The Wonderful World of Books

There isn't a room in our house that doesn't have a book in it. Some rooms are so full of books that there is barely room for anything else. If we go away, even for just a few days, books are amongst the first things that are packed. Books are, quite literally, an essential part of our lives. We are at our local bookshop so often that I think the staff include our presence when they do their stocktaking.

When I look back at my childhood I remember being tucked up in bed reading, snuggled in a comfy chair by the roaring fire on a cold winter's day devouring a wonderful work of fiction or laying on a towel on a beach with a book in my hand. One of the first things I remember my Dad doing, after finishing his dinner, is settling down on the sofa with 'The Count of Monte Cristo' or 'Kidnapped' or other exciting novels.

So why are books so important? Well, they can inspire, reassure, give hope, gratitude, terrify, amuse or simply liven up a boring day.

For as long as I can remember I have escaped into books, loved their worlds and wanted to live in them. When I was in primary school I used to love reading the Enid Blyton Secret Seven books. I wanted to live in the wonderful land of freedom inhabited by those children. I wanted to go sailing, exploring woods and brooks,to have exciting adventures. The bizarre thing is I had a wonderful childhood, full of freedom. I was out with my friends in all the daylight hours playing sports, climbing trees, hiding and seeking, but somehow the land in which the Secret Seven lived was far more exciting than mine.

As I reached my early teens Agatha Christie became the woman to read. Then I wanted to be Tuppance and go out solving mysteries with delightful Tommy. I think I read every one of her crime books. To this day I would still recommend 'The Murder of Roger Ackroyd' and I defy anyone who hasn't read it to identify the killer before she/he is revealed.

Of course as I grew older it became romances that I wanted to read. Jane Austen quickly became a favourite and I waited and waited for a wonderful Colonel Brandon to come along, whilst reading and rereading her books. Crime wise, I left Agatha Christie behind and moved on to Dorothy L Sayers and her delightful Lord Peter Wimsey. Then I discovered more and more classic books and never looked back. At one point I was asked at the local library if I ate them because I was there so often for more!

These days, with a lovely family needing my attention, I don't read as much as I used to but still quite a lot. I am not so fussy now. I will read anything. One day a classic, next an autobiography, then a poetry book, followed by a comedy sketch book, even (gasp) a graphic novel! But still I often lose myself in them and escape to an exciting world, free from stress and worry where magical things can happen and dreams really do come true.

So I would say to anyone - if you enjoy it read it. I am even beginning to attempt science fiction and fantasy books myself and, do you know something, they are not at all bad. So don't stop reading something because someone laughs or thinks your choice inadequate. It's your choice not theirs. This comes from the woman who will be reading 'Bunny Hopwell's First Spring' again next February for about the zillionth time since I was five. Before you ask, no I'm not embarrassed to be reading a kids' book. It takes me back to a wonderful childhood and reminds me that at the end of every bleak winter, there is a beautiful spring to look forward to. Books are there sometimes to educate, enlighten and inspire but at others just because they are good fun and you want to read them. So I say again - pick a book that you are going to enjoy, then read it and escape into the wonderful, magical world of reading.

To Autumn (with apologies to Mr Keats)

Autumn, the most perfect season of the entire year. John Keats described it as a 'Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness' and went on to pen an entire ode to it. Now, for one of our greatest poets to spend that much time writing about it, Autumn must be a pretty cool season.

I love it from the moment it begins. The farmers in the old part of town begin to bring in the harvest and I love cycling out there to watch them. I can imagine I am back in a time when life was much slower, despite the modern agricultural equipment. There is something calming and reassuring about watching the local farms at any time of year but in autumn it is just magical.

As you step outside the air begins to have a different smell and feel. At first it is a little sad because it feels as though summer is tired and slow and can't quite carry on. Bizarrely I always feel a little sorry for Summer at this point and it makes me a bit sad but as the season rolls in Summer steps aside and the air gets that delightful nip and it begins to wrap itself around you as you step outside as though it wants to hug you. Any season that loves you that much deserves to be loved back.

