Memories are made of this

So time moved on in Esthers little town called Stanton.

Queen 11 picture displayed in classrooms,town halls where their W.I. as well as Derby & Joan, Parish Council met; in the same building as their well thumbed library.

Women could take the contraceptive pill as some drew on their comforting cigarettes. More homes watching State events such as Winston Churchills funeral. Esther would always remember the tragic shooting of President Kennedy and then the sad forlorn faces of his children; that all could view in sitting rooms across their land.

On those same televisions the bemused and enthused were glued to their screens, apart from the stream of advertisements for things they didn't need or could never afford..... time though to put the kettle on!

Was it really possible....but of course it was! The Russians had beaten the Americans, by just one month, of putting Yurin Gagarin into space.

Whils tdown to earth her classmates were in ecstasy when The Beatles released their first Album Please, Please me in 63. She and her classmates carried their school books into class; proclaiming their love for the beatles or The Rolling Stones.

Esther had walked more times than she cared to remember past Wisteria Cottage on her way home from another funeral at St Mary's Parish church. Opposite was their old weed smothered, time weathered ground of their old cemetery. Where their folk from before held secrets untold but with some of their memories still passed onto another generation.

Sometimes she would walk with her mum past their renowned cricket ground; where the skill of the Tanner (not the candle stick maker) and the butcher could be seen. Where willow collided with hard leather ball as it spun in the air. Where whites soon would become green at the end of their long summers day.

Some years ago she had been given time off from her junior school in order to pick roseships. Esther was unsure who might really benefit from this. Yet it felt such a welcome release from the glare of Miss B and her miserable knitting; away from her perilous territory. As she walked and all around her echoed the parish church bells and worlds life struck away with its own peculiar melody as battles; both won and lost moved on to another day.

Her town, like any other in her land housed the have's and have nots; the latter who sometimes stared down from their haughty places. Of Sunday Best rooms; furnished by one of their antique shops...after the poor threw out the old not realising just what they might have done!

Tick tock went lifes clock but nobody then spoke of bullying!

Whilst young, with memories still to make, Esther thought she might be this way forever and that not much would change over time; yet she still had her dreams and plans for something special ahead as she lay on her own little bed and waited.

She still loved her town for its special beauty of welcome glades and rotund hills where as children they would scramble and crawl to the top and then eat bread and jam sandwiches. Then they in their special stage (where men once toiled underground) they would sit in pure wonderment and watch with delight the minature world there beneath them.