WBW or Way Back Wednesday was something I adopted from the Persian and I know that my dear friend Melissa has mourned the absence of these posts so I hereby reincarnate them.

























Eleanor (pictured above) was my Great Grandmother and was married to Andrew. I think that this photograph of her was probably taken around 1900, perhaps in celebration of her twenty first birthday.

My father spoke very fondly of his paternal grandmother and sometimes in whispers because some of her activities were not openly spoken of, amongst other things Eleanor practised the ancient art of scrying. I understand that she could use tea leaves, water and mirrors but that by far her favourite medium was fire.

I used to love listening to my father tell of how he would pay a visit to his grandmother's home every time he came home on leave during WWII. During the visits they would sit in front of a roaring coal fire drinking tea and Eleanor would stare into the flames. Not a word would be spoken about what she was doing but my father understood perfectly well that she was consulting the burning coals to see how he would fare when he left to return to his ship. At the end of his visit she would smile and inform him that she would see him next time he was home on leave and he would leave reassured. Of course my father did not believe in such things, he just liked to pacify his grandmother...

My father told me that his grandmother could pass for a woman at least twenty five years younger than she actually was, her waist length jet black hair had no appearance of grey and her skin was flawless right up until the day she died aged sixty. I was lucky that the secret of her hair colouring was passed down to me, Eleanor would use the ashes from the coal fire mixed with water to form a paste which she would wash her hair with. I might try it one day!

Eleanor placed a lot of trust in omens and would shudder if she saw a crow sitting upon the roof of a house for this was an extremely bad sign which was interpreted as bad luck or the collection of a soul. The crow is a symbolic figure in Celtic Mythology and as Eleanor's mother was Welsh I suspect that these were beliefs passed down her maternal family line.

Strangely, a crow is not a bad omen for me, I merely nod my head and whisper her name.

Other WBW posts:

Big Andy
Ellen
Mary Anne

Labels: Family History, Genealogy, Miladysa, Way Back Wednesday

Posted by Miladysa at 10:19 AM 34 Comments

There was a problem finding somewhere to park

Then finding the correct change for a can of Pepsi from one of the dispensing machines

The thumb prick went OK - no fears - no tears - a veteran now

All the play stations were occupied - we hate to wait

It was a very busy clinic

Nothing less than direct eye contact from all present

Knowing looks and nods

Parents and staff glancing at the healthy child by our side

Then it was our turn

A mother's affirmation before we entered the chambers

"I know everything is alright but I HATE this wait!"

Not the five years it had taken to get to this point, nor the drive or the hours pretending we were not sitting in the Cancer Clinic at a children's hospital but the minute or so before sitting down and receiving the blood results.

Then the words we had prayed, hoped, longed and wished for...

"It's NOT coming back! You can stop thinking it will now."

Yet another appointment to arrange, this time for January 2009 - this time to discover whether or not the chemotherapy has left its mark in some way

He ran down the silent, serious corridor in the hospital, past the wheelchairs, theatre trolleys and drip stands

"Don't run!" called his Mum after him

"Let him run!" I cried

And we did, all three of us to the car

As we drove away I lowered the windows and we all cheered and shouted

"Hooray!"

"Shout it loud enough to wake the dead!" I cried. "Let's make sure they hear us!"

Labels: Acute Myeloid Leukemia, Miladysa

Posted by Miladysa at 9:41 PM 33 Comments

My friend and fellow blogger Melissa stunned me earlier today when she asked me what "Ta" means - Ta means thank you.

Hands up if you did not know that?

I thought it would be fun to post a few Lancashire words, see how many you can work out - NO cheating please :)

Addled

Butty

Clout

Dee

E’en

Fain

Gob

Hoo

Int

Jiggered

Kilt

Lanky

Moggy

Nesh

Owt

Parky

Querthur

Reet

Sken

Tha

Un

Vawse

Wacked

Yer’sen

You will find the answers in the comments.

