My Memoir Written last year. HALF A PAIR OF PEOPLE

Dear Reader,

 

It seems to me that you like my Instagram sketches, thank you so much.

 

Last year I brought out a book of my life up to the time that I lived in Oxford in 1980.  Lots of stories of my varied life which you seem to enjoy. So Friends here is an idea.

 

Why not buy one?

All you have to do is go on line to AMAZON.

Go to the books section and write PATRICIA HUTH and it will come up and you can order the book wherever you live.

Everyone who has read it has enjoyed it very much and I think you will too.  It is funny.

 

Thank you for all your wonderful support over the years, eleven years now since I started my blog.  And it has been fun, I have only missed five Sundays in all that time.

 

Very best wishes, Patricia 

 

 

  

Misconception

 

 

 Dear reader,

After I got divorced I went to live in Oxford and tried to find a job.  My secretarial skills were minimal. I could just manage 120 words of shorthand and my typing was abysmal. So I enrolled at the College of Further Education and for several months I tried to improve.  In fact my shorthand was very poor  and needed prompt attention.  It never got any better.

Anyway, I finally applied for a job in an Oxford College as a secretary.  I sort of imagined that working in an Oxford College would be just the ticket, with wonderful interesting academics and lovely buildings to admire.  As so often with imaginations of this nature it was not the case.   

I managed to get a job as the Fellows' secretary in a well known college.  The job was in a cupboard with hardly room to stand up in and the typewriter had seen better days.  The dons themselves were a weird bunch, some very nice and some not so. There was a Greek who always wanted to be first in the queue for his correspondence to be typed, I was not in a position to argue so he always was first.

 It was an enormous relief when I left after a year and probably the dons were relieved too.   I wasn't cut out to be a secretary, I would rather wash up in a hotel, which I also did.  Ah well...

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From Francis Kilvert   May 18th  1874 in Wiltshire

'Went with Dora at 3 o'clock to a picnic in the Marsh....... we played hide-and-seek in the wood and danced Sir Roger de Coverley under the oaks in the green glade near the keeper's lodge.  Agnes and Edith made a pretty picture once for a moment as they stood together on the mound at the foot of one of the  oaks, dressed alike sisterly in bright magenta skirts.

The sheets of bluebells were still in all their splendour and the pink rhododendrons were just beginning to show their blossoms. 

 

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Misconception

 

The woman thought when she left

the office building would explode,

blood from her willing heart

would drip from the ceiling,

pieces of her goodwill,

her ready smile,

possibly her arms and legs,

would drop into waste bins,

flow out of filing cabinets,

strew the carpet with bits of herself.

The atmosphere would be dank

with tears for the loss of her.

She knew her worth.

 

In the spring, Sandra met her.

Karen, from Accounts,

now has her job, she said.

She is brilliant, everyone loves her.

 

The woman walked away,

mantled in her goodness,

surprised at what poor judgements

people make.

 

                                                                                           *

 

With very best wishes, Patricia 

Sometimes

Dear Reader,

 

A little while ago I contracted a particularly nasty disease called UTI, standing for Urine Tract Infection.  As a result I felt unwell for much of the time.  I was telling this sad story to my daughter Jessica who said I need something to cheer me up.  And we thought of the fun that could be had on Instagram if I could think of anything interesting to say.

 

So this is what we did.  And if you are interested go to Instagram, hit on Patricia Huth Ellis and you will get to see all my little sketches.  They seem to be very popular and I am not quite sure why.  I do say that I am a poet, and 86 years old but that doesn't seem to put people off. Ah well it is great fun and at last I am feeling much better and enjoying its success.

 

Many thanks to all of you who have written, obviously I can't write individually but I am very appreciative nevertheless. 

*

 

 

 

 

From D.H. Lawrence   May 24th  1916 in Cornwall

 

 The country is simply wonderful, blue, graceful little companies of bluebells everywhere on the moors, the gorse in flame, and on the cliffs and by the sea, a host of primroses, like settling butterflies, and seapinks like a hover of pink bees, near the water.  There is a Spanish ship run on the rocks just below - great excitement everywhere.'

