Strange things going on in the family. Can’t really say
what, but I want to say so much to the person/people involved. It’s not like me
to have to keep my mouth closed. OK I understand on here, but to the person/people
in the environment of a house? Hub said I have to say nothing at all. Grrr. But
like a bubble, I’m ready to burst. Watching a car about to crash and I could
stop it but been told not to. Why should I do as I’m told? Hmm. I love my Hub
and he is rational, I’m not. I’m so flighty. Flighty Fi, that’s what I am. Or
is that flirty Fi? Hahahehehe.
So, hands tied lips sealed and just watch. Then pick up the
pieces.
My boy happy working hard, he has just come in after a game
of tennis. He is starving. Again. How is he so slim? Mind you his Father is too
and he could out eat anyone. My mum loved him as she loved to feed people and
my ex loved getting fed. I wonder if he misses my Mums cooking like I do? Some
days I so wish I was with my Mum visited eating her Sunday dinners. Oh they were
so good. I was home. There is nothing better than knowing you have a home. For
me, at boarding school, it was so hostile. To finish your day at school. All
you want to do is go home to your parents. To walk through the door and smell
your tea/dinner ready for you. To see the coal fire, all cosy to know you are
going to have love. Well, we finished school; we had to go to a cold damp dormitory
take off our uniform into casual clothes. Go down to a so called tea. Hmm. Oh
my word. It was the worst food. So small. So nasty like a scoop of baked beans
and they were always cold. And a spam fritter. It was horrible. On plastic
plates with a cup of tea if you were lucky, you got a slice of bread and
butter. End of until the next morning for breakfast. Sometimes we got so called
supper which was again a slice of bread and butter with a plain biscuit and a
cup of milk, but that wasn’t every day. Breakfast was cereal again bread. One
slice. Lunch, one small bit of meat, two potatoes and a tiny scoop of cabbage
or peas. Oh, and a glass of water.
My Husbands school secondary was so much better. He
sometimes got a cooked breakfast. Wow, we never even got that at weekends.
So five in the evening we would finish our food, and then
have duties to do. Polish shoes and if we were naughty, we got other jobs to
do. My dear friend Mandy and I always had the extra work to complete. Haha.
What did we do? Well, Mandy was lippy, but so cute when she was, me? Really, it
was so pathetic; I can’t honestly say what I did wrong. I was always too scared
of my own shadow.
I think it was because I hung out with Mandy. Birds of a
feather and all.
The colours of boarding school houses were so depressing. The
sounds of echoes and the absolute boredom. The ache for my family the lump in
my throat was awful! We were allowed to phone home once a week. For only five
minutes. We had letter writing days and we could only put in what they agreed
with. One time I wrote to my Mum that I wasn’t allowed to wear the new t/shirt
that my Aunt bought me. I thought nothing of it closed my letter book, to return
to it to get it checked by our teacher, we even had to buy our own stamps and
those were the days when they were 11 and a half pence. Now? I’m not sure I
think about 65p. As I went out it was break time, I was called back to the
class room. The matron was waiting for me. I hated that woman. She lived her
life sadistically sucking on glass. She had black staring cruel eyes, she had
her soul removed at birth and her heart was replaced with bullets she would
shoot at you.
She wore an underskirt that sounded like it was made from rubber.
When she walked, it made a swish sound. So when I used to hear her coming, I
couldn’t see her as she would be around a corner, but oh my heart sunk I had Goosebumps.
The cold fear ran through my veins. She was unnecessarily nasty her manner was nefarious,
with her needle like narrow nose, with a pointy chin and twisted mouth, which
completed the look of the angry antagonistic person she was. Now days she would
be jailed for her crimes. I could write a book on her cruelty. Even her malevolent
mouth was full of hatred. Her voice is still in my head after over thirty
years. Her throat sounded as as though it had been cut whilst she had been
swallowing razor blades.
So what did she want? To tell me she had ripped up my letter
and I was to re write it all again. I wasn’t to say that I was not allowed to
wear my t/shirt. As she stood behind me, watching every single word I wrote,
she dug me in the shoulder blades and as my hand shook in total fear I made
mistakes I otherwise wouldn’t have. So she waited until I had written the
letter out again and showed me a mistake I did right at the start of the
letter, and then stood in front of me black eyes burning through my soul
feeding me with poison. She turned up her lips showing her porcelain teeth and
hissed as she tore up the second letter. I was to re write it again, this time
I felt so ill. My eyes were burning. I could see clear in those days, but not
good enough to write a lot of words. I could only see part of one letter at a
time. So you can imagine how long it took me to write, my eyes were as though
had been rubbed with lemon juice. I did the letter again, this time she told me
my hand writing wasn’t good enough as I went off the lines. Yes, this is
because I was partially sighted. A thing they made no allowances for at that
school. Though it was officially a school for those with little sight.
