I meant to write every day, I truly did...
you are always in my thoughts....
I miss your laugh, your smile,
I even miss your rousing at me
for not chopping the wood.
I know I promised that once I got home
you would never have to do it again.
Did you get the poppy I sent you?
They are such a beautiful bright red
and I know how much you love them.
I hope the censor didn't take it out of the envelope.
I forgot to say Thank You for the socks
I know they took you a long time to knit them all
I hope you don't mind, but I gave a pair to my mate
His boots leaked, but the socks helped.
I promised to fix the fence as well
I am sorry, Mother, I really am,
but it's good that you got our neighbour in
you might need him to help a bit more.
You taught me never to break a promise
but sometimes, you can't help it.
I'm sorry, Mother, that I can't see your smile
I long for your arms around me, I'm cold
as I sleep among the poppies in a Flanders field
No need to keep knitting, Mother
I have enough socks now
Sorry, Mother, for not keeping my promises
Today, I did write, with all my love.
Thursday, 25 April 2013
Friday, 12 April 2013
A Trinket Or A Treasure
A trinket or a treasure
It means the same to me
For holding on to this small thing
I feel that you're with me.
I feel your touch
So warm and kind
As if you're asking me to see
That though the years
They do us part
You are a part of me
I may not have a photograph
To see your kindly smile
But still I feel your presence
As if you linger for a while.
Please know that I am grateful
For this link that we have shared
Know also that you still do live
In the heart of one who cared.
Saturday, 19 January 2013
I love leather... I would have walked on hot coals to have a
leather satchel like the one that I saw in the second hand shop...
such stuff as dreams are made of.
I always longed to go to a solid brick school, with lots of timber and surrounded by
beautiful gardens. Instead, I simply had to put up with quaint timber
schools, lots of light and open spaces and surrounded by huge Moreton
Bay figs, some literally hundreds of years old, which we were
forbidden to climb.
I would have taken notice, I really would, but
it's very hard to hear a yelling teacher calling out "ChrisTINE, for
the last time, come down from that tree, or ELSE!!" Hard, because the
branches I liked to sit on were a long way up. One hot afternoon, the
grade teacher went marching into battle, at least that's what she
looked like, straight down to my parent's shop, and demanded that my
mother do something about me climbing trees as "she is setting a bad
example". My mother got her Irish up and asked if I had ever fallen
out of a tree, or if I ever pushed anyone out of one, or even up
one... "Well, no, but..."
"No?" said my mother, and gave her her best glare, "Well you had
better get about your business and let me get about mine."
"Well, I never" said Battling Bertha, as we called our dear teacher....
she really was ok. " Maybe you should" said Mum. The teacher left, Mum
took a deep breath and I came out of the back room, all smiles.
Whack. Through tears, I asked why.. when she had stood up to the
teacher. I was told in no uncertain terms that Mum letting the teacher
know that she thought it was ok, was one thing, but me causing
problems and then the teacher needing to come see Mum was another.
From then on, I never climbed the trees, in school hours. I know I
digressed, but it still brings a smile to my face when I think of that
day and I reminded myself when I mentioned the trees.
Friday, 18 January 2013
Saturday, 5 January 2013
BLOG OF THE YEAR AWARD 2012
It is with great pleasure and surprise that I accept the Nomination by
Pauleen of Family history across the seas to be included in
her selection of five blogs she has chosen to nominate for
"Blog of the Year 2012 Award ".
I feel I am in very good company as you can see by her nominations
Congratulations to all.
Now it is my task to nominate others... not by any means easy
as I follow and enjoy so many blogs and choosing just a few
means leaving many other great blogs out this time.
You may find that you are following some of these already, if not,
I hope you will read a little and see why they have caught my attention.
written by the wonderful Angela
who takes us on a journey through history or introduces us
to the charm of Ireland today.
She writes with such passion and enthusiasm
that you can't help but be swept up
in her always interesting posts.
written by Janet who invites us to learn more about the history
of Irish settlement in Connecticut in particular
and has led to her very much sought after book
released last year.
Her articles are so comprehensive and written
with such feeling and understanding that,
even though I have no connection
to those whose lives she explores, I find her blog
I can't overlook Catherine who is always so modest
about her work, but doesn't recognise the power she has
to lead us through so many emotions...
One minute, I am battling to stop the tears flowing,
the next I am laughing out loud.
This incredible natural writer simply shares
her ancestors, her life, her thoughts and feelings
so well, that the reader becomes her friend.
written by Damian whose passion and love of history
has taken me on an amazing journey and taught me
so much about the Irish participation
in the American Civil War and the attitudes
of those times. His diligent research
and copious links to other reading provides
so much more than the normal tales of history.
Though Pauleen nominated me for this award,
I can't overlook her always intriguing blogs.
I have learnt so much from reading her tips on research,
her guidance towards helping us to be better researchers
has been invaluable. Pauleen has a great way of exploring
the story behind the facts, so you really feel attached
to those she writes about, and look forward to even more
tales to come.
Sincere Congratulations to all my nominees and
Thank You for sharing your wonderful blogs with us all.
Sunday, 9 December 2012
I am the summation of all who have passed on,
all I have met and all I admire...
I am brushed with days and years gone by,
of friends who left and those who have stayed,
of places I've lived and places I've visited.
I am the summation of the books I've read,
the craft I have done,
the sunrises and sunsets I have seen,
the babbling brook and the raging sea.
I am the summation of tears shed
of laughter shared,
of long winter evenings
and the blissful days of spring.
I am the petals of fragrant roses
and inviting fruits.
I am brushed with death, and tears,
of life and joy..
I am the past and the present
I am the future..
I am me.
The Blue Candle
Just a simple candle to remember
The times we used to have
Though we cannot touch your arm
We still can touch your heart
As you still touch ours.
Margaret Joy Swadling, known as Peg, was born in Coffs Harbour, NSW, in 1930, the youngest of four children to Roy Leonard and Bridget Teresa (nee Dillon).
She married her soul mate, Vince, and despite her numerous illnesses, they worked together most of her life, raising three children along the way. She was to be blessed with three grandchildren, before passing away at 51. Another two grandchildren came along after. Peg loved her family above all else, her children, her son in law and daughter in law, her grandchildren, and she would be so excited to know she has a grandson in law and two beautiful great grandchildren.
She adored children, loved to sing, loved being surrounded by family and friends, loved her garden, and was so proud of her Irish mother, who gave her her Irish background. Sadly, her mother died when Peg was just 11.
She was uncomplaining, courageous, and an inspiration to all.
Peg was my much loved mother.
For her and all our departed loved ones, I will light a blue candle on Christmas Eve.