Anna’s post was so lovely to read, I just had to have a go myself and writing this has brought back so many memories, I feel moved and quite drained somehow, I hope you find this interesting. By hitting back links I found a template to work from, it was easier than you think to do this…I look forward to reading about where you are from.
I am from the never ending sunny days of childhood, school holidays, from pancakes with lemon and sugar that Mum couldn’t cook fast enough for four children and noise and laughter and worries about money….
I am from the house that had ice on the inside of the windows in the winter, which was fun to breath on and draw faces in…the house that has lino on the floors and the mop that had a swivel head so Mum could dust under the bed. I am from two older sisters and a little brother that kept me smiling….I am from a warm fire in the front room and a kitchen warm with baking.
I am from hand picked blackberries, strawberries and blackcurrants and gooseberries and that sweet delicious pastry only my Mum could make.
I am from sitting up straight at the table, fold your arms and no talking and giggling and be quiet I am listening to my music, from George and Mavis and my many Aunties and Uncles. From hiding behind my Mother when Uncle Robin walked into the room. From “but you’ll love Grandmas marmalade” (I didn’t but I loved my Grandma)
I am from outings in the small black car, squabbling in the back with all my siblings and Mum trying to keep the peace and feeling car sick. From being tucked up in bed after a long car drive to ease the travel sickness. From blisters on my nose from too much sunshine. From looking forward to going to Haylingalinga L’Island, to wanting to come home because of too much sunshine. From being rubbed too hard with a sand encrusted towel…ouch!
From you ARE beautiful and they are only jealous. From a pink hat that my Mum used to tie under my chin, mittens on elastic that went from cuff to cuff that Mum used to tuck up my sleeve before I went to school. From red tights…lobster legs!
I am from Sunday School, from Enid Blyton and The Adventures of Pip and Mallory Towers. From the need to escape, from reading books in a sunny grassy field down a country lane, all alone and getting my thoughts in order.
I’m from Hampshire, UK, the New Forest with ponies and trickling streams and playing on the green for hours on end, from roller skates and wearing my Mum’s stockings held up with elastic garters and her shoes clip clopping on the pavement. From liver and dark onion gravy with cabbage and creamy mashed potatoes and wonderful steamed puddings and custard, homemade jam and Robert Carrier cookery cards.
From the sister that was my best friend and my leader, I lived in her shadow, she was confident and noticed and great fun and naughty and cute, the other sister that was quiet and just looked at her lively younger sisters as they threw the knives and forks into the draw without drying them properly, “DRY THEM UP” so Dad would come in and tip the whole drawer into the washing up water again so I missed the bus to see my boyfriend. From the sister that always managed to go to the toilet when the washing up needed doing.
From the brother that walked home from school with me and made up words to go with the letters in the number plates. From the brother that hid in the bush in the park and made the simple man of the area think the bush was talking to him, from creamcrackers and orange squash ‘over the back’ before the houses were built.
I am from photographs in albums. From a Grandma stood at a sink in a little dark kitchen from where she dropped dead and Granddad died of a broken heart a few weeks later. From an Aunty that lived near to our school and my naughty sister would take me to visit her when we should have been going home, Aunty Ethel kept chickens and had painted a cottage garden on her mirror hanging in her dark old persons smelling house. She was a pretty lady with beautiful white hair coiled loosely on her head.
I am from love, good food, creativity, music, photography, good grooming. From speaking correctly and do as you would be done by and if you can’t say anything nice don’t say anything at all….