Think I'm a period piece now, having survived two wars - Born 1913, surplus to requirements, into a family of three girls who had left school. Idyllic early childhood untrammeled by parental ambition or constraint. Freedom in a rural setting in an adult world. Taught myself to read long before school via sisters' magazines and father's heavy classics.
Educated RC convent late and even later entrant Grammar School where dozed until sixteen "not exam material" (I was woefully innumerate).
Escaped life with parents as domestic strength and stay.
Training College, Chichester, there being no University grant.
Two years teaching Sussex, Beds - Art and English
WAR Trained Manchester College of Art, ATD NDD - supply work, Manchester.
Trained as state Enrolled Nurse under emergency Government scheme and did hospital duty weekends and holidays
MARRIED East End London schools.
Returned to Cumbria to teach Art/English/History and latterly Careers Adviser - a pilot scheme
Retired and joined WEA Vocational Course "Journalism"
Enrolled with Open University and completed Creative Writing Course Diploma and then did Open University Modern Graphic Arts Course
A very patchy patchwork of a dyed in the wool Cumbrian.
Alone I float upon a tideless ocean
There is no wind, no sound, nor any motion
Blissful in Summer haze I laze without emotion
Alone upon a tideless ocean
Sedated, satisfied, replete a Sleeping Beauty
Who has no cares, no conscience, and no moral duty
There is no winter here, no heat nor cold
No seasons change so none like me grow old
All is a perpetual Youth in a sunlit noon of gold
No time will pass and so no years will roll
Here I can smell the scented shores around
See hills where vaporous water falls without a sound
Furtive it glides among the leafy trees
Idling through sunny glades to soak the thirsty ground
Where Summer flowers fruit without disease
Where no lilies fester and the rose no petals leave
And in the gossamer grass the poppy nods at ease
Its here Ill dream within a hidden hollow
At peace and healed of every searing sorrow
The past does not exist. I fear no morrow
Hope I know not, so no despair can follow.
Peace? No, this is Hell I dream
My passions still burn fiercely my desire screams
Give me the storms, the battles, lifes extremes
Labour, suffering, pain. Yes let me weep
But save me O thou Unfathomable God
From a life of fantasy, of sleep.