Early on Sunday morning I came across a picture from the scenes of the massacre at Houla in Syria. It was of two boys, aged between eight and ten. They were lying on a mat together, heads pointing in opposite directions. Their t-shirts were blood-stained. They were long, tanned and skinny young kids who would have been full of life only 24 hours earlier. However their eyes had no light in them. They stared blankly into space. It was a scene that shook me to the core.
You see I have a young son. He jumps, bounces, and skips around. He laughs and even when he is asleep his eyes are peaceful and content.
I do not have a copy of the picture of the boys from Houla. I'm not going to search for it. I don't need to. It's etched into my memory. I wonder what was the last thing the boys saw before they were murdered. There are a lot of things wrong with this world that we have created. However the Universe is really out of kilter when we stand by and allow this to happen to innocent children.
Thursday, 31 May 2012
Monday, 9 April 2012
A man of Importance
In 1992 and I was a 'yellow packer.' This was the phrase used to describe the new enployees of the bank who were recruited on a smaller wage and with no chance of promotion. The 'yellow packs' were the cheap home brand used by a well known supermarket. However in the early 1990's Ireland was coming out of a recession and jobs were scarce.
When I joined the bank the whole ethos was about Quality Service to customers. I was told if you treat a customer well, they will tell others about the company and word-of-mouth was the best way to build a solid customer base.
The first time I met the Important Banker I was picketing my Bank branch. Being only nineteen, I was terrified. How would I pay the rent? What would my parents think? When would the strike end? My Branch Manager was an extraordinarily kind man. When the news broke he came over to my desk and comforted me,as he saw my panic-striken face.
The locals were very supportive, bringing us soup and sandwiches and moral support. However after a couple of days the Important Banker came to visit us on the picket line. He was red-faced with indignation and asked us sharply: "What did we think we were doing? Did we expect this strike would achieve anything? How did we think it would affect our careers?" He then listed off names of people in branches surrounding us that had gone back to work, crossing the picket line. By the time he left us I was trembling.
After three weeks a deal was reached between the Union and the Bank. We went back to work but the ethos had changed. Our new contracts stipulated that we must reach targets selling certain types of accounts or policies. Trying to sell at the counter or cold-calling people was torture.
After a couple of years I applied for relief staff. This entailed being sent to various branches or departments and filling in when places were short staffed. I was happy as the proverbial pig and loved this work.
On one occasion I was sent to type in Head Office. The Important Banker had retired a couple of weeks beforehand. However I noticed that he appeared in the office most mornings of that week. All I could picture was his indignant, red face when I looked at him. He, of course, did not remember me.
The Retired Banker would sort through files or rearrange folders, mumbling to himself as he did so. Then on my final morning one of The Top Man in the Bank turned the corner and when he saw the Retired Banker, kneeling on the ground with a folder in his hands, he threw his eyes up to heaven and did a u-turn out of the room. He was no longer important.
When I joined the bank the whole ethos was about Quality Service to customers. I was told if you treat a customer well, they will tell others about the company and word-of-mouth was the best way to build a solid customer base.
The first time I met the Important Banker I was picketing my Bank branch. Being only nineteen, I was terrified. How would I pay the rent? What would my parents think? When would the strike end? My Branch Manager was an extraordinarily kind man. When the news broke he came over to my desk and comforted me,as he saw my panic-striken face.
The locals were very supportive, bringing us soup and sandwiches and moral support. However after a couple of days the Important Banker came to visit us on the picket line. He was red-faced with indignation and asked us sharply: "What did we think we were doing? Did we expect this strike would achieve anything? How did we think it would affect our careers?" He then listed off names of people in branches surrounding us that had gone back to work, crossing the picket line. By the time he left us I was trembling.
After three weeks a deal was reached between the Union and the Bank. We went back to work but the ethos had changed. Our new contracts stipulated that we must reach targets selling certain types of accounts or policies. Trying to sell at the counter or cold-calling people was torture.
After a couple of years I applied for relief staff. This entailed being sent to various branches or departments and filling in when places were short staffed. I was happy as the proverbial pig and loved this work.
On one occasion I was sent to type in Head Office. The Important Banker had retired a couple of weeks beforehand. However I noticed that he appeared in the office most mornings of that week. All I could picture was his indignant, red face when I looked at him. He, of course, did not remember me.
