Hoooraaay!! I am now officially Covid-free! I still feel rather wiped out and my appetite hasn’t returned yet, but I’m sure it will soon.
I have so many of you to thank for your good wishes for when I was first ill and then, so many of you who sent me lovely and kind birthday wishes when I was still Covid Positive.
I would dearly love to reply personally to each one of you, but I am so touched and blessed in having nearly fifty comments from you all and I don’t yet have the energy to reply to you all individually. Please, forgive me this, perhaps, rudeness. I don’t mean to be ungrateful.
I will do my best to catch up on some of your posts, but it’s more likely that I will have to begin again today and tomorrow to keep up with your current and upcoming posts. Sorry to those of you whose recent posts I’ve missed.
So, here are my sincere and loving thanks and a {{{group hug}}} as the band of blogging friends that we are. I dearly love you all ~ Ellie Xxx 💖💐💖🥰💝🥰💖💐💖
It’s been my birthday today! Don’t ask how old! I’m still testing positive, so there was no raving birthday party or gathering. It’s been a quiet day, although I’ve had several lovely phone calls from family and friends. I am very grateful for that as it made me feel less lonely.
I’ve spent some of my time in bed when I felt at my worst. I haven’t got any blogs read and am too far behind to catch up with all those I have missed since this enforced break.
However, I’m aware that many of you have left me kind get well messages, which I’ve yet to reply to. I thank you sincerely for those and I will get back to you all as soon as I’m feeling able.
When I woke up this morning, I realised I was feeling a little better, less exhausted and even fancied some breakfast. I’ve had no appetite and lost a few pounds. I have to say, I was very disappointed to still be testing positive. Hopefully, tomorrow might be the turning point. Keep your fingers crossed for me.
I’ve missed writing and reading your work, but I know there’ll be plenty of future posts to read and comment on as soon as I get back into the swing of things.
I shall stop here, friends, as I am weary and going up to bed now. As soon as I feel well enough, I’ll be back with you all again.
Oh, yes … the delicious looking cake in the photo above wasn’t a cake I had – simply a yummy-looking figment of my imagination!
She awoke early the following day to find the sun shining. She jumped out of bed, folded her blanket and eiderdown back, washed and dressed in her dark blue school pinafore and a white blouse. It was a bit big for her as it was a hand-me-down from her mother’s cleaner at the café. Her polished but worn black Mary Jane shoes clickety-clacked down the wooden staircase. Her mother was in the scullery preparing their breakfast of porridge oats. Miriam sat down at the small yellow and white Formica table squashed into one corner of the tiny room. They didn’t have a smart dining room like many of her friends had in their houses. Her parents couldn’t afford anything as posh as that.
Her mother put a bowl of steaming oats in front of her. Miriam was grateful for this, as she hadn’t had a proper dinner the night before. She blew puffs of air from her pursed lips to cool off her breakfast. Having finished it, she took her empty bowl over to the sink, gave it a quick wash with the brush and dish soap under the cold tap and put it on the already heaped-up draining board. She could hear the noises of her father getting up just before she left, just briefly hearing her mother shout up, “are you only just getting up, you layabout?” before she slipped quietly out of the front door, ensuring she didn’t bang it shut and risk another telling off.
As she walked to school, she felt sorry for her dad being shouted at so often by her mother, and she thought about how much she loved him. He never shouted at her, even when he’d had a lot to drink. He often took her out for a walk around the nearby Shoreditch Church and let her walk along the walls surrounding the flowerbeds. Miriam was cautious not to tread on any plants but loved being up high and holding her father’s warm but rough hand to ensure she didn’t fall off. They’d go and look at the gravestones, too. Miriam wasn’t scared even though she knew it was where dead people were buried long ago. They stopped to look at several stones, and her dad would tell her stories about the people under the ground. She didn’t realise, at that age, that they were made-up stories, but she enjoyed hearing about these people’s lives and imagined what their families were like. Her dad said it was time to go as he had to go to the Spar corner shop to get some bread, milk and a packet of Stork margarine.
School Days and the Teacher (Part Three)
Before she knew it, Miriam, who’d been daydreaming about her kind father, arrived at the school gates. She was only just in time before the bell went, signalling the start of the school day. She hung her brown coat on a peg in the cloakroom and walked quickly to her classroom. Her teacher, Mrs Miller, was an amiable lady and had a soft spot for Miriam.
The first lesson was English, which Miriam liked, but the second was maths, a subject she often had difficulty with. She was okay with adding up and taking away but found her times tables hard to remember. Mrs Miller always came over with encouraging words and hints about recalling these tables. The class often recited their times tables in a song – “once two is two, two twos are four, three twos are six”, and so on, and Mrs Miller reminded the child of this song.
Shortly after that, the bell rang again for dinner time. The children filed out of their rooms and queued up in the dining room to eat their sandwiches. Miriam picked up her lunch bag, rummaging inside for her lunch, but much to her dismay, her bag was empty. Her mother must have forgotten to pack any lunch for her. She was so disappointed, so she had to sit at one of the tables watching everyone else eat. Silent tears ran down her face, which she kept wiping away with her white cotton handkerchief so that no one would notice her crying.
