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Post by meganl on Aug 12, 2016 12:55:07 GMT
WOW she is one talented young lady.
It was mostly painted but she used a cut down tinfoil roll painted up and attached for the nose and folded paper for the ears.
I would threaten to come over there and skelp his bahookie if he doesn't do it but it might get me intae bother. When the church I used to belong to helped with the services at an old folks home in town I spotted a lady from my town and went to talk to her.
The nurses seemed quite surprised that she knew me and asked if I was a relative as they were having some problems with her imagination. I listened as they told me she was imagining that her boys were visiting but that she had no relatives and was known never to have had children.
I quickly disabused them of that notion you see I knew what they did not. Yes she had never given birth to children having married late in life, she had however worked for may years as a nanny and I knew the names she was talking about. They were her boys sadly by the time she had entered the home they had all been killed in the service of their country many years before. It wasn't imagination just a poor souls memory slipped out of time. Thankfully I knew enough about her, having sat for hours listening to her wonderful stories of her life while David would work on her house to be able to give them enough information that they could connect with her in the time she was slipping back to live in.
Why don't you work together to make memory books to pass on to your grand children it would make a lovely gift from you to them.
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Post by sandrainsydney on Aug 12, 2016 15:23:26 GMT
a couple of years ago my friends went to Molong & mentioned the upcoming show - well, their hosts mentioned it! So I looked it up & found it was a wonderful mix of very old, traditional stuff & new stuff - 50cents per entry! Their show is 152 years old Sydney's Easter Show is much larger, & is heading for it's second century
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Post by meganl on Aug 13, 2016 6:24:34 GMT
Our shows are getting ridiculous in price nowadays this year they were £7 for the badge which allows you in. David and I were first aiders at the three Mainland shows for years it was a long day with the County being a nightmare being on site at 0600 hrs till 1730hrs then grab a quick meal in town and head to the rugby club for the show night dance till 0200 hrs . www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-scotland-37064296
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Post by meganl on Aug 15, 2016 6:30:55 GMT
To those of a certain age it will always be Peedie Charlie's, Charlie Celli truly was a man small in stature but he had the heart of a giant. He had served in the British army during the war yet he detested swearing or any disrespect shown to the ladies.
On one occasion a drunken mountain of a man staggered in swearing and threatening the lassies ahint the counter. Charlie was out of the kitchen, had the drunks arm up his back and he was ejected from the building, it all happened so quickly I doubt most folk even noticed it had occurred.
Charlie is long gone now but his café has not changed all that much, a counter moved to allow a few more tables and a fresh coat of paint when the smoking ban came in.
What will always make it Peedie Charlie's are the paintings at one time they may have been brightly painted but years of varnish and smoking have left them as small vignettes of Orkney in shades of brown, dainty pictures of times past.
To step through the door is to enter a time warp, it still feels like it did in the sixties. The clothes might have changed but the café and the Orcadians have not. It still sells pizzas made to Charlie's original recipe, he must have been the only Italian ever to make pizzas on a base of scots pie pastry.
And what of the customers? They are as they have always been, a truly egalitarian mix. The window seats near the door crammed to the gunnels with teenagers laughing and blushing at whispered words of love.
At the next table sits the local minister with a few moments to spare before a meeting, he has always had something of a weakness for their sultana scones.
The farmer enters scrubbed and squeezed into his Sunday best suit, his neck shining like a cherry on top of a bun. He is obviously trying to get up the courage to visit the bank manager. He nods respectfully to the minister but carefully takes a seat as far from him as possible, after all ministers are fine if they stay in their place but they are no like real folks.
Four older folk are in from the country for a days shopping their chatter vying with the teenagers in volume. "Mechty a thought he wid bidein wie thingy," "Ach naw he hisny been wie her for weeks its Lizzie o Brandyquoy he's wie noo.) Tea wie fancy cakes fur the wifies while the men munch their way through rolls thick wie bacon.
The pair bent towards each other at the corner table are two of the towns wealthiest business men, there are some things you just don't want to discus in the office. Two young mums share a table, the prams sitting facing each other ready for the duel of screams.
Aye everybody goes tae Peedie Charlie's of course that's no the cafes real name, but that is also normal for Orkney.
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maeve
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Post by maeve on Aug 15, 2016 11:11:48 GMT
Here's a salute to Peedie Charlie! Thanks, Megan.
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Post by meganl on Aug 18, 2016 6:53:06 GMT
From its earliest days Orkney has been a home to both baking and crafts. Although the Islands seem remote nowadays It was at one time a centre of worship and craft, it was estimated there were not enough people native to the islands to build our major monument the ring of Brodgar. It is thought it was part of a land wide scheme it is third largest following Stonehenge and Avebury which raises the idea of itinerant workers with the expertise to lay out sites moving from one major place of worship to another just as they later did with castles and cathedrals.