From Francis Kilvert  May 27th  1875 in Wiltshire

'My bedroom is illuminated all day with a beautiful rosy light from the glorious blossom of the pink may on the lawn.'

From Gilbert White   May 28th  1793 in Hampshire

'My weeding-woman swept up on the grass-plot a bushel basket of blossoms from the white apple-tree; and yet that tree still covered the bloom.' 

                                                                                         *

 

Sometimes

 

I feel overwhelmed by

a spirit of joyfulness,

a desire to jump, to dance,

to laugh, to see the world

in a bright light,

 

sometimes I am optimistic,

enjoy the warmth of the sun,

soft patter of rain on my face,

the wonders of this world.

 

Sometimes I believe

people are kind and good

are innocent of evil

deserve praise and

I honour them

 

and sometimes I don’t.

 

                                                                       ^*

 

^{With very best wishes, Patricia} 

 

 

 

 

           

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Journeys

                                                                     Kilimanjaro
 

 

Dear Reader,

 I put this poem on the blog this week to remind me of the many journeys I have taken in my long life and now, sadly, can no longer enjoy except from the sitting room sofa.  My most favourite travel experience was going to Marrakesh in the 1970's.  It was just so different from anywhere I had ever been.  I went to school in Paris as a teenager and stayed in Gibraltar with an aunt and uncle in the 1950s but had never seen anything like the colour and wonder of Marrakesh.  I went with my first husband who was very handsome, blond blue eyed and tall.  And he was followed everywhere with promises of exotic times with the young boy's mother, sister, aunt,  themselves.  I didn't count at all.  I loved the golds, yellows and all the rich colours in the Sioux, and seeing camels trotting down the streets was so exciting to me. I think of that holiday with lovely memories, it was so different from Europe.

 

       

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Francis has been in hospital this week again with the dreaded UTI  (Urine Tract Infection).  It is a beastly disease and apparently very difficult to get rid of and he has been very unwell.  I had it too and am not sure it has entirely gone even with the help of anti-bio tics.  I hate pills and frequently think they do more harm than good with the side effects.

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from Gerard Manley Hopkins    May 3rd  1866 in Oxford

Cold.   Morning raw and wet, afternoon fine......Cowslips capriciously colouring meadows in creamy drifts.  Bluebells, purple orchids.   Over the green water of the river passing the slums of the town and under the bridges swallows shooting, blue and purple above and shewing their amber-tinged breasts reflected int the water. 

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Journeys

 

Young,
we fly to distant places,
walk the Silk Road,
swim in the Nile,
climb Kilimanjaro,
sail the great seas,
picnic in the desert
under the stars.

 

Middle aged, with children,
we travel to Europe,
walk in the hills,
ski, surf board, visit museums,
exclaim at the Eiffel Tower,
swim in rivers,
raid the High Streets.

Grandparents, and old now,

we travel all over the world,
enjoy lions in Africa,
natives dancing in Bali,
big white whales in vast oceans,
and explore National Parks

while drinking cups of tea,
preparing for the unknown

and longest journey.

 

                                                                                                 *

With very best wishes, Patricia 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Cardigan

 Dear reader,

 

The Wind in the Willows is almost every bodies favourite book and story.  It certainly is mine.  Wouldn't it be lovely fun to visit Mole in his underground house full of sardine tins and dust. But so wonderfully cosy and endearing. And then Mr Toad was a character wasn't he?  I am not sure that he isn't a bit like Donald Trump, full of threats and arrogance.  Still I feel fond of him.  Ratty of course was wonderful, witty and sensible and protected Mr. Mole who was less so, but sweet and lovable.  Their adventures were edge of the chair especially in the Wild Wood.  Well if you didn't read the book do go out and buy a copy.  it should entrance you.