The fruits are so plentiful now too. We love to go to the squirrel reserve with tubs to collect the blackberries for crumbles and the apple and pear trees are just laden. Much to my husband's disgust there are tons of damsons too. I just love it. I'm  gathering the jars together now to make my first marmalade. The smells of autumn in the kitchen are mouthwatering. It takes me back to my childhood. My mother was always baking and her cooking followed the seasons. We seem to have lost that a little.

Then there are the colours of autumn, oh the beautiful, rich colours.  If you ever get the chance to go up to the Trossachs in October take it. I don't think there is a shade of yellow, orange, red or brown you don't see. If you are an artist please paint me a picture of it for my wall! Even in the local woods I love an evening walk, the low autumn sunlight makes the most wonderful shades and patterns through the trees.

The other autumn smell that I bizarrely love, and may not be environmentally friendly, is the smell of the autumn bonfires as people burn their leaves etc. I could spend hours in the garden of an evening just collecting the various scents and watching the last of the bees and butterflies flitting round the fading flowers.

Then there is Hallowe'en and Bonfire Night. Fun and parties and, you may shout at me, but I love fireworks - the crackles, whizzes, bangs and pops. I love the colours, and the Catherine wheels and those amazing ones like shooting stars that burst and shower down over the night sky. I love standing by the bonfire, listening to the crackling of the fire and feeling the heat on my face. I like bonfire parties where there is no Guy because I always cry to watch him get burned and want to pull him out! And toffee apples. I eat healthily most of the year but on Bonfire night you just have to have a toffee apple.

So, in summary, what is the best thing about Autumn? ...... well, everything really!

Once a Mariner Always a Mariner

Football was a way of life as I was growing up. From the age of four I was taught to chant the names of the Liverpool football team by my big brother. My father taught me to bow my Rupert Bear in reverence as I said the sainted Shankly's name and at the age of five my brother kept me in a headlock until I swore undying allegiance to the Reds! (he was sixteen I complied!) Saturday nights depended on the result at Anfield and beyond. My brother and his friends never missed a game home or away. If Liverpool won he came home, kissed us all, had tea, dressed up and went out for the night. If, heaven forbid, they lost,  he stormed in, slammed the door, glared, charged up to his room and we didn't see him again till Sunday!

I never had an early bedtime on Saturday night. Match of the Day was considered compulsory viewing. From the age of six I could explain the offside rule and why the referee and linesmen were blind! But I never went to a proper match - not till I was twelve and I am not sure that would count - it was at Marine's ground to see Liverpool Ladies vs Everton Ladies and I got to meet Kevin Keegan! Oh I was so impressed!

A few years later and I was regularly at Rossett Park (as the Arriva stadium was called then) with my friends watching Marine play - and what a team they were! You had to be quick in those days there were no boards as there are now, just metal rods with rope strung between them - if a player made a sliding tackle you learned to jump quickly to avoid getting stud marks up your legs! But it was live football with dishy young players and we loved it.

As we moved towards our late teens we graduated to Anfield and stood in the Kop - which isn't great when you are only 5ft and half an inch. Didn't see much but it was the atmosphere and someone always told me if there was a goal! My adoration for King Kenny Dalglish grew with every game. I wasn't as brave as my brother and only ever went to one away game - at Birmingham - we got lost four times - if we had been playing Aston Villa we'd have nailed it!

Then one spring day in 1989 a young boy who used to be in our church choir went to see an F A cup semi final. A bright young boy, brilliant cricketer, full of life and enthusiasm. He was just 17. He never came home.

From that moment I lost all enthusiasm for football. I swore that I would never set foot inside a football stadium again. I forgot about the game. I went to ballet, the theatre, I took up tennis again. I didn't even watch the FA cup final any more. If my brother went to a match I would get a build up of panic inside even though stadiums were now all seater. Gradually that subsided but, apart from memorial services, I never set foot inside a football ground. .