The Retired Banker would sort through files or rearrange folders, mumbling to himself as he did so. Then on my final morning one of The Top Man in the Bank turned the corner and when he saw the Retired Banker, kneeling on the ground with a folder in his hands, he threw his eyes up to heaven and did a u-turn out of the room. He was no longer important.
Wednesday, 14 March 2012
Apology to the passport office
Dear Passport Office.
I'll bet you don't get these type of letters often. My reason for this letter is the frequency with which I need to avail of your services. Most passports are for ten years, therefore I estimate that I should have had about three or four but I have had about seven passports. The reasons for this are varied.
Firstly, I suffer from a condition called McSherry-itis. My maiden name is McSherry. It manifests itself as a need to hide important items 'somewhere safe.' Thereafter completely forgetting where this 'safe' place is. Hypnosis or even torture will not help the sufferer from revealing where the item is. Eventually it is found when looking for something else, sometime later. I have lost my engagement ring, birthday presents and my passport this way.
In the early days of our romance my boyfriend and I booked a holiday to Cyprus. My passport was ready and perfectly valid, I just didn't know where is was. I bemoaned the fact to a work collegue who was involved with a certain politicial party. Two days later I collected the passport from my collegue outside the Dail, promising to vote for the person who obtained it for me. Crossing my fingers behind my back. I'm not that easily bought. The holiday was brilliant and holding onto my boyfriend, on a little motorbike, as we toured around Cyprus is one of the happiest memories of my life.
Much later, I married that boyfriend and we had a little boy. When my son was a 18 months old I decided to visit my brother in Edinburgh with my Mum. I hadn't been abroad in several years and was very excited about the trip. My brother also mentioned to me that he had 'met a girl he kinda liked.' So I packed and prepared, got babysitters and my husband ready to survive two days without me. Found my passport and checking it the night before we left, I realised it was six months out-of-date. My reaction was to reason that they wouldn't turn me away at the airport. I met my Mum at 3a.m. at the airport in the lashing rain. As we queued up to the check-in desk I couldn't get the courage up to tell Mum that there might be a problem. The man at the desk took one look at my passport and shook his head. Mum smiled and asked about my driver's licence. It was several weeks out-of-date.
Encouraging my Mum to get onto the flight and I promised I would follow her, I joined the 'queue of shame.' Or as Ryanair call it, the 'oversized baggage' queue. The queue really wasn't moving at all. As time went on people were missing their flights and other people were asking could they skip the queue. It's the only time in my life where I felt genuinely threatened. People were becoming aggressive and thankfully some DAA staff came over and defused the situation. Later, when my Mum was safely up in the air on her way to Edinburgh I got to talk to a member of staff. The fault was totally my own. However I still break into a nervous sweat when I'm queuing at the airport. The staff member told me I could book another flight at 3p.m. for sixty Euros, if I went into town and got another passport. "Is that possible?" I asked. He shrugged. I booked it.
I never rang my husband. Instead saying little in my texts. I knew he would say, "Just come home" and I would. But this was a challenge and I was on a mission.
The rain had not ceased since we had gotten up several hours earlier. I went to retrieve my car from the long term carpark. I couldn't find it. It took me an hour wandering around several carparks clicking my car remote before I asked the young men at the kiosk to help me. One of them drove me around until I found it. By then the battery had worn out but thankfully I could still open the car.
Driving into town, I had to get the form from the passport office. Get my photo taken. Two photo booths in Grafton Street were broken. Eventually I found a booth in Stephen's Green Mall. By then my boots had literally melted to pieces from walking in the never-ending rain. I had to slip into Dunnes and buy a pair for twenty euro. Then I had to walk to Pearse Street Garda Station and get the photo signed. Telling the garda my story, he suppressed his laughter. Finally I went back to the passport office. I explained my predicament and they warned me that they could 'promise nothing.' I took a ticket and sat down exhausted.
I got a text from Mum saying she was fine and enjoying the bus tour of Edinburgh, on her own. Then I got a text from my brother Paul, saying his friends thought it was hilarious that I'd missed the flight due to an out-of-date passport. I'd deal with him later! I then texted my husband saying, 'Edinburgh was lovely and we were enjoying the bus tour.' He'd deal with me later.
At twelve o'clock the passport office gave me my beautiful passport. I still remember that wonderful man's face. I raced back, in the pouring rain, to my car to pay a parking fee which was almost as dear as the flight.
Needless to say, I got to Edinburgh. We had a wonderful time. Saw all the sights on the bus tour, second time for Mum. She really is a patient woman. Met the new woman in my brother's life. She is now my sister-in-law. "So you're from Cork, Lisa?" "No, Galway." She's another patient woman.