Looking through teary eyes, she spotted Mrs Miller walking towards her. When her teacher asked her to return to the classroom, Miriam thought she must have been in trouble for some reason. From experience at home, she was used to being yelled at for this, that and the other. The teacher accompanied her back to the classroom, Miriam waiting for the telling-off she was sure to get. Her head hung down until Mrs Miller gently lifted the child’s chin as she looked into her eyes. The teacher smiled, opened the drawer under her desk, and produced two sandwiches. She gave one to the very surprised child and started tucking into the other. Miriam, feeling hungry, took a big mouthful and found it was her favourite filling – ham and relish, something her parents could rarely afford. After eating their lunch, Mrs Miller said she could go out to the playground to play for a while to get some fresh air before lessons began.
Miriam didn’t like going out into the playground, as she had no friends and nearly always stood quietly in the corner, hoping and wishing that someone would come and talk to her. Most of the children were playing catch and skipping rope games. She looked on as the children with their ropes were singing, ‘” Teddy bear, teddy bear, turn around; teddy bear, teddy bear, touch the ground.” Miriam longed to join in, but no one seemed interested in including her.
After fifteen minutes, the bell rang again, and it was time for each classroom to form into queues before being let into their classrooms again. Back at their desks, the children settled down to do some reading. Miriam pulled out of her bag her favourite book, ‘Rabbit Hill.’ She was on chapter three now and thoroughly enjoying the story. Mrs Miller walked around the classroom to check that each child was concentrating on their reading books.
After the reading session ended, the children filed into the gymnasium for the last forty-five minutes of the day. Miriam gulped silently; she hated gym as her mother refused to buy her any gym clothes because they were too expensive. All the other girls wore short grey skirts and white Aertex shirts. Miriam was the only child who had to participate, wearing her vest and navy-blue knickers. She could see some of the boys in the class staring at her and giggling because she was in her underwear. She was so embarrassed and wanted the ground to open and swallow her up. After a while, the bell rang three times, signalling the end of the school day and that it was time to go home.
Excitedly, the other children packed up their school bags and ran outside to meet their mums or dads, who were waiting at the gate with smiles and sweets. Miriam felt sad. Her mother never came to greet her to take her home; she had to make her own way as usual. She had just started to walk across the playground when she heard a voice calling her. She turned to see it was Mrs Miller who summoned her over. As always, the child expected to be told off, although she had no idea what she’d done wrong.
As she approached her teacher, she was given a small package and a letter in an envelope. She looked surprised and asked in a hushed voice whether she could open them. Mrs Miller smiled and nodded, so Miriam carefully unwrapped the parcel and letter. Much to her surprise, the letter turned out to be a birthday card with two pretty cats on the front and inside the package was a brand-new book for her to read. It was called ‘Pippi Longstocking’ – Miriam was thrilled to bits as her teacher had remembered it was Miriam’s birthday tomorrow. The child beamed from ear to ear. She said thank you three times. Mrs Miller gently touched her shoulder and encouraged her to make her way home now. Miriam ran all the way so that she wouldn’t be late again. When she got home, she said nothing to her mother about her card and present and quietly sneaked up to her room to hide them under her blankets, ready to read them in bed that night. Perhaps, her ninth birthday wasn’t going to be so bad after all.
It was a grey cloudy afternoon in 1937 when Miriam trudged home from school, following the route of the 149 bus. She didn’t have any money for the fare, so she would have to walk as usual. It was her ninth birthday in two days. She sighed deeply as she wondered if anyone would remember. She thought it unlikely with her parents being so preoccupied with their busy lives.
Her mother and father worked in the Terminus Café by Shoreditch Bus Station, making tea and all-day breakfasts for the bus drivers and conductors as they finished their shifts. Her parents often forgot, so Miriam wasn’t expecting this year to be any different. She couldn’t remember the last birthday cake she had. She pretended she didn’t care, but she would have given anything to be like her school friends, whose parents always made a big fuss of them while lavishing them with gifts wrapped in pretty paper and tied with silk ribbons and bows. Miriam’s friends always invited her to their birthday parties, but her mother wouldn’t let her go. She’d shout, “do you think money grows on trees, my girl? We can’t afford birthday presents for other people’s kids.” Miriam knew best not to answer back; otherwise, she’d be in for a good hiding.
She was so deep in thought that she didn’t realise how slowly she’d been walking. She should have been home by now. Scared of being in trouble, she ran the rest of the way. She arrived home, out of breath, twenty minutes late, to be greeted by her mother yelling, “what time do you call this?”
“I’m really sorry, mum. I didn’t notice it was getting so late.”
“Well, if you think you’re getting any tea tonight, you’ve got another think (sic) coming, my girl. Go to your room, and don’t make a noise!”