I met my husband in 1996. He hates sport of every kind and we never really talked about football apart from when April came around. He had no real idea of the enthusiasm I used to have for the sport. I never went near a match for 24 and a half years - until last September. My son had been pestering me to take him to a match. He, I am sorry to tell you, is an Evertonian. I suggested Marine - that's where I started. I spent the entire week psyching myself up, telling myself that it wasn't a betrayal going to a football match. When the day came  he decided he didn't want to go but my daughter said I'd built myself up too much not to get it over with. About an hour before the match I sobbed to my husband I felt so guilty. He quite rightly told me that I should remember that everyone of those men and women would have been back the next week and what good did I think staying away would do? He was right.

We went. It felt strange for the first 15 minutes being back at a match but I soon got into it and was running through the finer points with my daughter who was aghast at how much I actually knew about football.

Within a few short weeks we were at every home game and my daughter was complaining that the Mum who took her to Copelia and Giselle was suddenly yelling at refs and giving them the benefit of her knowledge!

These days she gives me orders before we leave. I have to be a good girl "Don't yell at the ref, he knows the rules" (actually there are no rules in football only laws but I want her to come with me) "Don't accuse the opposition of diving" (they frequently do), "Do not suggest you train the team!" ( don't remember actually saying that) and "even if our goal keeper does save a goal, under no circumstances are you to tell him you love him, he's about 23!" (to be fair he had just saved a penalty!)

And so football has become part of my life again. It has been a tough year but getting out to my football match has made such a difference to my spirits. My husband even suggested he dropped me at a couple of away matches when I was particularly down. It helped. At the beginning of the season he was complaining that he had married a nice, quiet girl who went to the ballet and now lived with a football yob! By the end he told me to get my season ticket for next season and was arranging our social lives around Marine home games!

When did I know I was truly re-hooked? Well, probably when I found myself at a pre season friendly on our wedding anniversary, having had our night out the day before (dreadful woman I hear you say). Our new season has started properly now. I will be cheering us on against Trafford on Tuesday and, no, I don't feel guilty about being back in a football stadium, though I will never go to a Premier league match again.

So what of this season? Well our first match didn't go as well as expected but our pre season friendlies have given me much hope and enthusiasm. My Marine are a team to be reckoned with again - oh and this guy

our number 7 Andy Fowler is a name to look out for on my Twitter feed cos he'll be scoring a heck of a lot of goals this season and, as for me/ - I'll sit in the stands and be as quiet as a mouse! Well unless the referee makes a wrong decision or the team need my support or the opposition need putting in their place. I shall repeat "I am a quiet girl who likes ballet, I am a quiet..." No actually - Once a Mariner Always a Mariner and if my team need me and my support I shall be there!

The Magic of Thunderstorms

Thunderstorms are my favourite kind of weather. Can't get enough of them. It wasn't always so. As a small child the loud claps of thunder terrified me and the scary flashes of lightning were too much to bear. At the first sound I dived for cover under the kitchen table and nobody could tempt me out until the whole, scary business was over! 

So what happened? Well I grew up with a Dad who wasn't scared of anything you didn't really need to be scared of and he saw no reason why his youngest daughter should be either. So at first he sat under that table with me (if you ever saw the size of my dad you would know this was quite an achievement) chatting about the storm and explaining all that caused it, then after a few storms he held me in his arms by the window to watch the amazing display of lightning. I still buried my head in his shoulder each time the thunder clapped though. Gradually I became a little less frightened and although I wasn't keen I didn't dive for cover any more. We often watched storms together, not that they happened often. 

I lost my Dad when I was still very young but I remember the first storm after he died. I saw the lightning and I rushed to the window. I suddenly felt like I was close to my Dad again and I knew that he would never let anything hurt me so any fear I still had disappeared. I actually started to go outside in storms which caused my mother to remonstrate with me that I may not be scared anymore but I wasn't invincible and that I should be sure to stay away from trees!