The final time I needed a new passport was when my husband assumed that I had changed it to my married name. After all we were married twelve years. He booked the flight for me as Clarke. When I contacted Ryanair I was informed it was one hundred euro to change the name. It was eighty euro to change the passport. So I decided the government could do with the money more than Ryanair. And the deed was done.
So thank you passport office for your patience. I hope I don't have to contact you again for several years. I know where my passport is, I swear.
x, Carol (also thank you Mum xx)
+of+eoins+second+birthday+027.jpg)
I'll bet you don't get these type of letters often. My reason for this letter is the frequency with which I need to avail of your services. Most passports are for ten years, therefore I estimate that I should have had about three or four but I have had about seven passports. The reasons for this are varied.
Firstly, I suffer from a condition called McSherry-itis. My maiden name is McSherry. It manifests itself as a need to hide important items 'somewhere safe.' Thereafter completely forgetting where this 'safe' place is. Hypnosis or even torture will not help the sufferer from revealing where the item is. Eventually it is found when looking for something else, sometime later. I have lost my engagement ring, birthday presents and my passport this way.
In the early days of our romance my boyfriend and I booked a holiday to Cyprus. My passport was ready and perfectly valid, I just didn't know where is was. I bemoaned the fact to a work collegue who was involved with a certain politicial party. Two days later I collected the passport from my collegue outside the Dail, promising to vote for the person who obtained it for me. Crossing my fingers behind my back. I'm not that easily bought. The holiday was brilliant and holding onto my boyfriend, on a little motorbike, as we toured around Cyprus is one of the happiest memories of my life.
Much later, I married that boyfriend and we had a little boy. When my son was a 18 months old I decided to visit my brother in Edinburgh with my Mum. I hadn't been abroad in several years and was very excited about the trip. My brother also mentioned to me that he had 'met a girl he kinda liked.' So I packed and prepared, got babysitters and my husband ready to survive two days without me. Found my passport and checking it the night before we left, I realised it was six months out-of-date. My reaction was to reason that they wouldn't turn me away at the airport. I met my Mum at 3a.m. at the airport in the lashing rain. As we queued up to the check-in desk I couldn't get the courage up to tell Mum that there might be a problem. The man at the desk took one look at my passport and shook his head. Mum smiled and asked about my driver's licence. It was several weeks out-of-date.
Encouraging my Mum to get onto the flight and I promised I would follow her, I joined the 'queue of shame.' Or as Ryanair call it, the 'oversized baggage' queue. The queue really wasn't moving at all. As time went on people were missing their flights and other people were asking could they skip the queue. It's the only time in my life where I felt genuinely threatened. People were becoming aggressive and thankfully some DAA staff came over and defused the situation. Later, when my Mum was safely up in the air on her way to Edinburgh I got to talk to a member of staff. The fault was totally my own. However I still break into a nervous sweat when I'm queuing at the airport. The staff member told me I could book another flight at 3p.m. for sixty Euros, if I went into town and got another passport. "Is that possible?" I asked. He shrugged. I booked it.
I never rang my husband. Instead saying little in my texts. I knew he would say, "Just come home" and I would. But this was a challenge and I was on a mission.
The rain had not ceased since we had gotten up several hours earlier. I went to retrieve my car from the long term carpark. I couldn't find it. It took me an hour wandering around several carparks clicking my car remote before I asked the young men at the kiosk to help me. One of them drove me around until I found it. By then the battery had worn out but thankfully I could still open the car.
Driving into town, I had to get the form from the passport office. Get my photo taken. Two photo booths in Grafton Street were broken. Eventually I found a booth in Stephen's Green Mall. By then my boots had literally melted to pieces from walking in the never-ending rain. I had to slip into Dunnes and buy a pair for twenty euro. Then I had to walk to Pearse Street Garda Station and get the photo signed. Telling the garda my story, he suppressed his laughter. Finally I went back to the passport office. I explained my predicament and they warned me that they could 'promise nothing.' I took a ticket and sat down exhausted.
I got a text from Mum saying she was fine and enjoying the bus tour of Edinburgh, on her own. Then I got a text from my brother Paul, saying his friends thought it was hilarious that I'd missed the flight due to an out-of-date passport. I'd deal with him later! I then texted my husband saying, 'Edinburgh was lovely and we were enjoying the bus tour.' He'd deal with me later.
