THE CORNER 4 WOMEN

Thursday 5 October 2023

USING OUR IMAGINATIONS By J. A. Elliott 2023

"USING OUR IMAGINATIONS"

By J. A. Elliott 2023

When I was a boy growing up during the 1950’s and 60’s in my home town of Mansfield, I was a Cowboy, Roy Rogers, Hop-along Cassidy or the Lone Ranger. I remember the little sheriff’s outfit I had, with it’s star of silver, and the cap guns that sat in their leather holsters on either side of my hips. The old brush from the yard was my makeshift horse as I ran down Bancroft Lane shouting ‘Hi Ho Silver’ and waving one of my cap pistols in the air, the smell of spent sulphur wafted my nostrils as I shot a few rounds at the baddies, lurking near the bushes. We would swap around a bit, some days being the goodies, others being Billy the Kid and his band of outlaws.

Sometimes I was a spaceman like Dan Dare from my comics, or the great Flash Gordon fighting to save earth from the evil Emperor Ming, our rocket ship being an old abandoned pram that’s seen better days, but to my friends and me it was whatever our imaginations could make it, from a boat in our pirate adventures to a world war two Spitfire shooting down a German Messerschmitt in a dog fight over our little Mansfield town.

One day I was Superman, with my red jumper tied around my neck to form a cape as I flew down our street to stop that runaway train and rescuing the damsel in distress, well one of my sisters laying on the pavement, shouting ‘Help Me, Help me Superman’

I was a crack commando wearing the balaclava that my mum had knitted, with mud on my face I fought my way to the old hut across the overgrown field, after all it was a German fortress and I had to knock out those machine gun posts, throwing small stones as pretend grenades to blow them up.

Another day, and another game, today I was a knight in shinning armour wearing a colander on my head, and the old dustbin lid as a shield, and a small garden cane as a sword. I was Lancelot or Galahad, King Arthur or Percival, defending the round table from the fierce dragon that lived at the bottom of our garden. It was the neighbours growling pet dog really, but to us it was our dragon for the day.

Our games were only limited to our own imagination. Every Saturday my friends and I would go to the Granada cinema, the sixpenny rush as it was affectionately known, to see our hero’s on the big screen, then rush home and re-enact what we had seen within our own games, adding bits to the plot here and there, as we went along.

These were the days of great adventures, where games and imaginations knew no bounds. A time of innocent fun as we frolicked in the sunshine enjoying the fresh air, after all, we only had a few real toys so we had to use our imaginations. I cannot remember ever being bored when I was growing up during the 1950’s. My friends and I always found something to do or some game to play. We didn’t have home computers; we didn’t have laptops, mobile phones, tablets or games consoles, all we had was ourselves and our own creative imaginations, using whatever we had around us, and like the song “We had joy, we had fun, we had seasons in the sun But the hills that we climbed were just seasons out of time”

The memories of those far away days still linger on, as vivid a picture in my mind as they ever were. My friends from my childhood games have all now past away and I alone am left with these treasured memories of our long summer days together playing in the sun.

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Wednesday 4 October 2023

THE DRAGONFLY

"THE DRAGONFLY"
(author unknown)

The Story of the Dragonfly have been shared and retold by many, but it is worth sharing again as it can bring comfort to those who are grieving the loss of a loved one and make us consider that death is a doorway into a different existence, a doorway to a bigger room.…..

“Once upon a time, in a little pond, in the muddy water under the lily pads, there lived a little water beetle in a community of water beetles. They lived a simple and comfortable life in the pond with few disturbances and interruptions.

Once in a while, sadness would come to the community when one of their fellow beetles would climb the stem of a lily pad and would never be seen again. They knew when this happened; their friend was dead, gone forever.

Then, one day, the little water beetle felt an irresistible urge to climb up that stem. However, he was determined that he would not leave forever. He would come back and tell his friends what he had found at the top.

When he reached the top and climbed out of the water onto the surface of the lily pad, he was so tired, and the sun felt so warm, that he decided he must take a nap. As he slept, his body changed and when he woke up, he had turned into a beautiful blue-tailed dragonfly with broad wings and a slender body designed for flying.