Nowadays thunderstorms are just exciting things to be enjoyed. I love all weather except strong winds, they terrify me. Rain I adore. As everyone else is diving for cover I am rushing out of the door. There is nothing more perfect than a walk in the rain. Everywhere is so quiet, everything smells so fresh and positively shines. If you look in the puddles you can sometimes see the footprints as the fairies dance in them. Some people think I am mad but most of the friends I have made over the years have given me a long suffering look, donned waterproofs and come with me Some have even grown to love it! 

The best time to enjoy the rain is in the summer. I often slip off my shoes and go dancing in the garden in heavy rain. I recommend everyone tries it. It is the most wonderful feeling. The rain is so refreshing and the feeling of the damp grass between your toes is heaven. My husband used to think I was mad and suggest I came in. These days he just laughs though he does insist I wear pumps in thunderstorms because, like Mum, he thinks I'm not invincible. But Dad and I, well we know different! 

Oh To Live In An Austen Novel

Jane Austen is one of my all time favourite authors. Why? Because she writes novels in which I would like to live. No, I don't want to live in a huge, impersonal mansion. Yes, of course I would like to wear those beautiful, feminine dresses. And yes, despite what I say about not dancing in public, I would dearly love to go to an Austen ball and, yes, if I went to one, I would dance!

But it is not the dresses or the balls that make her books so wonderful. It is the characters and situations that make it perfect. Lizzie Bennett is wonderful - brave, independent, a little outspoken but totally, totally honest. And what a lovely name. I much prefer Lizzie to my own name - I even tried using it for a while. It was fun. Lizzie was a lot more confident and funny than me. But, all that is by the by.

Back to the novels. Jane Austen's heroines are strong and stand up for what they think is right. However, she is not afraid to show them having flaws - eg the wonderful Emma, but they can always be redeemed, they inevitably do the right thing in the end, they admit when they are wrong, make apologies where needed and come out a better person.

And what about her heroes? Well, they are usually very strong too, they can always be relied upon in an emergency. They will drop everything and rush off to make things right for the woman they love. They stand by their honour, even if it is not in their own best interests and, above all, they love the heroine with all their heart, with all their soul and with all their strength. They will ride hell and high water to win their love and they always win their love in the end. Maybe it is because Jane Austen had to sacrifice her love for the sake of her family that she writes about such things. Maybe she knows that we all need to hope that true love will always win through no matter what the obstacles. Or maybe it's, just like me, that she loves truth, honesty, men of honour and very happy endings.

Everyone deserves a happy ending. Maybe that's why I still like to read children's fairy tales too - because I really hope and believe that the characters did live happily ever after. So I am sorry if it is boring and repetitive but I will read and reread Austen's novels as long as I live and hope that the world really is full of such heroes as Colonel Brandon and Edward Ferrers. Because, when it comes down to it, every girl has to dream.

What is a Mother?

What is a mother? A mother is the only person throughout your life who will ever love you unconditionally. Whatever you do your mother will forgive you, she will overlook many of your faults, but she will correct the ones that really matter. She will believe in you even when you have lost belief in yourself. When you don't think you have the strength to go on she will lift your feet and place them one in front of the other. The thing is, all that time when your mother is helping you battle your demons and make your way in the world she is hiding her own battles so that you won't worry. She is anxiously wondering if she is making the right decisions for you and she is wishing that her mother was here to help and advise her.

The first I remember of my Mum is waking up in my pram and she was bending over me smiling and then she gently sat me up so I could see all around me. From that day I remember her always being there.

I always remember my Mum smiling - smiling, hugging and singing. As a child I used to help her with chores and we would always sing as we worked. I learned so many lovely songs from my Mum. She would take me by the hand to help me on escalators, slippy paths, and to explore glens searching for fairies. My Mum was great at searching for fairies. She played and laughed with me throughout my childhood and my childhood was the best there could be.