At twelve o'clock the passport office gave me my beautiful passport. I still remember that wonderful man's face. I raced back, in the pouring rain, to my car to pay a parking fee which was almost as dear as the flight.
Needless to say, I got to Edinburgh. We had a wonderful time. Saw all the sights on the bus tour, second time for Mum. She really is a patient woman. Met the new woman in my brother's life. She is now my sister-in-law. "So you're from Cork, Lisa?" "No, Galway." She's another patient woman.
The final time I needed a new passport was when my husband assumed that I had changed it to my married name. After all we were married twelve years. He booked the flight for me as Clarke. When I contacted Ryanair I was informed it was one hundred euro to change the name. It was eighty euro to change the passport. So I decided the government could do with the money more than Ryanair. And the deed was done.
So thank you passport office for your patience. I hope I don't have to contact you again for several years. I know where my passport is, I swear.
x, Carol (also thank you Mum xx)
+of+eoins+second+birthday+027.jpg)
Wednesday, 29 February 2012
Rage
Anna checked all of her pockets as she got out of the car. Four pockets, containing: her mobile phone, her iPod, the car key and an old packet of chewing gum. She checked the car was locked as she walked away. Following her usual routine. However she didn't feel it was usual. Something had shifted. She wasn't out tonight for a healthy walk around the block. This time it was to alleviate the anger that was building up inside of her. The anger made her want to pound the path as she plugged herself into her music. She went for the 'favourites' playlist on the iPod as she plugged in the earphones. Greenday came on. "I hope you had the time of your life," she half whispered to herself as she stomped along the road. She played it as loudly as she could.
She knew the anger had been building up inside of her for some time now but today's events had pushed her over the edge. The day began with another encounter with Miss Claire at the Montessori school. Her son was in trouble again. Anna had repremanded her son, and promised to talk to him at home. However the voice in her head said, 'He's only three. He doesn't know what he is yet.' Something began to niggle at the back of her mind. She had to dash to work.
Late to work again and the Assistant Manager was waiting at her desk. "I had to answer that damned phone this morning. Don't be late again," Nevermind that Anna was doing the accounts job because no-one else wanted it. Dealing with complaints and queries all day long. In-basket getting bigger and barely a dent of the out-basket. She'd stay on late tonight to catch up on work.
When she rang Mark to tell him that he needed to pick up Oisin, he was not too pleased. "Just tell that Manager of yours to get lost." Oh.... but she'd love that. Yet Mark wasn't going to be able to pay the mortgage on his own.
So when Oisin was fed and in bed, not asleep, she slipped on her tracksuit, grabbed her stuff and leaned in the door to Mark. He spoke first, "Was little Oisin in trouble again today?" She nodded. "You'd want to get onto that Miss Claire one, she's a pain in the neck!" She answered slowly, "To be honest Mark, I think we need to talk when I get back. I think there's something more to it. He gets in trouble in the supermarket, at the childminders, visiting Grandparents. We never get a moments peace. Maybe we should look into it? For his sake." He retorted quickly, "There's nothing wrong with my son, except you and Miss Whatever-her-name-is mamby-pambying him. And while you're at it, sort out that cow in work that keeps you back late."
Anna ran the whole conversation through her mind. She hated her job and the Assistant Manager yet she said nothing all day and did her best. 'Keep the Head Down' was her motto. She didn't want to disagree with Miss Claire, especially in front of the other parents but she wished she would give her good news sometimes and not embarrass her and Oisin publically. But what made her burn with rage was that her husband would not listen to her. He never asked her how she felt, if things were ok? He disagreed with almost everything she said until she gave up saying them.
Hot tears were in her eyes now. She lowered her face and hoped two passing walkers would not notice, especially when she was wearing her thick glasses. The anger was now turning into a boiling rage in her stomach. She marched faster and faster.
Suddenly a man stepped from behind a high wall across the road. He walked directly up to her and she quickly realised that there was no-one else around. "Gimme your stuff now and don't make me take it off ya," he growled. She could see a small blade in his hand. Without thinking, she gave him the phone, iPod and key. "More," he whispered with menace. Anna pulled off her engagement ring and watch. As she put them in his gloved hand she realised that he was not finished. Finally the rage exploded. "You've gotten everything you're going to get from me. Now fuck off. I don't care what you have there, just give me an excuse and I'll go for you bare-knuckle," she said through clenched teeth. The man stood for a long moment. Appraising her with a passionless face. She didn't care. She just wanted to feel the satisfaction of punching him hard with her fists. She didn't care what happened after that. He turned and walked in the opposite direction.