This was the lay of thought that had my memories going back to the place crafts had played in my life. As a child the crafts that surrounded me were most often practical one of my earliest memories is the smell of leather as we went to choose bent for Dad to sole our shoes to this day I still love the smell.
His woodworking skills were basic but I grew up with kinetic toys from his engineers mind, a watermill that would be dragged out to the back garden in the summer for me to attack with jugs of water or if I was lucky he would get out the garden hose to make the wheel whizz round. My favourite had to be the swinging clown he was loose limbed and flat strung between two sticks which when you squeezed the bottom of them would send him summersaulting over his string.
Mum like many of the women in our area was a member of the church guild this meant sales of work where each lady had her own little specialities. Mrs Gibbson a couple of doors down the terrace knitted covers for treetop bottles (they had a lovely shape ideal for crafters) the bit that went over the lid was shaped as a poodles head the bottles would be filled with bath crystals, she also made toilet roll covers with a lady on the top. There was the usual group of ladies who knitted baby clothes and mittens and the ones who crocheted dressing table sets and little crosses which were bookmarks.
Mum would go down to Howard street to a small shop that sold foam thick sheets for upholstery(It was no wonder so many people died in house fires back then that stuff gave of thick poisonous smoke. What she bought was a very thin foam I am not sure what its intended purpose was but we would spend evenings cutting out basic fish shapes these were blanket stitched together leaving a gap at the tail where she would insert a mini soap. While in Howards street we would head along to Catanis a hardware shop to pick up sheets of mosaic tiles. back home the tiles would be sorted and clipped before being attached to the ubiquitous Treetop bottle and grouted before she added a lamp fitting and made a shade, the lids for the bottles were an ideal size to tile turning them into eggcups.
Any spare moment with mum was spent making something furry moccasin slippers, cane work tea trays, sea grass stools and embroidery. When she was in the cane work mode you had to book your bath otherwise you would find the tub filled with rolls of cane soaking to make them pliable.
Nowadays my folks would be seen as artsy but to their generation it was just what you did make do and mend and if you wanted something and couldn't afford it there was none of this getting in debt for it you just made it.
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Post by sandrainsydney on Aug 18, 2016 12:17:07 GMT
Nowadays my folks would be seen as artsy but to their generation it was just what you did make do and mend and if you wanted something and couldn't afford it there was none of this getting in debt for it you just made it.
same here, folks made & made do. Dad would sole & heel our shoes & I replaced heels too in my earlier days out on my own.
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Post by meganl on Aug 22, 2016 12:06:22 GMT
Just wasn't sure where to put this. You see this morning I found a spiral bound notebook It was the one that stayed by my side while David was in the Golden Jubilee hospital. I cautiously opened it expecting to find tears and sadness instead I found a small treasury of thoughts and prayers and little stories mixed with poems of the folklore of my land. Here are two of the poems sparked by a conical hill seen from my hotel window.
The fairy hill
There was a time when on your hill No mortal man would tread. Now they build up to your doorway With neither fear or dread.
There was a time they'd nod to you At your brig ere they passed that way. Now they thunder by in noisy cars You little mean today.
There was a time in shade of night The auld wife they'd come to call Now they believe not in the ways of old The house of Sidhe does fall.
~~~~~~~
You never know
There's no such thing as Fair Folk No Folk of field or hill And thinking of the forest Folk Would modern man quite ill.
No one believes in that today Their time has been and gone. The Hogboon, Selkie and the Trow The list goes on and on.
Yet stop and think a moment Of who made us are we are Each perfect to his purpose of the one who placed each star.
When he thought that he would make a tree Did he only make an Oak His choice of trees does tell us They are just a different kind of folk.
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ragdall
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Post by ragdall on Aug 25, 2016 9:13:19 GMT
Beautiful, Megan.
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Post by meganl on Aug 28, 2016 19:46:51 GMT
Another Golden Jubilee story
I was listening to some conference organisers at breakfast and realised the delegates would not be participants but sheep to be herded towards an already decided outcome. The whole purpose of the event seemed to be so that the management could later say" You were consulted, you decided"
It made me think about how I taught people compared to those conference leaders. I have often learned as much from my trainees as they learned from me, by listening to them I would sometimes have to re-examine what we did and find another way to do it to fit their circumstances.
When I went down for lunch I could see several very unhappy faces I don't think those organisers were going to have a good afternoon by what the folk at the table next to me were saying. Sometimes we have to take the frightening step of not thinking we have all the answers to learn a new and possibly better way forward.
After the later visiting time I returned to my room Standing by the window looking out at the Great river that had seen the birth of my city I watched the Waverly Paddle steamer sailing up the Clyde back to her berth at the Broomielaw. It made me think back to making that same journey as a young child. I was always timid but going doon the water on the old paddle steamer was always an exciting time.