                                                                                   *

I had a horrible infection which is only just going.  I sometimes think that the pills to help get rid of it are worse that the infection its self.  Getting old is such a bugger, as King George V might have said.

                                                                                      *

From Dorothy Wordsworth     April 29th   1802   Westmorland

A beautiful morning - the sun shone and all was pleasant.  William lay, and I lay, in the trench under the fence- he with his eyes shut, and listening to the waterfalls and the birds.   There was one waterfall above another - and it was a sound of waters in the air - the voice of the air.   William heard me breathing and rustling now and then, but we both lay still, and unseen by one another; he thought that it would be as sweet thus to lie so in the grave, to her the peaceful sounds of the earth, and just to know that our dear friends were near. 

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Cardigan

 

Why is it that it makes

me feel safe?

 

I ease myself into it

do all the buttons up,

am encased in warmth

and love and security,

it envelops and hugs me,

the cardigan is my shell.

 

What is it about my cardigan

that makes me think of

honey sandwiches,

daisies in a china vase,

a curled up dog in basket,

doves cooing on the roof,

Ratty, Mole and Badger

and possibly Mr. Toad?

 

The cardigan is safety,

reminds me of nanny,

her ponds face cream

her lavender water

her loving arms and

her kisses.

 

Cardigan, the forever garment of love.

 

                                                                           *

 

With very best wishes, Patricia 

 

 

 

 

 

Sorry No Blog this Week

 Dear Reader,

 

Have not got over my infection yet so no energy for blog this week, I apologize.

 

Have a good and happy week and take my best wishes with you,

 

Patricia 

Quickening

 Dear reader,

 

Cherry blossoms, or sakura, are deeply embedded in Japanese culture with a history spanning over 1,000 years, symbolizing transience, beauty and renewal.   Originating as a way to predict harvests, hanami (flower viewing) became popular in the 18th century, representing samurai, honor and ephemeral nature of life.

According to HuffPost it is widely held consensus that the origin of the first cherry blossoms happened somewhere in the Himalayas, Eurasia, but scholars posit that the blossoms may have reached Japan around several thousand years ago.

Cherry blossoms mark the arrival of spring, a season of new beginnings and rebirth.   Their short life span, blossoming for just a couple of weeks serves as a powerful reminder of the transience of life and the importance of cherishing every moment.  It is said that the oldest cherry blossom tree is between 1,800  and 2,000 years old.

 

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From Francis Kilvert    April 18th  1876 in Wiltshire

'This morning I married John Knight and Elizabeth Austin at Langley Burrell Church.  It ws April weather with showers and gleams by whiles.....Rice and flowers were showered upon the bride in the porch and churchyard.  There were three carriages, with greys and postilions in Scarlet. '

 

From Samuel Pepys   April 22nd  1664 in Kent

'I was called up this morning before four o'clock.  It was full light to dress myself:   and so by water against tide, it being a little cool, to Greenwich; and thence only that it was somewhat foggy till the sun got up to some height, walked with great pleasure to Woolwich, in my way staying several times to listen to the nightingales. 

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Quickening

 

 

 

 

I want the pulse of life that has been asleep

to wake, embrace me, put on the light.

To hear the thrush, song-repeat, to keep

my trust in God to hurry icy winter’s flight.

I want to glimpse, under sodden leaves, green shoots

to announce life’s circle, its beginnings, have begun.

I want to run barefoot, abandon boots,

to walk through primrose paths, savour the sun.

I want to take off winter’s dress, change its season,

to see the coloured petticoats of spring, bloom

and show us mortals nature’s reason

to start afresh, admire the peacock’s plume.

Cellar the coal, brush the ashes from the fire,

I want to intertwine, my love, quicken, feel desire.

 

                                                        *

  

 I have been doing a few sketches on Instagram which you might like to see.  I just did them for fun because I haven't been feeling very well lately and they make me laugh and cheer me up. Perhaps you will enjoy them, I did them with my daughter Jessica and my two grandchildren.

 

 

 

 

With very best wishes, Patricia 

 

 

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