Anna walked back to the car. The rage she felt wasn't even contained inside her anymore, she could feel it fizzing around her body. She wasn't taking anymore of this. As she got back to the car she realised that she had no key to get in. Finally she started to cry. But the tears were not of self-pity. She just hated that she wouldn't have the chance to hit that man again, she should have.
She knew the anger had been building up inside of her for some time now but today's events had pushed her over the edge. The day began with another encounter with Miss Claire at the Montessori school. Her son was in trouble again. Anna had repremanded her son, and promised to talk to him at home. However the voice in her head said, 'He's only three. He doesn't know what he is yet.' Something began to niggle at the back of her mind. She had to dash to work.
Late to work again and the Assistant Manager was waiting at her desk. "I had to answer that damned phone this morning. Don't be late again," Nevermind that Anna was doing the accounts job because no-one else wanted it. Dealing with complaints and queries all day long. In-basket getting bigger and barely a dent of the out-basket. She'd stay on late tonight to catch up on work.
When she rang Mark to tell him that he needed to pick up Oisin, he was not too pleased. "Just tell that Manager of yours to get lost." Oh.... but she'd love that. Yet Mark wasn't going to be able to pay the mortgage on his own.
So when Oisin was fed and in bed, not asleep, she slipped on her tracksuit, grabbed her stuff and leaned in the door to Mark. He spoke first, "Was little Oisin in trouble again today?" She nodded. "You'd want to get onto that Miss Claire one, she's a pain in the neck!" She answered slowly, "To be honest Mark, I think we need to talk when I get back. I think there's something more to it. He gets in trouble in the supermarket, at the childminders, visiting Grandparents. We never get a moments peace. Maybe we should look into it? For his sake." He retorted quickly, "There's nothing wrong with my son, except you and Miss Whatever-her-name-is mamby-pambying him. And while you're at it, sort out that cow in work that keeps you back late."
Anna ran the whole conversation through her mind. She hated her job and the Assistant Manager yet she said nothing all day and did her best. 'Keep the Head Down' was her motto. She didn't want to disagree with Miss Claire, especially in front of the other parents but she wished she would give her good news sometimes and not embarrass her and Oisin publically. But what made her burn with rage was that her husband would not listen to her. He never asked her how she felt, if things were ok? He disagreed with almost everything she said until she gave up saying them.
Hot tears were in her eyes now. She lowered her face and hoped two passing walkers would not notice, especially when she was wearing her thick glasses. The anger was now turning into a boiling rage in her stomach. She marched faster and faster.
Suddenly a man stepped from behind a high wall across the road. He walked directly up to her and she quickly realised that there was no-one else around. "Gimme your stuff now and don't make me take it off ya," he growled. She could see a small blade in his hand. Without thinking, she gave him the phone, iPod and key. "More," he whispered with menace. Anna pulled off her engagement ring and watch. As she put them in his gloved hand she realised that he was not finished. Finally the rage exploded. "You've gotten everything you're going to get from me. Now fuck off. I don't care what you have there, just give me an excuse and I'll go for you bare-knuckle," she said through clenched teeth. The man stood for a long moment. Appraising her with a passionless face. She didn't care. She just wanted to feel the satisfaction of punching him hard with her fists. She didn't care what happened after that. He turned and walked in the opposite direction.
Anna walked back to the car. The rage she felt wasn't even contained inside her anymore, she could feel it fizzing around her body. She wasn't taking anymore of this. As she got back to the car she realised that she had no key to get in. Finally she started to cry. But the tears were not of self-pity. She just hated that she wouldn't have the chance to hit that man again, she should have.
Tuesday, 14 February 2012
In praise of libraries
I was asked by Susan Condon (@susancondon) to give my support to National Libraries Week. I'm late replying but here goes:
Terenure Library, Dublin, was my local when we were children. The children's library was in the front of the building and the adults library was behind. Mum has always been a voracious reader. Dad used to complain about the weight of the beach bag on holidays. It always contained a large hardback book from the library. The first few books I read were by Enid Blyton: I loved the Secret Seven. The brilliant Roahl Dahl was next to be discovered. However the happiest memory I have was when I was allowed to change my pink child's ticket to the blue adult library ticket. I felt so grown up. Mum always told us to have the books opened on the page for stamping and turned towards the librarian. Treating the librarian with due respect.