So, fly he did! As he soared exploring and seeing the beauty of a whole new world which was a far more beautiful and superior way of life to what he had ever known existed.

He remembered his beetle friends and how they were thinking by now he was dead. He wanted to go back to tell them, and explain to them that he was now more alive than he had ever been before.

His life had been fulfilled rather than ended. But, his new body would not go down into the water. He could not get back to tell his friends the good news. Then he understood that their time would come, when they, too, would know what he now knew.

So, he raised his wings and flew off into his joyous new life ..”

The fact that we can't see or communicate with our loved ones after transformation which is called death doesn't mean they cease to exist.

We are – as the old saying goes – not human beings on a spiritual journey but rather spiritual beings on a human journey. Life should not be understood merely as a finite period during which we walk this earth but rather as simply the beginning of a spiritual journey that begins in this world – in a limited, constrained form – and continues for all eternity.

Death is merely the point of that journey at which the soul is finally released to take flight and soar to the higher station that it was intended for

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BUT I DIDN'T TELL HER by Becky Hemsley

"BUT I DIDN'T TELL HER"
(by Becky Hemsley)

I remember sitting in a bar once and watching a woman dancing. She was so full of joy and life that I found it hard to take my eyes off her. She was mesmerising.

But I didn't tell her.

I remember being in the supermarket one day and seeing a woman who had matched her eye make up to the colours in her headscarf. Her eyes shone when she smiled and she looked beautiful.

But I didn't tell her.

I remember watching a fellow mum on the school run years ago. She had a toddler who kept stumbling, stopping to pick things up and pausing to point things out. The mum was so encouraging, patient and calm with her toddler, despite being in a rush herself. I remember thinking what a wonderful parent she was.

But I didn't tell her.

And how often have you probably been that person? Not the one noticing and saying nothing - but the one being noticed.

The one exuding calm, beauty and joy to such an extent that people will remember you years later as the person in the bar or the woman in the supermarket or the mum on the school run.

The one who was mesmerising. Beautiful. Wonderful.

And yet you'll never know because they never told you.

But they noticed you. I promise.

*****

Becky Hemsley 2022

Beautiful artwork by Pascal Campion

This one is from my latest collection https://a.co/d/7ZqFeWs

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A PENNY FOR MY GUY By © J. A. Elliott 2023

"A PENNY FOR MY GUY"

By © J. A. Elliott 2023

During the 1950’s and early 60’s, it was an era of innocence, an age where we could play all over Mansfield, my home town, in relative safety, even for the very young.

There were fewer cars on the roads back then, so, street games for us kids were the norm. Where football was not restricted to eleven players a side, sometimes we’d have fifteen or even twenty; other times there’d be just five a side. Both girls and boys played the street games together, which often lasted all day, well at least till tea time, when mum’s throughout the area, would screech out our names to come home, and give us five minutes to do so or else.

It was during these carefree autumn days, that our attentions turned to making our annual Guy Fawkes, so we could go do penny for the guying in town.

It was quite funny really, as we’d scrounge old clothes, and stuff them full with newspapers. The guys we made, often looked smarter than we did in our play clothes. Sometimes we had a bought mask for our guy, now that was a luxury, but mostly we simply drew a face on some cardboard, it really didn’t matter, but the more effort that was put into making our guys, meant we’d probably get more money in our little pots. More money meant more fireworks, (mostly bangers) or more sweets we could buy from our local corner shop.

As kids, we were very competitive when it came to our guys, we would be in groups of two’s and three’s, and set off to gain the best pitch’s in town, which were usually outside cinemas or local pubs. My favourite spot was outside the Empire cinema, at the corner of Sutton Road and Rosemary Street, which was great because of the number of people passing to go into town as well as the cinema queues outside. There would be several groups of us kids, penny for the guying, so competition was stiff, and the commissionaire would sometimes chase us off if we became too much of a nuisance to the queues of adults, waiting to see their favourite movie. No such thing as Multiplex back then, but you did get two films, the main feature and a lesser supporting ‘B’ movie.

