My early life
By Esther
- 1776 reads
We ate around a formica table; one chair leg missing when our carpentry hungry father, blind as long as I could remember,had accidentally sawn it in two.
Sometimes the toast was a little over-done. Mums fruit cake (also blind) squidgy and soft. Oxtail stew was a favourite with everyone but me.
We were taught not to leave doors ajar, nor to leave our belongings in the middle of the floor.
We thrived inside our home and felt proud walking beside our parents. I was aware we were watched but didn't feel phased then.
I would run exitedly alone from Meads Infants,rumpled off-white socks,shoes usually put on the wrong feet, cardigan buttoned haphazardly, clutching the offering for the day. Neither mum or dad could see my picture with it's crazy lines or squiggles but I could tell them what I saw. They always listened.
I think I was average at school; given additional assistance with my reading at play-time. The teacher who helped me was called Miss Adams. I have always been grateful for the help she gave me then for without her help I would not have fallen into the magic world of words-carried throughout my life.
I remember being an onlooker at school. Always unwilling or perhaps unable to join in. Skipping ropes were twirled. Brightly coloured marbles spun and bounced across the playground.
The playground, from my childs eyes, seemed to stretch forever as I just sat on the wooden bench beneath I think an oak-tree.
The effect of going into school created a simple need;to leave! Yet sticking,cutting and painting were engrossing occupations. One third pint bottles of milk or orange juice were stacked, crate upon crate, in the corridor and near to our cloakroom.
Reading,writing and arithmetic were important but knitting or sewing was not. It seemed obvious I would not be heading for a career as a seamstress then- not if the state of my dolls with vynyl soft skin and flashing eyes with over-sized clothes, usually knickerless, sometimes leg-less or even headless if my brothers had anything to do with it.
We didn't realise how very happy and ordinary everything was back then until the most painful day arrived which would impact all our lives forever
I put this story on as my first memory, sorry if you have read this before, I thought this might be the best way of bringing those who are reading voices now and then up-to-date.
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Comments
Esther, this is beautiful. I
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Arthritis is intolerable -
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I enjoyed reading too
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Congratulation's on the
Mark Heathcote
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