My interest in literacy really began in my teens. I suddenly came upon the realisation that books can change the way you think. Books can show you whole new worlds, transport you back in time, take you inside someone else's head. George Orwell's '1984' and 'Animal Farm' made me think about politics and the world more critically. Oscar Wilde was witty and engaging, especially 'The Picture of Dorian Gray'. 'The Lord of the Flies' by William Golding was disturbing but I wondered did he go too far in his hypothesis. However since becoming a mum and witnessing several party birthday parties for seven-year olds, I'm rethinking this one.
Later I became obsessed with the Second World War. I couldn't understand what made a whole race decide to wipe out another. I read 'The Diary of Anne Frank' along with 'I am David' by Anne Holm. I'm still none the wiser as to the 'why' of the wars but I know that we need to remind future generations that these things happened and never let history repeat itself.
When I moved to Navan I joined the library there. Navan Library is simply wonderful. It's in the centre of the town overlooking the beautiful St Mary's Church. It is not an aesthetically pleasing building to look at. The library was promised a facelift but it never materalised. However inside, the library is treasure trove for book lovers. There's a huge section of books by Irish writers. The childrens section is welcoming with bright little chairs and tables. They have books for all ages neatly laid out. There is also a special series of books with CD's for adults who want to learn to read or improve their reading called 'The Clipper Series.' Every day teenagers fill the room studying or using the computers.
Every Summer the library run a programme to encourage children to read. This year it was called 'Circus Stars.' The child gets a sticker with every book they read and if they read any six books over the summer they're invited to a party. The stickers had special smells, one even smelt of rabbit poo. My son thought that was the coolest thing ever.
But there is one little happening that made me genuinely love the library and their staff. A few years ago when I was studying Montessori, I had to write an essay on one of Maria Montessori's comtemporaries. I think it was Edouard Seguin. There is not alot of information left about him. I asked a librarian to see if she could find any books by him or about him. She found a book 'in the back,' and it looked ancient. When I looked at the library's label at the front of the book I saw that it had not been lent for fifty years. What other treasures are hidden in there???
Long live the libraries, their staff and the treasure trove of books.
Every Summer the library run a programme to encourage children to read. This year it was called 'Circus Stars.' The child gets a sticker with every book they read and if they read any six books over the summer they're invited to a party. The stickers had special smells, one even smelt of rabbit poo. My son thought that was the coolest thing ever.
But there is one little happening that made me genuinely love the library and their staff. A few years ago when I was studying Montessori, I had to write an essay on one of Maria Montessori's comtemporaries. I think it was Edouard Seguin. There is not alot of information left about him. I asked a librarian to see if she could find any books by him or about him. She found a book 'in the back,' and it looked ancient. When I looked at the library's label at the front of the book I saw that it had not been lent for fifty years. What other treasures are hidden in there???
Long live the libraries, their staff and the treasure trove of books.
Tuesday, 10 January 2012
The Locket
She felt her anxiety level rising as she walked into the office. "Stand over in the corner!" she snapped at her young son, as they walked up to the counter. Instantly feeling guilty, it wasn't his fault that they were there. She had told him they were in a post office because she didn't want him reporting to anyone about this visit. He did as he was told but she kept her eye nervously on him, they weren't in the best part of town.
The office was bright and behind the thick glass wall, the staff were friendly."I want to pawn this locket and these earrings," she said in a low voice."Certainly, would you like them to be pawned together or separately?" the young foreign girl asked. She looked exotic probably from South Africa, guessing from her accent. The woman hesitated and the pretty girl continued, "If you pawn them separately, then you can collect them at different times but if you pawn them together you must come up with the full amount." The woman was grateful for that advice. Whatever about the earrings, she had to get the locket back, somehow.
The locket had been bought for her by her parents for her 21st birthday. Lockets were all the rage at that time but the young girl (as she was then) wanted something a little bit different. She didn't want a loveheart-shaped locket. She clapped her eyes on a rectangular book-shaped locket with beautiful engraving all around the edges. With her love of reading she thought it suited her perfectly. Then she had to choose a chain. Again she saw a chain that was slightly different, rounded links.It cost as much as the locket itself. But the girl had her heart set on the locket and chain. She knew her parents didn't have a lot of spare cash and were already throwing a party for her. However she reasoned with herself that since she got job a couple of years ago she never looked for a penny from them. The woman grimaced at this memory. The girl thinking little of taking money from her parents. She loved that locket though and wore it for years. In the past couple of years it had been replaced by a necklace from her husband but the locket had a special place in her heart.