I will be back tomorrow with a Sins post ;)

Labels: Dialect, Lancashire

Posted by Miladysa at 10:04 PM 33 Comments

The Master has returned.

Labels: Blog Star, Fish, Life, Miladysa

Posted by Miladysa at 2:00 PM 6 Comments

I don’t love you
You know it’s true
I never loved you
I always will

I don’t hurt now
Nor do you
We’ve both recovered
We always will

I don’t remember
Who are you?
It never happened
It always will

Labels: Miladysa, Poem, Poetry

Posted by Miladysa at 5:15 PM 13 Comments

A glass filled with wild flowers
On a chest of drawers
A glass for a vase
Daisies, buttercups, bluebells
No roses, orchids or lilies
One of nature’s gifts
I gave you me

A road in winter lined with trees
With ice on the road
Snow for leaves
Car, night, moon
No restaurant, theatre or hotel
One of nature's gifts
I gave you me

A pub on a dark moor
Fairy lights on the wall
Empty chairs for company
Cider, voices, fire
No promises, home or dog
You gave me memories
I gave you me

Labels: Miladysa, Poem, Poetry

Posted by Miladysa at 11:34 AM 12 Comments

Thanks to Cube I had the privilege to meet a most remarkable human being this morning - Major Andrew Olmsted. Unfortunately for all of us, Andrew Olmsted is dead.

If you are American, you probably have already heard about this gentleman, as a Brit I doubt if I would have done so without the open frontiers of Blogland.

I'm off to pour a glass of coke and play some 1980s music.

If you do nothing else today please find time to read the Last Post.

Nice meeting you Andrew, shame about the circumstances.

Labels: Major Andrew Olmsted, Miladysa

Posted by Miladysa at 9:55 AM 15 Comments

I have always loved books. Growing up, when my father was away, my mother always had her head in a book and encouraged me to do the same. Although there is no doubt in my mind that my mother loved books I think that her first love was music – but that’s another story.

I believe my love of books commenced with my first visit to the library, although I must have been surrounded with them before then, there was something in making my own selection. By the time I was old enough to journey to the library on my own, I was a seasoned book fiend.

The Adult Section of the library was out of bounds until you had an adult library ticket which was granted when one commenced work or college. I was lucky that my mother would often send me to the library if she was unable to get there herself and in doing so would furnish me with a list of books to collect. As I was a regular visitor the librarian would permit me to select my mother’s choice from the shelves myself and would keep a beady eye on me to ensure that I did not venture into other sections which I assume were undesirable for a ‘child’. Hence my reading material was always censored.

The first ‘uncensored’ reading experience occurred in my father’s parked car, for some reason he had left me unattended in the vehicle and I searched the glove compartment in his absence and discovered ‘Stand Up Virgin Soldiers’ by Leslie Thomas. It was an education – but that’s another story.

My next free experience came one evening when I was asked to baby-sit for an acquaintance of my mother’s. This acquaintance was a ‘divorcee’ and the only divorcees I had come across up until that point had been in American films and the one occasion I met the ‘stepmother’ of a school friend. Don’t get me wrong, it is not that I was protected from such people it was just that they did not exist in my world – but that’s another story.

I did not always enjoy babysitting but on this occasion I was happy to help as it granted me an opportunity to experience at first hand what a divorcee and her home actually looked like.

In those days, the television ceased to transmit programmes before a certain hour – usually midnight - and I would have to look to the record player for entertainment if my clients were late coming home. The divorcee did not own a record player but had a radiogram instead and as I rooted through her record collection I discovered a book tucked up amongst the albums, it was entitled ‘The Mersey Sound’. To be honest, my first thoughts were that it had something to do with the Beatles or possibly Gerry and the Pacemakers. I cannot express how delighted I was to discover it was actually a book of poetry.

