loved each other, soul mates. What a long time since Billy died. This reminded her of the time they went to Bridlington when they were courting. She had gone into the Fortune Teller’s booth, to see what the cards would say about Billy. The cards talked about marriage and two or three children. Yes! She could marry him.

Her cough broke into her reverie. Where was that bottle of medicine the carer had brought in? What had she said? ‘It’s special, I went into town and got it from the Herbalist, I always swear by it’. Mary gave herself a couple of spoonfuls. She picked up a tissue and a small hand mirror, carefully wiping her mouth and then, the spoon to get rid of the stickiness.

Looking at her hair in the mirror, she could see the grey hair at the parting. Lower down, the faded auburn hair looked ready to be refreshed and her ‘roots done’. Her friend, Jenny usually came to wash and dye her hair for her. Mary felt feelings of uselessness sweep over her. In her better days, she had been so quick, so active. Now she was the prisoner in the bed. Oh! When was that carer coming? She reached for the pad and jar of pencils. She chose a pink one, ‘pink for Jenny’. Pink really suited Jenny,  she looked stunning in that pink frock from the C. and A., in Leeds. She carefully wrote on the pad, ‘Ring Jenny - hair’. The pencil point broke, Mary fished out the pencil sharpener and begun to turn it. Broken or blunt pencils really bugged her, they just had to be pristine.

Once she was up and dressed, and in the living room, she’d email Jenny. Her daughter had bought her the laptop, the best thing she’d ever had, all she had to do was lift up the lid and the whole world opened up to her, pictures, images, books to read. What would she read today? If only the carer would come, she could be up, at it and online.

Suddenly, there was the sound of the front door opening. ‘Mary, Mary, it’s me Jean, are you ready to get up. Jean and a waft of fresh air breezed in, she opened the curtains and suddenly, Mary’s day had began.

Positive thinking and Motivational messages.

The first motivational message I ever read was when I was 16 years old and one of those ‘fill-in’ pieces in the Reader's Digest magazine.

It read:  Two men looked out through prison bars.

             One saw mud, one saw stars.

As I got older, there were other messages coming through - of course there were the religious ones, once I ceased to go to Church. it was when we joined the American Network Marketing Company that they flooded in - words from the stage given by the American in a white suit:

If it is to be - it’s up to me.

And, of course, it is correct, only YOU can live your life and responsible for it.

Another one is: If you fail to plan, you are planning to fail.

A short time later, we tiring of the Americans’ hype, we joined an English Company, you will all know Kleeneze, the Catalogue Company, it is more than a Catalogue, you can build teams of distributors, their income contributes to yours. It is a wealth creation business. There we found, after training, we were the ones speaking from the front, or from a stage, giving out the motivational messages of:

Goals, plans, achievement, reward.

Perhaps the most well known one is:

                                                                     S- M-A-R-T. =

Specific-Measurable-Achievable-Reasonable-Timeed..

A totally silly one: Nothing will suck seeds like a budgie with a broken beak.

(Suck seeds = succeeds - get it?)

Now in retirement, we are getting the rewards of a lifetime of self-employment, there is time to sit and watch the Rhubarb growing, smell the roses and enjoy our leisure.

Decision/Indecision

I am not really talking behind

my husband’s back, BUT

He drives me mad on a daily

basis.

What would you like for your lunch?

I will ask, giving him three

alternatives.

On my menu could be:

Open sandwich with cheese

all he has do is to say ‘please’

But no, he pauses. Waiting

for another suggestion, maybe

nice boiled ham?

Still, he waits, what about

prawns mixed with

hard boiled egg?

That get’s his

attention, I’ll have

the egg and prawn!

When it comes to

dessert, we have the same

performance.

Which would you like?

fresh apple? Yoghurt with jam?

or, ice cream?

I can see his mind,

it ticks and whirls, he would

like all three -

but, that would be greedy!!

Eventually, he makes

up his mind, I think I’ll have

ice cream!

There is no discussion,

about our after lunch

coffee!

My West Yorkshire Passion - DIVERSITY.

Luscious green dales fields, bounded by the jigsaw puzzle of

dry stone walls. Rivers, coming from tiny springs in the hills,

emerging as torrents of racing water power, taking your breath away.

Man’s feats of skill and back-breaking labour to build stupendous

Cathedrals, Minsters and castles. These equal the natural features

the Pennines’ crowning glories of Pen-y-Ghent, Whernside and Ingleborough.

The Vale of York’s rich farmlands and pretty villages give way to the

Wolds. They roll onwards to meet wild coastline. Some threatened by

coastal erosion, by the pounding of the sea against soft cliffs.

Scarborough and Bridlington, offer traditional ‘bucket and spade’

holidays, complete with donkeys. Whitby, whose old Town is separated,

by the River from the Gothic Church and ruined Abbey on the hill. The town has links to Bram Stoker's’ book Dracula.

Yorkshire, once England’s power base and home of heavy Industry.

Which withstood a political battering, causing heavy industries to

give way to, incoming businesses of Distribution and Logistics.

