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!

My Perfect Home

I am often asked what would my perfect home be?  Before I was married I always wanted to live in a thatched cottage like the one in the photograph. I was going to have a cottage garden at the back with beautiful colours and scents and I intended to grow vegetables around the sides. My cottage would have been totally pine-filled, with Laura Ashley curtains and Eternal Beau crockery. There was going to be a beehive at the bottom of the garden. I also hoped to have a running stream behind my garden to be sure of fairies! It was going to be in a beautiful country village where the church bells woke me up each morning and the summer sun smiled through my bedroom window each day. I was going to teach in the local school and carry my shopping home from the village shop in my little wicker basket. I got as far as buying the wicker shopping basket but life and being the sensible young lady I was raised to be stopped me from buying the cottage and living the dream.

During the years of The Vicar of Dibley my husband used to look at me worriedly and ask "This is a comedy but the thing is you would just love to live there wouldn't you?" The answer I'm afraid was a definite YES! Even now if someone offered me a chance to move to Dibley I would take it with both hands!

It is nice living close to the towns and all that goes with it for the children and I would not move now because they would not like to leave, they're both settled in their schools and with friends and they like all that goes with city dwelling. But I just love long country walks and I'm happy baking and gardening. My daughter often looks at  the country villages we visit and says "It's nice Mum, and I know you'd love to live here, but there's nothing to do!" Why do people always have to be 'doing'? Why can't they just be?

Sometimes too many people and a world moving too fast make me say "I want to move to a lighthouse!" Really I just want my cottage, my books, my garden and to bake! When I say lighthouse - read cottage!

Alas, it is just a pipe dream. That cottage is far too small for our lively children and the garden would be too packed with whatever flowers I can find to leave room for them to play football or pitch tents. And it is far too remote for them to visit the cinema, supermarket or make a quick trip to town. I would never want them to be unhappy so we shall stay where they can do all the exciting things they like.

 But one day, when they are grown and busy leading their exciting lives and I am a little old lady, maybe I will find my tiny little thatched cottage and I can start planting that cottage garden, baking my bread and reading all the books I have stockpiled, in the last rays of the summer sun. Who knows I may even write my own novel. They say everyone has one in them. I am afraid it will be a love story because I have always liked happy endings!

I Do Believe In Fairies

I had a magical childhood, full of fairies, Father Christmas and the sandman who came every night to fill my eyes with sleep so that I would drift off to a mystical dreamland full of princesses, knights and wondrous castles in the clouds. Even now on a lovely summer day with skies full of cotton wool clouds I still find myself hoping that if I dived into them I would wake up in a magical kingdom.

Where did all these dreams come from? Well I had two of the most amazing parents ever. For five summers when I was small they took me to the Isle of Man for holidays. They tiptoed me round glens so that I didn't wake those fairies, my father used to get down on his hands and knees with me to look under the toadstools to see if we could see them sleeping, my mother would sit by the streams with me and listen to hear the sound of fairy wings fluttering by and we often did hear them. We had to say good morning to the men in green each morning or they would not have been happy! In the bottom corner of the garden my parents grew herbs and that was where the fairies lived in our garden. I could run all around the garden but I always tiptoed by their elfin grotto.

As I grew up and became more sensible I began to lose some of that magic and wonder. After all people laugh if you believe in the impossible. Well, I thought I had lost it. Then when our daughter was nearly one, my husband and I took her to the Isle of Man to see the places I went to as a child. I was disappointed at first because the magic didn't seem to be there and the weather wasn't too good either. Then one evening I said to my husband "I know why the weather is so awful, we haven't been leaving gifts for the fairies." He gave me his usual look of  'The woman's a complete idiot but I love her so I'll go with it!' and we left a drink and biscuits for the fairies. The next day we woke to glorious sunshine and had a lovely day exploring. We left gifts for the fairies every night after that and the next eleven days before our return were blessed with blue skies and sunshine and a little of that magic returned.

Both our children grew up being told to listen for fairies flying by and watching for their footsteps dancing in puddles on rainy days. My daughter loved this and looked and listened with so much glee. Sadly our son is affected by the cynical rationality of the modern day and believes nothing he hasn't seen with his own eyes. At six he told me to stop talking about Santa because 'it's not really possible Mum'. I cried. When our daughter was nine I was still leaving bits of Santa's beard on the sherry glass on Christmas Eve. Well okay, I still lie awake on Christmas Eve with one ear listening just in case!

My husband took me to Haworth for a short break in February and made a short detour to take me to Cottingley - he knows me so well. Now I know this was a major hoax. I really am not a complete idiot. But there is still part of me that hopes to wander down by the stream and catch them flying about or maybe hear their wings beating as they flutter by.

Last month my son made me cry - he said "I don't believe in fairies" and I realised that I wasn't upset because he was being his usual rational self but because J M Barrie wrote that every time someone said that, a fairy died and there are so few of them left.

So please tread carefully when passing toadstool circles, never disturb the quiet corners of your garden, leave a treat if you visit the Isle of Man and  if you are a non-believer don't ever say those words out loud. Because I'm afraid

I really do believe in fairies!

Better To Remember And Be Sad

Christina Rossetti wrote a poem which finishes with the lines:

'Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.'

In recent years I have lost a number of people who were very special to me, both friends and family members. There have been times when I have thought my heart was completely broken and it could never be mended. At the moment I have the heaviest heart because I have lost the best friend I ever had and the only person who has ever really understood me. I have wept and I have been angry with the world for taking her from me.

Yesterday a friend gave me a card which said 'I know I can't take away your pain and sorrow but I wish more than anything I could'

At first I thought 'Yes, so do I' but then I began to really think. This much pain can only be felt because there has been a tremendous amount of love first. To lose the pain would mean to forget that. I don't want to forget. I want to remember all the things we shared, happy or sad, the times we have laughed together and done really stupid things or even the times we have cried together because things were bad. I wouldn't even swap the rare arguments we had. The disagreements were a sign we cared enough about each other to say when something wasn't right, and deep down we always knew that.

I began to think of all the friends I have lost and then started to focus on how they all enriched my life and helped to make me who I am today. If I was introduced to someone tomorrow and told that they would be a wonderful friend but I would lose them in a year and my heart would break, I would still choose to have that year with them because I truly believe that the joy and love gained from real friendship is worth every bit of pain that may follow.

So, I have to disagree with Ms Rossetti and I say:

'Better by far that you should remember and be sad' because it means that you have been lucky enough to have had something truly special in your life.