It was not just any poetry book though; the poets were Adrian Henri, Roger McGough and Brian Patten. Shockingly it contained references to white panties, pink nighties, stockings, minced pies and mashed potatoes. I was instantly hooked.

Immediately I had a favourite amongst the poets, Adrian Henri, even his name was exotic, Henri with an I not a Y a trifle like Liza with a Z – but that’s another story.

My love affair with Adrian Henri was to continue beyond that night. Later, when I reached the grand age of fifteen, I attended a poetry reading with a boyfriend who was a college student. I had no idea which poets were to make an appearance then suddenly, there on stage, sat on a stool, was the man himself, the man who had introduced me to love and life with his words, Mr Adrian Henri.

After the recital I was introduced to him, dumbstruck until I summoned courage from deep inside I spoke and told him how his poetry had changed my world, or perhaps not. I think I meant to say that but something else came out instead. One of my claims to fame is that I met the man himself though my children exclaim with disinterest “Adrian Who?” They are more interested in my invitations to parties held in the hotel suites of a certain Rolling Stone – but that’s another story.

So, Adrian Henri changed my life. If you are not familiar with his work the links above really are worth checking out.

I have a whole book of poems I wrote when I was sixteen, when I read them today I see clearly that I plagiarised the work of Henri, McGough and Patten. There follows a poem I wrote recently, I am not saying I was influenced by anyone, what do you think?

I am NOT A Heathen

Bacon butties with red sauce
Not bacon barms with tomato ketchup
Sausage sandwiches with Daddies
Always Daddies no exceptions
Tea, Tetley
You can stick your Earl Grey
Never lemon
Milk pasteurised
Never sterry
I am not a heathen

Cheddar, Cheshire or Lancashire
Not Stilton, Brie or Edam
Cheese and onion pie, chips and curry
Always chips no exceptions
Nightcap, Horlicks
You can shove your hot chocolate
Never Ovaltine
Beans Heinz
Never own brand
I am not a heathen

Labels: Mersey Sound, Miladysa, Poems, Poetry

Posted by Miladysa at 10:25 AM 21 Comments

A great big thank you to Anon over at Bird Anonymous and Melissa at Forge Light for awarding Miladysa the 'You Make My Day Award'!

This award comes with great responsibility and the recipient must (optional lol) share their award with up to ten other bloggers who Make Their Day and also leave a comment on each blog to announce that they have won the award.

I decided in making my choice that as well as the winning bloggers and blogs I would also highlight a particular post which actually did Make My Day.

Miladysa awards the YOU MAKE MY DAY AWARD to the following bloggers (in no particular order):


Anon - Bird Anonymous - Delightful Afternoon With Mini

Melissa - Forge Light - Way Back Wednesday

Colin - Fish on a Bycicle - bye bye baby, baby bye bye

Tree - Decadent Tranquility - Shone on Me

Ghost Particle - Human Universe - Blasphemy

Angela - This Happy Breed - The Fox, The Cat and The Trout

Deb - Stargazer's Space - Winter Angel

Autumn Storm - The Decadent Autumn Story - More Than Numbers

Zombieslayer - The Zombieslayer - I'm Glad Obama Beat Clinton in Iowa

Bhakti - Jai Bhakti - Photos For Miladysa


Congratulations everyone!

Labels: Blogging Award, Make My Day, Miladysa

Posted by Miladysa at 11:48 AM 17 Comments

You pulled aside my hair
Exposing my neck
Traced the vein beneath
With your finger tips
And watched the pulse rise

You pulled tight
Blazed a trail in my mind
Bruised the soul within
With your heavy words
And bade the blood rise

You pulled with a frenzy
Releasing my fears
Traced the heart
With your breath
And provoked a demon to rise

You sank your teeth
Into my skin
Slicing the ties inside
Into tiny ribbons
And will reap what has risen

Labels: Demise, Love, Miladysa, Poem

Posted by Miladysa at 7:46 PM 15 Comments