As I grew older and lost a lot of confidence, as teenagers do, my Mum was there patiently and gently explaining to me that I could do or be anything I put my mind to. When I decided to go to Canada for a holiday everyone was amazed and said "Are you sure you're okay travelling on your own?" and even I wasn't convinced I was. My Mum told them "Of course she is. She will be fine!" By the day I left she had convinced me I would be and, of course, I was.

When I became a mother myself that was one of the scariest moments I remember. I was suddenly responsible for a whole new life and terrified I'd be rubbish at it. My mother had no such qualms. She was there whenever I needed support and quietly stepped back when I didn't.

My Mum did that my whole life. whenever I needed her she was there, she knew the right thing to do and the right thing to say. And on those occasions when I really messed up she was there to pick up the pieces, tell me it wasn't as bad as I thought, had she ever told me about the time she messed up big time by doing such and such, and, she put the pieces back together again. And, once I was whole again, she stepped back and left me to try again believing in me, that I would get it right next time. She was always there.

Then, suddenly, one day she wasn't. I hadn't messed up, I wasn't about to try something new, but I really, really needed her but she had become far too tired to help any more so she had to rest, God saw that too so he took her to be with him.

I still really need her now. I need her advice, I need her to make me laugh when I'm being ridiculous, I need her to tell me when I'm being unreasonable and need to back down, I need her to say when I've actually got it right and that she is proud of me. And, most of all, next time I mess up big time I need her to help me pick up the pieces and put them together again. Because, if your Mum's not there to do that, then who else will be?

A Life With Poetry

I could not imagine a life without poetry. Whatever you have to face in life, someone has written a poem about just that experience and those exact feelings.

If I am having a bad day I frequently reach for my poetry books and I get lost in the language and the emotions. Sometimes it makes me feel better, other times I just identify with the poet and cry with them. for the happiest times in life there are joyful, celebratory poems to help share the happiness and sometimes just plain silly ones to make you laugh. When my mother passed away one of the first things I did for her service was choose the right poem - and it was there, as they always are.

My life would be incomplete without my poetry. It was not always so. As a child poems were mostly just something the teacher read out or you had to learn by heart. Then, when I was 14, something wonderful happened. His name was Mr Smith - an old English teacher who saw it as his job to make children adore literature - he was good at his job! He introduced us to the poetry of John Keats. At first I was not won over. Obviously this showed in my face because Mr Smith stopped the lesson and announced  "Janet Stewart, stop pulling that face. These words speak of true love. One day a boy will speak to you like this and you will melt!" I was mortified and unconvinced but I did pay more attention in poetry classes, if only to avoid future embarrassment.

By the time I was 16 I adored Keats, Byron, Shelley & Shakespeare, bought books of their works to take on holiday to read for pleasure and had opted to take English Literature 'A' level. Mr Smith told me that his job was done and he could now retire! He kindly held on 2 more years until I had completed my 'A' levels with more wonderful Keats, Shakespeare and yes, you guessed it, he introduced me to Jane Austen.

I left school with an absolute love of literature and the English tutor in the first year of my degree course said he had never had such an enthusiastic student - well done Mr Smith!

Now what about weak at the knees? Well, I started dating a very nice young man, who, after a number of outings handed me a poem that he had written for me and, yes, my heart skipped a beat. He wrote me quite a few more after that and when I came back from a holiday with a girl friend he met me at the airport and handed me more poetry. And yes, Mr Smith was right again, my heart did melt.

I have often tried to write my own poetry but, I have to admit, have failed miserably. Immature schoolgirl nonsense. So I stick to reading it and continue to broaden my knowledge. In the past few years I have read more Andrew Motion and Simon Armitage. Both excellent poets. Mr Armitage is a little more gritty than I was used to, being a former probation officer, but writes with such honesty and knowledge that he has become one of my favourite poets. His poem Black Roses about the killing of Sophie Lancaster reduced me to tears. It is both loving and heartbreaking - read it!

Now, I am sure you are all wondering about the young man who wrote all that beautiful poetry for me. Well, obviously, I married him!