All this effort over our surreal manikin only to be thrown onto a bonfire when it came to November 5th. But it was all good fun, and our rivalries forgotten once we were stood or sat, around the blazing fire on a cold autumnal night, wrapped in our thickest coats, hand knitted scarves, gloves and balaclava’s, clutching our toffee apples and waiting for our traditional supper of backed potatoes, that had earlier been wrapped in foil, and placed strategically around the burning embers before us. The whoosh, crackle and bangs, as the fireworks sped off into the smoky night sky, the ahhh’s from the crowd as rockets burst into explosive colours above us.

The communal spirit warmed everyone and brought us all closer together, friends and neighbours alike. Sadly much of this spirit has gone from bonfire night. The magic of those happy days, all but a distant memory now. Penny for the guying is no longer allowed on our streets, it’s classed as begging, mind, you wouldn’t think our streets were safe enough today for our children. Still I can always look back on those simpler carefree days of yesteryear with nostalgia, happy in the knowledge that I was glad to have grown up during the 50’s and 60’s in my little Nottinghamshire town..

FOOTNOTE

Tin foil (as in aluminium foil, literally made from tin in those early days) had been around for quite a while - we know it was used for cooking as early as the late 19th century. But aluminium foil (which is often called “tinfoil”) was first manufactured by Dr. Lauber, Neher & company in Switzerland in about 1910. It was believed to have been used extensively during WW2 to block and confuse the newly developed radar signals.

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WHEN WE LOOK

"WHEN WE LOOK"
(author unknown)

My husband gifted me with a quiet getaway in the country last Mother’s Day. I arrived on a Friday afternoon and basked in the peaceful silence the entire first day and night.

But the next morning, I heard a flicker at the kitchen window. Upon closer inspection, I found that a wasp had somehow crawled inside the window and was buzzing behind the blinds. After about 20 minutes of psyching myself up and finally smashing the wasp with a scream,

I patted myself on the back and returned to my solitude.

About 20 minutes later, a fresh wasp appeared behind the same blinds…a wasp I knew wasn’t there when I killed the first one. I immediately imagined myself killing wasps for the rest of the weekend. THEN I imagined a wasp stinging me while I slept.

So I did the only reasonable thing a grown adult can do - I messaged the owners of the cottage and asked if they had any wasp spray, hoping they would come to my rescue.

They replied that they would be there in a few hours to help.

And so…I waited.

And while I waited, I heard EV-ER-Y-THING. While the wasp itself wasn’t making much noise at all, I SWORE I heard it buzz hundreds of times.

Then I saw it fly across the room. Or at least, I THOUGHT I did. But when I returned to the kitchen window, the wasp was still there.

THEN I started to feel it crawling on me. Except…it wasn’t crawling on me at all.

Then the owners arrived, killed the wasp, and sealed up the window to prevent further intruders…and I suddenly didn’t hear or see or feel a single thing again. I went from pure paranoia of every tiny sound to ignorant bliss of the sounds I should have otherwise noticed.

And it really struck me that we find what we look for.

When we look for wasps, we find them.

When we look for drama, we find it.

When we look for our friends’ and family members’ faults, we find them.

When we look for evidence that the world is a terrible place, we find it.

When we hyper-fixate on ANYTHING, our brain will look for evidence to support our theory. It will nit-pick every situation, every word, every sound to say, “See?! I TOLD you so!”

But the inverse can also be true! Because our brains are just as capable of looking for the good in every situation.

When we look for peace and quiet, we find it.

When we look for our friends’ and family members’ best qualities, we find them.

When we look for the goodness in the world, we find it.

And when we look for reasons to feel thankful and blessed and grateful to be alive, we find them.

We find what we look for. So be sure to look for the things you actually WANT to find.