Miriam ran up the stairs choking back her salty tears. She didn’t dare to make a fuss, or her mother would shout at her to stop her crocodile tears. She plopped herself down on the floor next to her bed, pulled the grey flannel blanket down and wrapped it around her slim shoulders. She grabbed her moth-eaten teddy bear, Peter, and held him close. He’d seen better days as she had had him since her first birthday. She loved him just as he was and knew she could tell Peter about anything troubling her. He would never shout at her as her mother did. She nodded off while clasping Peter to her chest and dreamt that she was in the middle of a birthday party her parents had organised for her as a surprise. When she awoke, it was almost dark, and she was very sad and disappointed to find that it was only a dream.
Suddenly, Miriam heard screaming and shouting coming from downstairs. “You’ve been down that bloody pub again, haven’t you.” It was her mother’s angry voice. She was yelling at her husband again.
Miriam’s dad always ambled along to the pub after working at the café. She often noticed that he had an almost permanent bright red, bulbous nose and smelt of cigarettes and beer. She liked her dad. He was always jolly despite everything. She wanted to go downstairs to greet him but thought better of it. She didn’t want to get into any more trouble. She heard him stumble into the front room and put the television on.
A few minutes later, a voice shouted, “your dinner is on the table. Are you going to eat it, or are you going to sit in front of that bloody TV all night?” Miriam could smell the delicious aroma of minced beef and roast potatoes wafting up the stairs. Her tummy rumbled, but she knew she’d have to make do with her mug of water and the leftover remnants of her fish paste and now warm cucumber sandwich from her lunch bag. She carefully opened the brown paper wrapping and took a bite. The bread was stale now, and the crusts were hard and dry. She didn’t want to eat it but knew she’d only get into more trouble with her mother if she left it. She’d had enough of being told off today, so she chewed hard and swallowed it down with the now tepid water from her mug.
By now, she was tired and thought she might as well go to bed rather than dare to go back downstairs only to be yelled at again. She tiptoed into the bathroom to splash her face and clean her teeth and crept back to her bedroom. She climbed into her pink-striped pyjamas and pulled on the pale blue bed socks that her grandma had knitted for her last Christmas; it was always so cold in her bedroom at night. She didn’t even have the luxury of a hot water bottle to keep her warm. Nevertheless, she felt safe in bed and pulled Peter close to her. She could talk to him about her worries and fears without the risk of being told not to make such a fuss. She lay there covered with her grey blanket and her paisley eiderdown, which always felt so comforting. Finally, she drifted off into a deep sleep …
I’m going to let you into a little secret. Some of my ‘older’ readers will know this already, especially given that I have young grandchildren. However, to some of my newer readers, this might come as a surprise. Having just had my birthday, I’m now officially ‘over the hill,’ according to the polls! I feel most indignant about that statement as I’m now 65, not 95 (nothing against the 95 years olds amongst us, nor people older than that). According to the polls, the age categories run like this …
18 to 24 25 to 34 35 to 44 45 to 54 55 to 64 65 and over
So … where are you supposed to go after you reach 65. Apparently, there is nowhere to go other than obviously being officially over the hill and, no doubt, going down the other side. Does this mean that the pollsters consider the only fitting thing for me, being ’65 and over’, is to shuffle off this mortal coil! I object!
Having got that little bugbear off my chest, I will continue on a happier note – my birthday, last Saturday, 3rd September. I had the most wonderful week. To begin with, last Thursday, I spent the day with nine family members, my daughter and son-in-law, my son, four young grandchildren, my sister and brother-in-law, who’d travelled up from Dorset, plus my friend, who’d been kind enough to take me to see them all. It was a perfect day, sunny and warm; not too hot like we’d had in the summer. September is nearly always a lovely month in the UK. We walked into the restaurant and big hugs were shared between us; some of my family I hadn’t seen for over two years, so I was thrilled to bits to see them all again. I felt so loved and very blessed to have such wonderful people around me.
The food arrived, which we’d pre-ordered. I’d asked for Pad Thai, one of my favourite meals. It was delicious, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. We then ordered pudding, although I don’t know where I found the room after the lunch, but I did, as did everyone else. More deliciousness. After eating, we took the children to the local park to run off their energy (and dinner). It was so lovely to see the four cousins all together. It was such a special way to celebrate my birthday.
Delicious Pad Thai
Last Saturday, my actual birthday, I met my best friend in town, and we went for another meal in an Italian restaurant. My friend, Debbie, presented me with a beautiful birthday card and an even more beautiful gift. I was so touched by the thought she had put into choosing something so special. We are both vegans, and having eaten our main course, a pasta dish, we plumped for pudding (again!). The dessert was amazing – a rich chocolate cake with honeycomb pieces called Zillionaire’s Slice with vegan sorbet with chocolate ripples. I could feel my waistline expanding after all the food I’d had. My diet was nowhere to be seen, but I wasn’t in the least bit bothered – there’s always another day for that.
Zillionaire’s Slice
So … all in all, perhaps, being 65 isn’t too bad. I’ve got absolutely no intention of shuffling off anywhere, least of all, off this mortal coil. I’m having too much fun.
Essentially Ellie (My Heart's Tales) 