She didn't know how thing's had come to this. Somehow she hadn't budgeted this month correctly and she didn't have enough money to cover her car payment. Her husband had enough worries at the moment and she didn't want to ask him for money, which would only be coming from the last of his savings. She had sold gold before but it didn't hold sentimental value, however this was the first time it ... hurt and caused her shame.
Two big rough-looking men came into the office. She completed her paperwork and nervously tried to hide where she hid the money in her bag in case they followed her. She called her son to her side as she did this. The men were trying to sell mobile phones without ID and were becoming agitated. She hurried out of the office and to the car as quickly as she could.
A couple of weeks later an unexpected letter arrived for her. She recognised the writing immediately. The woman and her friend had exchanged letters for years, before facebook and email took over. Inside was a simple card. A short personal message and a gift cheque for a supermarket chain for one hundred Euro. The woman was astonished as she had spoken to no-one about her money worries. Yet her friend, who lived at the other end of the country, had heard that the woman's husband was out of work. Her first reaction was to post it back, her pride kicked in. She rang her friend but couldn't get through so she sent a text. 'Thank you, but it's too much, can't accept :)' Later the friend replied, 'Don't even think about sending it back, it's your birthday present and Christmas present rolled into one.'
The following day the woman left her son with a friend. Saying, "She'd a little business to do" and thinking 'I'm not bringing him to that part of town again!' A few hours later she was wearing that locket and she hasn't taken it off since. The only indicator that she had let the locket go was a mark on the back where the pawn shop had tested the gold. That couldn't be erased.
P.S. This is dedicated to my 'busking friend.'
The office was bright and behind the thick glass wall, the staff were friendly."I want to pawn this locket and these earrings," she said in a low voice."Certainly, would you like them to be pawned together or separately?" the young foreign girl asked. She looked exotic probably from South Africa, guessing from her accent. The woman hesitated and the pretty girl continued, "If you pawn them separately, then you can collect them at different times but if you pawn them together you must come up with the full amount." The woman was grateful for that advice. Whatever about the earrings, she had to get the locket back, somehow.
The locket had been bought for her by her parents for her 21st birthday. Lockets were all the rage at that time but the young girl (as she was then) wanted something a little bit different. She didn't want a loveheart-shaped locket. She clapped her eyes on a rectangular book-shaped locket with beautiful engraving all around the edges. With her love of reading she thought it suited her perfectly. Then she had to choose a chain. Again she saw a chain that was slightly different, rounded links.It cost as much as the locket itself. But the girl had her heart set on the locket and chain. She knew her parents didn't have a lot of spare cash and were already throwing a party for her. However she reasoned with herself that since she got job a couple of years ago she never looked for a penny from them. The woman grimaced at this memory. The girl thinking little of taking money from her parents. She loved that locket though and wore it for years. In the past couple of years it had been replaced by a necklace from her husband but the locket had a special place in her heart.
She didn't know how thing's had come to this. Somehow she hadn't budgeted this month correctly and she didn't have enough money to cover her car payment. Her husband had enough worries at the moment and she didn't want to ask him for money, which would only be coming from the last of his savings. She had sold gold before but it didn't hold sentimental value, however this was the first time it ... hurt and caused her shame.
Two big rough-looking men came into the office. She completed her paperwork and nervously tried to hide where she hid the money in her bag in case they followed her. She called her son to her side as she did this. The men were trying to sell mobile phones without ID and were becoming agitated. She hurried out of the office and to the car as quickly as she could.
A couple of weeks later an unexpected letter arrived for her. She recognised the writing immediately. The woman and her friend had exchanged letters for years, before facebook and email took over. Inside was a simple card. A short personal message and a gift cheque for a supermarket chain for one hundred Euro. The woman was astonished as she had spoken to no-one about her money worries. Yet her friend, who lived at the other end of the country, had heard that the woman's husband was out of work. Her first reaction was to post it back, her pride kicked in. She rang her friend but couldn't get through so she sent a text. 'Thank you, but it's too much, can't accept :)' Later the friend replied, 'Don't even think about sending it back, it's your birthday present and Christmas present rolled into one.'
The following day the woman left her son with a friend. Saying, "She'd a little business to do" and thinking 'I'm not bringing him to that part of town again!' A few hours later she was wearing that locket and she hasn't taken it off since. The only indicator that she had let the locket go was a mark on the back where the pawn shop had tested the gold. That couldn't be erased.