Our strength now, is the diversity of peoples, from friendly natives,

to many nationalities making Yorkshire their home. Working as taxi and

bus drivers or hospital staff. Some opened ‘Take Away’ shops, causing

our beloved Yorkshire Pudding, to be overtaken by new favourite,

Indian Curries and Chicken Tikka Masala.

In Local Fields.      A Rondeau.

In local fields, the farmer grows

Potato’s neatly all in rows.

High above the seagulls fly

Bright blue and white clouds in the sky.

The mature trees planted years ago.

The sun is high, a bright glow

During the heat, rabbits lie

In local fields.

The red fox is the rabbits' foe

Mid-day sun’s bright light throws

It’s rays, making spirits high.

Fox catches rabbit unawares, dies.

Crops warmed by sun, being to grow

In local fields.

Rainbow Haiku.

Red.

The colour of blood

Dressing for power? - Wear red

Mid summer  - poppies.

Orange.

Colour of sunrise.

A fruit grown in Spain’s sun

Carnival colour.

Yellow.

Bright dandelions

Pretty golden buttercups

Colour of Lemons.

Green.

Forty nine shades

Trees, grass, leafy vegetables

A Christmas colour.

Blue.

Baby and sky blue

Flowers too, bluebells, blue iris

Sometimes, blue moods.

Indigo.

Deep, dark and so rich

Colour of uniforms, Jeans

Thundery skies.

Violet.

A flower colour

Of heather, and dainty violets

Shrinking violets - shy.

Descent to Dementia.

Mum’s confused…….                                           

We knew mum had started being a bit strange. She lived in Leeds, we lived 25 miles away near Pontefract. She started phoning us saying  

‘the T.Vs., gone off’ or, things like ‘the light won’t go on’.

I had to make the fifty-mile round trip to put the T.V., back on or, change a light bulb.

One day she phoned to say

‘the Post Office won’t give me my pension.’

Off I went to sort it out. When I got to the Post Office, the assistant explained that mum had been

‘in three times this week, she had already collected her pension’.

She did add

‘do you know your mum’s badly confused?

By this time, I had worked that out for myself.

When I returned mum’s Library books for her the Librarian said

‘I’m glad you’ve come in, I want to talk to you about your mum. Do you know how confused she is?’

She offered me an envelope with notes in it.

‘Your mum has only been using £10.00 notes as bookmarks! We’ve collected them all together’.

When I checked the envelope there was more than £100.00 in it. How kind they had been in keeping them for mum.

Something needed to be done, I had her medically checked over, enlisted the help of Social Services, both in Leeds and my local area. Once the diagnosis of Alzheimer’s Disease was confirmed, arrangements were made for her to live near me in a Pensioner bungalow. Privately, I worried she would not survive the move, she was 83 years old. She did. Her home in Leeds was opposite a Builders yard at one side of the street. Her living room was overlooked by the Conservative Club at the other. Her new home had a tree-lined street and farmer’s fields nearby. She took herself little walks to see them, giving her lots of pleasure.

Mum had attended the Methodist Church all her adult life, I contacted the nearest Methodist Church, where she was welcomed with open arms. They could not believe she was suffering from Dementia. She could read the Bible in a good clear voice, she sang hymns from memory. I realised then, how she was adept at hiding her condition. She would nod and smile when she was spoken to. I learned that with Alzheimer’ Disease, music is the last memory to go.

Three times a week she was picked up and taken on a tour around, picking up other pensioners, arriving at a Day Centre for a meal, after they did craft activities, making memory boxes,  and other small items. They were all taken home again, dropping off in reverse order. Mum thought that she had been taken

‘into the Yorkshire Dales, having a ‘nice meal’

in a hotel. She always commented on the lovely scenery. She never found out that Day Centre was only five minutes away from where she lived!

Other comic events that made us smile, if mum had not liked the sandwich that I, or the daily Carers made for her, she would hide them in the oven. I only discovered the discarded food when we ran out of plates and I had a hunt around for them.

One morning, I had lifted some bread out of the freezer, to thaw out for tea time. When I returned I couldn’t find the bread, I asked her, she replied ‘I don’t know what you did with the bread, its all wet. I’ve hung it out on the line to dry’.

When I looked out of the window, there was a row of slices of bread neatly pegged out on the line!

Other issues over the bread, she loved to feed the birds, often I would arrive to find no bread at all as she had fed the full loaf to the birds.

I would have to go to the shop and buy more before she could have her tea.

Mum did live happily in her bungalow for two and a half years, then she needed more care than I could give, she made one more move, into a nursing home, she was settled there, gaining weight from being able to eat in company. She died two and a half years later at the age of 88.

We were lucky mum was pleasant in her dementia, all who cared for her said she was a pleasure, always remembering her for the frequent 'please and thank you's.'

She was always grateful for what they did for her.

A story today!

Doorway to Disaster.                                Marjorie Lacy, October 2016.

I don’t know about you, but I love my bed. It is my ‘special place’ and was tailor made. It is a single bed that I share with my Friend Bear. We love the pretty pink flowered duvet cover. I do sleep well, but in common with older people, I have to go downstairs to use the toilet.