For this crime of my letter, I had to visit detention for a
week. Every night after our so called meal. A time when as a child, I should
have been playing out with friends, or watching TV with my family. The walk to
the class was long and scary. In the winter there were trees with finger like
branches. In the cobalt clouds, I saw shadows only. My eye condition prevented
me from having any good or useful vision in the dusk or dark.
Our school at the girls end was so quiet. As I would pass by
the boys building, that was so different. I used to envy the boys. They had games,
a full size pool table too. They had a football field for summer where as we
had nothing, a car park with a hop scotch and a bench to sit on. It was like a
ghost town the girls section.
My friends Mandy and Julie would sit and talk. Knowing that
bed time was on its way, for some an escape. For me, I just didn’t sleep well
at all and when I did, I had horrendous nightmares.
No Mum to run to during the night, if we wanted any kind of
support, we would quietly call one of our friends in the dormitory. If we got
heard though, there was serious trouble.
The teachers like the ones at my first school where I met my
lovely Hub, were great, apart from one, who was involved with children in a way
that was, and is, very wrong. The rest of them were so lovely. But the house
staff were cold and hard. From one extreme to the other. I witnessed things at
my school that I would never ever want any child to see or even know about.
The head teacher was seriously involved. Head master as he
was known as. As I have written about before, the things that were done to the
girls were done to poor kids who were not very intelligent. Sadly for them,
they were badly abused. I hate my memories. I can box them, but the lid keeps
coming off. Because of Bording School I’m a mess for life, but, now, I don’t
have fear when I try to sleep. I used to be scared of so much. They can’t hurt
me now, neither the house staff or anyone else who did in my past. I’m away
from all of that. As for living in fear of blindness? Well, I went through that
and I’m over that bridge. It took years but now I’m here on the other side of
the river, I can breathe a sigh of relief. It can’t get any worse. We live with
our blindness. Before when I was waiting for it to happen, it was the unknown.
I know it now and I can take the bull by the horns and hang on tightly.
No bull will throw me off and the evil matron, well, she can
slowly rot in hell when it’s her time to go.
As for her Husband? Who also worked at our school, well, he too will
visit the devil as they are all related. I’m astonished that there has not been
some kind of investigation into their behaviours.
OK, how did we get here? Not sure, let me go to the top of
the page and see what I was on about.
I’m back. So my Mums Sunday lunches…. I do miss them. I
still can smell them and taste them. She used to serve buckets of Yorkshire
puddings. Yummy. I loved them. Then a game of cards with my Dad. Bless him. He
was so cute. So loving and had a face full of laughter and endearing attribute’s.
As a parent I do wonder what my child will remember about me.
Do I really want to know? I try to be a good Mum and when my boy was little, it
was easy. I loved him more than I have ever loved anyone in my life. Now he is
older, it’s so difficult to please him. Teens are so angry. I’m not surprised the
music they listen to.
I hope my Son will know I loved him so much and only wanted
the best for him. I hope one day he will come with his wife and I can cook for
them. He will look forward to certain kinds of foods that only me, his Mum can
do well. Now, then, what will that be? Oh heck….. Though bless him, he is
always so grateful to whatever I cook him. He went through a funny stage last
year, but that was the stupid person he was with at the time. Filling his head
with rubbish. She eats out of a cookery book as she has no imagination of her
own. So her narrow mind, rubbed off on my boy, luckily he realised what she was
doing and that all stopped. Now he is so kind and truly grateful for the meals I
put on the table.
Roasted veg. We as a
family are really enjoying those vegetables at the moment. Roasted tomatoes, squash,
courgettes garlic shallots baby corn and mushrooms. Now, there is a word for you? Mediterranean.
Gosh, I always struggle spelling that word.
I had it all but not the fish.
OK I best go this isn’t the blog I was going to write about.
Gosh, it is a rather depressing one? Well, take some positive from it. I’m out
of that place and I am a survivor. I have my boots on now and I can kick. I won’t
take any rubbish. Yes a part of my brain has memories I would love to forget,
but such is life. As I say to my friends, if this life is a stage for our act
to go on to bigger theatres, well, I should appear at the West end. Main character.
Hahah. Tomorrow, there will be some news on how we did the vet trip. Oh heck…..
Wish me luck? And in a couple of weeks, we have a bigger journey to do to our
school friends. Can’t wait to see them but getting there? Not sure how that
will work out. Until tomorrow, sleep well, don’t let anyone put you down. Don’t
be in fear of anyone. You are so much better than that. If you are being kicked
to the floor, bite the feet of those doing it to you. Climb up, show them you
are strong and won’t take it. If you are down, on the ground, there is only one
way you can go, and that is up. Come on, get up and stand up for yourself. Don’t
wait for someone else to do it for you. X
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