P.S. This is dedicated to my 'busking friend.'
Sunday, 1 January 2012
Letters to Ireland from Germany after WW2
As you may have seen in my last blog, my beloved grandmother passed away recently. My parents found an old letter when they were going through some of her paperwork. We were aware of the existence of this letter and a photograph. Since then we have discovered two more letters and the photograph of the German family. I'll let the letters speak for themselves. I've also decided not to publish the lady's first name or address as her children are possibly still alive.
I will faithfully copy the letters below, word for word. To put the letter in context, I believe Gran was a member of The Red Cross and sent food parcels to a German family after World War 2. A photo of the family is below. The little girl mentioned at the end of the letter in 1949 is my mum. The first letter is written by Frau Bohnet's mother and the final two were written in German, by Frau Bohnet, and translated by a neighbour. The photo shows Mrs Bohnet with her two children. Again I won't publish their names.
Also, Gran probably did this as a mother and a good Christian and would not have liked a fuss made of her. I have put these letters on my blog for historical interest purposes only.
I will faithfully copy the letters below, word for word. To put the letter in context, I believe Gran was a member of The Red Cross and sent food parcels to a German family after World War 2. A photo of the family is below. The little girl mentioned at the end of the letter in 1949 is my mum. The first letter is written by Frau Bohnet's mother and the final two were written in German, by Frau Bohnet, and translated by a neighbour. The photo shows Mrs Bohnet with her two children. Again I won't publish their names.
Also, Gran probably did this as a mother and a good Christian and would not have liked a fuss made of her. I have put these letters on my blog for historical interest purposes only.
Freudenstadt,
Germany.
29th May '48
My Dear Familie Fletcher
Yesterday we received with great joy and thanks a parcel from you. We thank you very sincerely. You cannot realise the happiness it brought us especially coming from a stranger. Yes, there are still good people in this world, who are ready to help us. I regret that we cannot thank you personally but I know God will reward you and give you health. My Daughter to whom you kindly sent the parcel, that is Frau Bohnet and for whom I am writing this letter is presently ill and begged me to write you and thank you.
My dear Familie Fletcher you cannot imagine the pleasure we got, especially the children. The eyes pop out of their heads at the sight of such large bars of chocolate and the other good contents, such as we have not seen for years.
The children believe that God had inspired you with the knowledge that they were fatherless. It is a pity we can buy nothing, and the scanty monthly ration we receive is nothing. Everything is to be had, but only for the French in occupation. Our son William does his utmost for us but I realise he too has a family to look for. We really had a bad experience in the past years. Having lost everything including home and all our belongings. Also a daughter 39 years of age and my two daughters Husbands one of which was Mrs. Bohnet's husband. Now again May God help and Protect you for your kindness again my sincere thanks.
Frau Bertha L
Freudenstadt, 12th Jan.1949
Bahnhofstrasse 95
Dear Mrs. Fletcher,
Many, many thanks for your gift, which you were kind enough to send to me. Also in the name of my children I say many thanks to you. The good god may repay you for all the love and kindness you have showed to us.
Excuse me, not having answered your letter earlier, but not knowing the english language I had to wait until a friend of mine who lives in another town had translated it for me.
I very much regret not to be able to send you a photograph of my children and myself, but I hope to have one made one of those days and as soon as possible I shall send it to you. For five years now I am waiting for my husband who is missed in Russia and had hoped to take us all on the picture. But up to this date I am without any news.
It is wonderful that people like you still live in this world. It is true, we have been suffering a great deal in the last four years and it just is like a gift of heaven to feel the love of people and even of people who do not even know me.
Once more many, many thanks to you dear Mrs. Fletcher. Give our love to your little daughter. God bless her and you.
Sincerely yours,
Frau B Bohnet
Freudenstadt, 10.2.49
Frau B Bohnet
Freudenstadt, 10.2.49
Dear Mrs.
A few days ago I received your parcel, for which I thank you very much. I hope you received in the meantime my letter I wrote to you last month in which I informed you of the receipt of your parcel of octobre last.
I join this letter a picture of myself and my children promised to you in my last letter.
I passed Christmas very quietly with my mother and my two children and the contents of your parcel of october last made it possible to make Christmas more Christmas like as it would have been otherwise.
Once more many, many thanks for all love and kindness you showed towards us and with the best of wishes for you and your family
I remain
Sincerely yours
B Bohnet
u. kinder
(and children)
u. kinder
(and children)
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