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SPRING by Becky Hemsley

"SPRING"
(by Becky Hemsley)

They met her on the corner

And she said her name was Spring

And she told them she’d been resting

Whilst the winter did its thing

She’d watched behind the window

As the rain had turned to snow

And she’d lit herself a fire

When the wind began to blow

She watched the winter ravage

And strip bare the stubborn trees

Whilst she’d sewn and stitched together

Brand new blossoms and their leaves

She said when it was cold

That she’d been sleeping in the warm

And when winter brought its blizzards

She’d been singing through the storm

When frosty mornings lingered

She’d been busy planting seeds

And until she could pick flowers

She had picked a book to read

And she told them, through the bleakness

She’d been writing to the sun

And the sun wrote back ‘hang in there

There are brighter days to come’

And then they looked and realised

There were flowers in her hair

Her smile was bright and sunny

And her voice had warmed the air

And then she waved goodbye

But in her wake she left them hope -

They knew the sun was on its way

To gently thaw the snow

And they felt a sense of peace

About what future days might bring

When they realised every winter

Must be followed by the spring

******

Becky Hemsley 2020

Lovely artwork by @karinartspace (via Instagram)

One for those in the southern hemisphere this morning! Spring is here

‘Spring’ is from Talking to the Wild https://a.co/d/eyXThOS

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OCEAN OF WISDOM

"OCEAN OF WISDOM" (author unknown)

A poor man always think the rich man made his wealth out of luck.

And the rich man believes the poor is poor because he is lazy.

A young lady who married very early thinks ladies who are finding it hard to get married have bad character.

A man who just graduated and get a job immediately thinks he is smarter than others.

While a woman who just got married and start giving birth sees "barren" women as people who lived a wayward life.

If only the poor knew the price the rich paid to get to top and if only the rich knows the battles, challenges that the poor is going through, none will ever form a theory about each other.

If the poor can't appreciate the rich man's success let him mind his business if it is easy to be rich he wouldn't have been poor.

And if the rich won't help the poor grow at least they should not kill the spirit of a struggling man.

If only you know what people endure or fight behind the scene you will always thank God for your life. Until you walk in people's shoes, You will never know how hard the journey is.

Help each other grow!!!

Mock less, envy no one.

and love one another.

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Tuesday 3 October 2023

CONGRATULATIONS

"CONGRATULATIONS"
(author unknown)
You are now the proud owner of a vintage body

Please read the following instructions to ensure you keep it running smoothly:

The temperature control may malfunction. We suggest you purchase clothing that will slip on, over or under. Quickly.

Buttons are not your friend.

On clothing or inanimate objects. Such as the tv remote or your husband. Do not attempt to push them. It’s very easy to trigger crossed wires that will mean a loss of sound over several days.

Please keep upright to avoid unnecessary breakages.

Replacement parts are difficult to come by. There may be a few languishing in the corridors of the NHS. There will be a need to jump through hoops to attain a new hip or knee for instance. Kindly refer to the above rule.

Vintage models eventually lapse and run on mono not stereo sound. There may be static interference. This is normal. We suggest closing the lounge doors so the husband’s mutterings are greatly reduced.

Do not immerse fully in water. It takes longer than expected to fully dry out and difficult to reach crevices could become susceptible to fungus.

The model will not always compute as quickly as newer models. However its power of reasoning increases intensely. There’s a 99% chance it will stubbornly refuse to change course.

Unlike recent models they do not need to announce to all and sundry when the sun comes up.

It is usual to hear rogue noises from an unexpected item in the bagging area. When attempting to lift a bag of groceries that has cost 50% of your state pension.

Not to be confused with actual body noises. Usual these will be ball and socket joint related. It is to be expected. You’ve run out of oil. Unlike Kuwait. To balance this out you will unearth a new supply of natural gas. Pockets of which will escape when you least expect it.

Do not fiddle with any knobs. They will not turn anything on.

Batteries go flatter quicker. Recharge regularly. In an emergency Kit Kats will provide an instant boost.

Their own counsel is kept safe and secure at all times.

Vintage models will not tolerate severe weather. Unlike modern models they will not increase alcohol levels to overcome the heat or cold, they will instead go for cotton or woollen garments. And tea.

They will not use alcohol for recreational use. It will be purely medicinal. Flavoured.

These models close down from social intercourse at 18:59 hours precisely.

We suggest you take great care of these vintage models.

They are irreplaceable.

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