It’s almost the pumpkin hour. I’m sitting in my conservatory.
The wind is howling, bashing ripping and smashing everything in my back yard.
Apart from the odd car that is going by, all I hear are the bells. My
windchimes. Now, I should have took them either in the house, or, garage. Or at
least tied them up, but we were warned about last week’s storm and of course
the back end of the hurricane that came over here just to say hi, but we were
not warned of this weather we are having now, or, have I just been in another
world whilst the news broke? It’s possible.
I had a call from Shamrock before, I spoke with them both. My
Son spoke some lovely words to me. Gosh I miss him and he is what my Husband
thought, away an extra day to what he said a couple of days ago. So, I’m not
even half way through his holiday and it’s as if he has been away at least ten
days.
It’s funny I guess because it was such a delight to hear his
voice, an yet it brought back some painful memories. I was speaking to my Hub
about it before and he agreed with my thoughts.
At boarding school, we were allowed one phone call home per
week and it had to be on a certain night between the hours of 6 and half six in
the evening. Well Wednesdays was the boy’s night and Thursdays was our night
which I found a bit odd as a lot of kids were fortunate and could go home at
weekends. So, why make the calls home the day before they were to go home? I
would have thought a Wednesday for both boys and girl’s boys between and girls
between whatever hours. Or in our case, half hours. I mean, in our dormitory’s
there were about 29 girls all together and more for the boys, so, we were
expected to talk for how long?
It was a pay phone. I remember at our first school, we would
queue and use a pay phone. No one taught us as tiny children how to use a
phone. I can never remember anyone doing that, how did I and the others know
how to use the phone? I really don’t know. I was six when I started to use the
phone. Putting my 2 pence’s in and when the phone beeped, it was time quickly
to say goodbye. Oh, I hated that. The feeling of putting down the phone, the
silence of my Mums voice. Having to go back to a cold hard regime of the horrid
house we stayed in at nights, it was called a house, but it was huge and so
cold.
My second school, same thing, said goodbye to my Mum and as I
was doing so, I could tell she was crying. Me, when would I see her again?
Would it be the following weekend? Or longer. Sometimes I was lucky and I got
home two weekends in a row. My Husband
bless him only went home at his second school every six weeks.
After putting the phone down from my Son today, it brought
back all those sad memories. Three minutes once a week talk with my Mum. I just
wanted to call him back and tell him again I love him. I know it’s stupid, but
seriously, boarding school has really scarred me I wouldn’t wish it, well, not our,
schools on my worst enemy.
As I have written about before school time during the day
was good. I loved my teachers but at night the house staff were cruel hard
horrid people. I know of two people at my second school who say, they were
happy but I really don’t understand them as no one else I know felt the same. I
have learned so much in the past year too that hasn’t at all shocked me about
our school. Just clarified dreadful rumours. I guess I should be lucky that I wasn’t
involved in such a way but other things happened to me that were so very wrong
and the fact I couldn’t go home at nights and tell my parents just made life so
much more difficult. Thank God now days children who are blind or like I was
then partially sighted, can go to every day schools for all. We were segregated,
kept away from quotes, the normal children. Which meant on holidays like the
six week holiday, we didn’t have friends at home. We were the strangers of the
street. In my case that had moments of sadness for me but in most cases I had
to go to Russia for my eye treatment, so I didn’t suffer for too long of
walking to the local park and simply having to face the bullying that went on
because I was in their eyes different.
So, rather than face that at home, a place I never wanted to
leave. I faced the painful injections in Russia. The electric shock treatment
and so much more, but also, I had the culture injected in my bones cerium full
of ballet opera and traditional dancing. My peers at home were playing games,
watching kid’s TV and me, I was taken to the Bolshoi expected to behave in such
a manner and have dinner parties with delegate’s. Do constant interviews for
the TV, radio and press. My early years were certainly a challenge.
Just a memory, brought on triggered by a beautiful call
thoughtful call from my Son and his girlfriend. It was great to hear his voice
and hear that he is having a good time. I had to smile as he told me about the nightclub
he went to last night, and what he got up to. I shall tell you about it later. But
in my Sons typical mischievous moment,what he told me, I cringed, but admired
the fun factor in him. And I don’t think Sham did anything to stop him from
being well, as I said mischievous. More later on that subject, remind me
I shall go now and hope items from my garden won’t find
their way down our street, unless it’s the rubbish we have collected that need
to go to a local tip, and as we can’t take it, we have it stored so, will I put
it in the front garden to fly away? Hmm. It’s tempting, but it would be so
wrong and knowing me, someone would knock on my door telling me they have found
my stuff!
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