This was why I was awake. I didn’t need to put the bedroom light on, the P.I.R., unit above the door, covers the room with a red glow. The LED on the clock/radio competes by casting a low orange light. As I go downstairs, the street lights shine in through the windows, There is the noise of cars passing on their way home.

Getting safely back in to be and reaching out for Friend Bear, I turn on my side and tuck him under my chin. As the P.I.R., unit fades, I catch sight of a door. A door, where my chest of drawers stands. I rub my eyes, yes it is still there. I sit up and look at the door. A door, my brain cannot comprehend it.

My eyes are now wide open, my breath and my heartbeat racing. The door, I now notice is a big old Oak one, with black iron hinges, and a big round handle, It’s gorgeous, just like you see in old Churches, the top is curved and nestling into a stone archway. But where has my chest of drawers gone? “Stay there, Bear,” I say to him as I feel around for my slippers, when I cannot locate them, I go padding barefoot across the bedroom, I touch the door. Well! It’s real enough

My hand takes on a will of its own, it reaches for the knob and turns it, the door swings open with a creak, it makes me and Friend Bear jump out of our skins, I feel him push me in the middle of my back, I edge forward and look down. It is an “Oh! My God” moment. A stone spiral staircase swirls its way downwards, Leading to where? Suddenly, a fluffy bear pushes past me, “come don’t just stand there! Come on! He is gone.

The staircase floods with light, my feet start moving towards the stone step, followed by the other foot, the stone feels warm and mellow, the centre of the step is hollowed suggesting generation of feet up and down it. When I get to the bottom, Friend Ber is patiently waiting for me in a Hall, it is a big space with wood panelled walls, and a black and white tiled floor, they are very cold to my feet.

In the distance, I can hear music, I don’t recognise the tune, which is flowing and lyrical. We walk along towards the music, coming from a State Room, hung with fine paintings, some of landscapes, family, dogs, People are sitting at long tables having a meal. More musicians and dancers begin to walk past us into the room. Serving girls are scattering flower petals on the floor, which is strewn with herbs. Their movements release the strongly perfumed oils in the herbs. The warm air in the room begins to shimmer. Court ladies, process along followed by Courtiers. At the end of the procession, how can it be? It is a life-size Friend Bear, he is like my bear, but not my bear. He is shackled and led by a man holding him on a chain.

There is genuine fear in his brown eyes. He is made to dance, to stand on his hind legs, how tall he is, towering above his handler. The bear makes eye contact with me, He is pleading to me, what does he want? What does he mean? He is led away before I can decide.

Gong sounds and a dancer is ushered in. There is something familiar about her. The music begins, I know this dancer, it is my young self, I used to see this face years ago, looking in the mirror to comb my hair or put lipstick on. I am watching myself dancing, twisting and turning, my movements hypnotic, my body so flexible and sinuous as a snake. As the dancer turns in my direction, I see again, abject misery in her eyes. The music quickens, wilder now, the beat more insistent. A gong rings out and again and again. I know I have to get out, fear and apprehension flood over me.

Which way did I come in? How do I get out? I try and retrace my steps. Rushing this way and that, suddenly I see the black and white tiles of the Hall, I can see the bottom of the stone stairs. In the distance, the gong is sounding again. My feet move of their own volition, up the spiral stairs. The thought of “Stairway to heaven,” goes through my mind.

When I get to the top, relief rushes over me, the door is still there and standing open. As I rush through into my bedroom, the P.I.R., unit floods the room with its red glow, my bed it there. I leap across the room, moving faster than I have for years! I feel a gust of wind and hear a door slamming. I look back to see the chest of drawers is back in its place. “Was that door ever there?” I sigh.

In an instant, I am snuggled under the duvet, I put my hand under the pillow to find Friend Bear waiting to be tucked under my chin so we can sleep. I think to myself “back to normal, then?”  “Are you alright Bear”? I say to him. I am sure I heard “Go to sleep”. Cuddly bears can’t talk?  Can they?

Writing about: A bar of Soap!!

Household object - Imperial Leather Soap.    26th January 2015.

                                                                         

The actual soap is cream coloured and oblong shaped. It reminds me of being a 1940’s child at home. Dad always liked Imperial Leather soap. Mum always bought us Green or Red, awful smelling soap for our use.

Still today, I buy Imperial  Leather for me. It has excess packaging, its outer layer is cardboard, that I can only remove by the fingerful. Its inner layer is clear, tight cellophane stuff, that I have to attack with scissors to get it off.  Once you do get in, there is the label embedded in the soap, it takes weeks of hand washing before the label comes off.

I love washing my hands using a bar of soap, I hate the liquid soap. To me you need to run the water until it is warm, then squidge the soap bar around between my hands under the running tap. It makes lots of frothy bubbles, then the perfume releases itself. Then more squidginess to do hand fronts and backs, in between the fingers, around the wrists. Drop the soap back into its place, before rinsing and drying my hands. Job well done!

Some soaps I’ve tried are egg-shaped and smoother, they don’t look or feel the same. They don’t bubble up offering no excitement. It's the same with the washing up detergent, although that bubbles up it does not give the same feel. I always have to go wash my hands after washing up. I find the oblong shape of Imperial Leather gives firmness and it is easier to grip when the bar is slippy.