It was an early start and what to my little legs seemed an awfy long journey to even reach the boat. Mum and dad however were with me all the way, they made sure I got up in time so I would not miss this great treat. They guided me on and of buses and down streets I did not know till we arrived safely at the pier. Dad had done his apprenticeship at the Atlas steam locomotive works in Springburn so while mum found us seats dad and I would be of to see the engines.
I was very much that engineers daughter as he guided me through the boat my jaw began to tense and my heart beat faster as the smell of hot oil and metal drew me onwards. I was so small he had to lift me up to watch the great gleaming Brass pistons pound the ship forward and the two balls on the steam regulator which fascinated me .
He would turn me round and lift me to the small porthole to watch the paddle splishing and splashing with joy as we headed towards Rothsay. Several times I was very lucky , since I was often the only girl, to be allowed into the engine room and given a boiled sweetie from the pocket of the engineer as I gazed longingly at all the gleaming brass and sniffed at that wondrous smell which even to this day can cause my heart to skip a beat.
Then it was back upstairs to sit sleepily beside mum as she told me tales of Selkies and kelpies of Tam Linn and his faithful lass till the horn sounded as we approached Rothsay pier and the excitement of a holiday doon the water.
Back then it didn't matter what boat a Glaswegian got on there would be music and singing, and sometimes if it wasn't to packed some brave souls would attempt a dance. Back then I thought everybody must know all the words to every Scots song for we seemed to sing from the moment we got on the boat till we reached Rothsay a journey of about four hours.
The same happened on the way back as we slipped into the Clyde they would star singing Ay when you're sailing up the Clyde, sailing up the Clyde, Back to Bonnie Scotland where the auld folk bide There's a lump comes in your throat and a tear ye cannie hide And ye're rolling back tae Scotland an yir ain fireside. As she nosed her way to her berth at the Broomielaw we would break into
I Belong to Glasgow (Will Fyffe)
I've been wi' a couple o' cronies, One or two pals o' my ain; We went in a hotel, and we did very well, And then we came out once again; Then we went into anither, And that is the reason I'm fu'; We had six deoch-an-doruses, then sang a chorus, Just listen, I'll sing it to you:
I belong to Glasgow, Dear old Glasgow town; But what's the matter wi' Glasgow, For it's goin' roun' and roun'! I'm only a common old working chap, As anyone here can see, But when I get a couple o' drinks on a Saturday, Glasgow belongs to me!
There's nothing in keeping your money, And saving a shilling or two; If you've nothing to spend, then you've nothing to lend, Why that's all the better for you; There no harm in taking a drappie, It ends all your trouble and strife; It gives ye the feeling that when you get home, You don't give a hang for the wife!
I belong to Glasgow, etc.
Till we tied up and dad carried me to the bus as dreams of beautiful golden engines played their wonderful music in my dreams.
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maeve
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Post by maeve on Aug 28, 2016 21:36:51 GMT
Oh, Megan...Thank you.
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Post by sandrainsydney on Aug 29, 2016 0:17:00 GMT
I'll second that & ask for more (please)
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Post by meganl on Aug 31, 2016 13:03:40 GMT
Breakfast at Crossford
I had come home having been told David would be back in a couple of days. The night I arrived home I phoned him to be told he was being kept in for another two weeks. My brother was going up to visit him every day and his brother was coming down from Fife once a week when they could get someone to look after his wife's mum so rather than the expense of the journey back I decided to have a few days of.
My mini holiday was not to a strange land or even Scotland, I spent three days in a bed and breakfast in Kirkwall. Crossford stood high on the hill at the edge of town they only had one guest bedroom and it came with its own sitting room.
In the morning I was seated at a table facing out over the lawn with its birdtable , dainty flower beds and dry stane wall and wrote this as I ate. Starlings bickering over the feeder, each holding their ground till the pecking order changed. Others, wiser birds, older perhaps eagerly perused the lawn ignoring the man given bounty in search of juicier fare.
Playing king of the castle on the roof of the bird table they are watched placidly by the small black rabbit tilting its head in bemusement at their curious antics as it sat at the side of the lawn.
The cows graze in the field beyond the wall ignorant of the small adventures being played out just across the road from them, or is it that they have seen it all before.
Tiny glinting balls of colour glistening on the early morning lawn disturbed only by the sparrow who thinks they are fairy cups for him to drink from. Soon the warm sun and gentle wind will banish them till tomorrow morning.
Last night the window was a lace curtain of crane fly known locally as Daddy Longlegs. This morning not a glimpse of them then I noticed the Swifts had arrived like small statues clinging to the wall. They hold still briefly to the harling before dancing into the air , their arrowed tails flashing farewell.
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ragdall
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Post by ragdall on Sept 3, 2016 7:59:26 GMT
Beautiful!
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maeve
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Post by maeve on Sept 3, 2016 12:35:03 GMT
Your book will be a lovely read, Megan.
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