This is Your Life 11/1

Would I like to read the story of my life? it asked. And if I would,

would I, could I,

dare I…read it cover to cover?

Initially, fear of all I’d loosen held me back.

But then, today, I had some news.

Chats with a cousin, colleagues. mother, made me see things differently. Made me pause


Change tack.

I have family, blood and nurture, nearing the end of that great journey, that last page.

Doing what this post challenged.

Reaching that point of no return.

Reading that last page. No choice,

No chance to shut the book and run away.

And I thought “Hell? Why not? If they can…”

and I did.

I remembered reading plays. Specifically Gwendolyn and her need for something sensational to read on a train,

and I began to wonder, what sensational things would grace my journey?

Waggley, Lankey, Tetley, Clue. Out tumbled my dogs and cats and anipals, to name but few

and into reality…

I give nana thanks for giving me: politics,

A love of history; a passion for justice; a sense of right and wong

that could only be learned at the knee of one…

who threw stones at Oswald Mosely, and let me sit – head on lap – as we took day trips, in the back of an Austin Cambridge.

I had a father, car crashed, who came home a different man. And a mother, who waited so long to have me, then didn’t know what to do with the result. Who loved me, but until my 51st Christmas, never really understood the dichotomy, I was.

I saw between the pages of my life a lonely childhood. Changing counties, changing schools. The whim of Her Majesty.

And yet from that, the chance to learn the violin at 5. Take a role in youth orchestras until teenage years and history took my life differently.

University then beckoned. Three brilliant years in Bangor, to my first job. Then from the theatr to teaching.

Something I always thought I’d want, but never really did.

Not travelling, except on school trips with the best of friends, the greatest of collegues. Partnerless. Til an engagement which went wrong, lent me the lover I still class a friend

And then I danced with doctors, companions; and their like.

I deconstructed Tardises, made films and laughed … until frightened by the possibilities of it all, I came crashing back to safety.

Leaving friends who went their separate ways

after playing Shakespeare on the stage,

at the Globe.

Who, thanks to Facetube are reunited in my memory and on my line. Except the one, who sadly, cryingly – I. Still. Miss.

To Purley Way and the realisation that what I wanted, was… illusion.

And so chastened and unsure, I came home to Canvey to meet my soul mate and best friend.

And on to ten tumultous, glorious never – as yet – ending years.

Trips to America, Amsterdam; Czech Republic; and the UK in our Shara, and our Green and Grey. Exploring London. Laughing, loving. Sober times.

And now, as books flow from my soul, I travel on the road to 51. Wondering indeed what dreams may come…

as friends, family; colleagues continue to go on before?

Who knows?

Who dares?

Oh yes,

I think I’ll read the story of my life and turn each page.

Until that final one.