Monthly Archives: November 2014

The poem about my grandma, knitting and Countdown

OK. So I just looked for my poem about my grandma and I have found loads of poetry that no one has ever read. Lots. And I’m not sure any of it is going to see the light of day … Continue reading

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A picture of Dora, my great grandma, with two children. And confirmation great grandad was a Seaforth Highlander – and a tunneller

So here we have a picture of Dora, with the two girls she had before the war. Her husband, Joseph, died at the age of 42 of lung cancer and rheumatoid arthritis leaving his wife and eight children in Clay … Continue reading

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Remember – another poem written at a workshop about #WW1 #amwriting

I’m trying to forget the fear, the mud, the stench of bodies Blown away from themselves. The barbed wire scratching at my soul.   Shuffling towards death, one by one in dirty uniforms Those hollowed out eyes reflecting back from … Continue reading

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Remember… A poem about Dora written in Clay Cross #WW1 #LestWeForget

This was written in a workshop with Emma Pass at Clay Cross – our last session. It had been brewing for a while, though I’m not sure I yet have all my facts. ‘Remember’ was our warm-up word and we … Continue reading

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Chairman Simon Jenkins’ farewell speech at the Trust’s AGM

Originally posted on National Trust Press Office:
WELCOME to Swindon. This has been a good six years in the history of the Trust. We are in excellent shape, the money sound and the membership rising. You know the figures: membership…

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The sayings of Dora, my great nan, widow of a #Seaforthhighlander #wewillrememberthem wonder if any of these come from the trenches #WW1

This a quick post, as I need to get ready for the Remembrance Day parade in Codnor, where we remember the first soldier in the village to die in WW1. You can find out more about the soldiers that died in … Continue reading

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Another found poem – from 2003 – The Allotment #poetry #amwriting #olderpeople

I have just found this on my computer and I like it. I’m not terribly confident with my poetry, but I like elements of it. The Allotment It reeks of weed killer and tweed. There is no shed, and yet … Continue reading

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