When I was at a funeral last week I lost the lovely silver bracelet that my OH bought for my recent big birthday. It was precious not because of monetary value, it wasn’t high end ‘designer’ because we aren’t those sorts of people, but it was exactly what I wanted, solid and plain and one of a kind because it was a vintage piece and I know how much care he’d taken over finding something I would like. I only noticed when I was at Meadowhall and to turn back would have been a two hour drive, plus I had no idea where I’d lost it – in the church or at the wake where there were many many people. It was the crap end to a very sad day and I was in bits. I’d rung the vicar and the hotel but no one came back to me to say they’d found it.
A pal of mine said, ‘I know this might sound daft but pray to St Anthony’ another to ‘St Antoine de Padoue’ because something that had seemed lost forever had turned up in an unexpected place after six weeks for her. Nothing ventured, although I did think you might need some faith to back up such a prayer and I didn’t have much. Someone had found my lovely bangle and claimed it for themselves, I was sure. I prayed a lot. And I prayed again the next morning just before I made a last ditch attempt call to the hotel… to find that someone had handed it in. They’d found it in the car park and hadn’t even left their name in case it wasn’t claimed. It restored my faith in people – and the power of prayer and you won’t convince me otherwise. I am now reunited with my lovely bangle, which is all the more treasured for its adventure.
I think the whole town has been saddened by the events of Saturday and the crash in Barugh Green. It was a tragedy that could have hit any of our families, it was all too close to home. The facts will all come to light in time, but often it seems that if they don’t appear instantly, some have to fill in the void with their own wild conspiracies. Take the recent case of the Princess of Wales. There’s a reason why information is initially held back as we saw there, who are we do demand it. Let the powers that be do their jobs and don’t berate them for the proper time they need to take.
I am a great lover of poetry and I was given a lovely book of poetry recently ‘Blank Spaces’ written by a lady called Susan Mary Morgan who started writing in retirement. The sad thing about this volume is that Susan was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s and decided to get as much of her work down as possible while she was still able.
They’re a mix of the funny and the heartfelt and I’ve enjoyed them very much, especially poignant though are those that talk about her encroaching dementia: ‘Please let me keep what is worth remembering’. My mum would have been ninety-two this week and in time I will see it as a blessing that she was ours to the end, that she looked at me and still remembered who I was and her quality of life was slipping but not enough to tip the scales so that her life was not worth living.
Susan’s work hit me right in the sweet spot, as poetry should. Do google her, I’d love to bring her a few more readers.
