Shepherd's Delight

I live to love and be loved, It maybe defined as an obsession that has been a life time in the making. I want to shine through be remembered not for any achievements I have accomplished in my life but striving to be who I am and to be remembered by those who are dear to me with love. I would like to die in my bed regretting nothing and believing I had left some kind of my mark on this world. Remembered as a lady who loved. I write from the heart and have no intention of hurting a single soul just an exploration of who I am and why I feel the way I do, to let my feeling flow in a sensitive loving way.
I suppose every story starts at the beginning......so where is mine, the day I was born or when I really knew that I was alive.

The beginning for me when I started to develop my memories, I believe my understanding of things were already being established as I journey through a world that I may not of always been proud of but I was placed in by my birth. I realised early on the pressure my mother was under to protect me and love me with her heart but not equipped with the skills to show that love freely.
I was born into a family that was already tired and strained from alcoholism so the true beginning came from my ancestors who shaped my existence generations before I was ever even thought of . Looking back the need for the demon drink was all encompassing and the consequences were far reaching, yet I never completely blamed my father being a victim of his own parents who subconsciously by culture or otherwise managed to wean their child onto whiskey. It was said whiskey was put in his milk, so mother could put him to bed and go out dancing.
My grandmother was said to be born in Ireland and met my a Glaswegian grandfather , when he was touring as he played a clarinet in the big bands of the time, there seemed to have been some family argument and they settled in Portsmouth. The stories from my mother were pretty sketchy I suppose because she had been shunned for being a sassenach and was never truly accepted by her In-laws. I remember visiting my grandparents and hearing those words, I never really understood that was the reason for my mothers suffering
' It's your own fault Archie, for marrying a sassenach' passing my grandmothers lips at any opportunity she could get, I never heard his complaints but we were just glad to be there, at that age my love for my grandmother was easily brought by a good meal and leaving with a brand new fifty pence piece in my pocket when I left with the excitement of having acquired an absolute fortune. Yes I had to endure a kiss from a large lady with lipstick on, smelling of stale body odour, cigarettes and whiskey but it was worth it because the drive home squeezed on the back seat of the car with my two sisters and my brother, glad I was pinned in like a sardine in a tin because invariably my father was drunk as we made our way through the city streets back to the comfort of the wide open spaces of our village, horrendous as it may seem in today's standards I was more preoccupied with my newly found wealth. On each visit the drunken arguments increased and finally we never went back and my world shrunk back to the confines of my childhood home filled with promise of Sunday school, summer, fishing for stickle backs and the beckoning fields.
Life was OK as a young child I had a little concept of what was wrong in my family and received a indulgence of love and protection from my sisters and brother. I spent my days on the back of my mothers bike, those times were special with the wind in my hair chatting while she ferried me to and from her part- time work as a house cleaner she was well known in the village for her work but the milk dray nearly knocked her off her bike into the ditch so that was the last free ride I got. I did enjoy those days I would play in these big houses while my mother worked and was given orange squash and biscuits.
Those days were finished when I started the village school in 1973. I remember my first day at school my mother took me to school and I was so excited I had to be called back for the statutory good bye kiss as I flew in the classroom door. Infant school had some memories I could never forget, probably insignificant to the reader but they were defined by years I can count back to concrete my existence with specific years. The first year of Infant school was marked by Mrs. Ray our class teacher she was a kindly lady but I cannot recall what she looked like just that she was a caring lady. The first day of school also was marked by assembly and brand new folders handed out as we filed into the school hall, presumably filled with the words to the songs they were either orange or grey as far as I could see as I looked down the line sat at the front crossed legged among the other little ones they were mostly orange and in pristine condition. Four years later when I sat at the back among the oldest of the pupils they were certainly worst for wear.
Two significant types of memories were embarrassment or the need to eat because there was nothing in the larder at home, don't get me wrong we ate at home but it was usually egg, chips and baked beans or the occasional Sunday roast. School was the only place I got milk and I hope that children were away so I may get the chance of a second bottle in the afternoon break.
The first embarrassing memory was when I told the teacher I was a big girl and would be walking home alone on my first day, I was scared to death even though my house was down the street from the school, I waited patiently for my mother to open the front door so she could shout and beckon me across the road, I obediently complied knowing the green cross code, living in the era of public adverts about child safety. Deep down though I felt unloved as I watched all the other mothers eager to pick up their little darlings, their and their squeals of delight as the were presented with various types of obscure paintings I chose to hide mine in the bush on the way home, I just had the feeling my efforts would not be appreciated.
Once a boy told me to stand up and then sit down and as I did he pulled the chair away and I went down on the tiled floor with a thud. Mrs Ray grabbed me and lectured the boy while I unceremoniously bawled and had my sore rump rubbed. Crying came easy to me but later I learned to stem the flow of tears till I found it difficult to shed any at all. I enjoyed school and progressed to Mrs. Napier's class, I was aware she knew a friend of the family almost from entering he class and she knew that my mother detested my wetting problem when I was nervous. I remember changing for music and dance one day and starting to cry as I began to wet my pants and most of the children had left the class and gone into the school hall already and she told me to take my pants off quick, it was too late and I sobbed knowing I would be in trouble when I got home. My mother was absolutely furious she discovered the borrowed school pants and gave me a note for the head teacher. I went through the embarrassment of knocking on the secretary's door to deliver it, later I was quietly ask to make my way across the hall to knock on her door, I was totally consumed with embarrassment and within a moment of making my entrance into that daunting room I was in floods of tears. That lady who always seemed so imposing lifted me onto her lap and cradled me like a baby till I regained control, it was a overwhelming feeling of comfort. I remember her asking some embarrassing questions and the tears erupted again. Her words were so soothing yet I never really could look her in the eye again once I left the confines of her office. We only had words once again within my time at the school, it was my last year and they had put up the Christmas tree in the school hall and I jumped up and down with excitement as I got my first glimpse at it. When we had all sat down she announced to the whole school that if I wanted to jump around like one of the babies I would spend the entire assembly sitting with them, so I made my way to the front and stood absolutely devastated with embarrassment not really understanding my transgression waiting for the head teacher to part the little darlings so I could sit crossed legged in the middle of the front row but I still refused to look at her or anyone else in that assembly hall that morning.
There had been deeper problems a home but I knew instinctively to try and behave like any other child in my own little world, things were high lighted by school trips and school photographs. There never seemed to be any money for those as my fathers drinking increased, early in my school career I can only assume that things were OK financially because I dutifully delivered my school dinner money in an envelope to my school teacher every Monday morning and managed two school trips one to Porchester Castle and the other to London Zoo but later it became increasingly apparent that no matter how many whines and protests we made when those permission slips were issued my mother would come back with a firm no. Till eventually she told us not to bring any home because she didn't have the money and threaten to slap me if I did. It was becoming clear that she wasn't being mean it tormented her to say no, just by the look in her pleading eyes, when I spoke about it.
By the end of the Infant school I would start by accidently on purpose leaving the letters on my school desk and have the teacher chasing after me till I eventually tackled her about my Dilemma
'My mum says there's no good me bring letters home, she doesn't have the money for trips or school photographs' I stated dutifully, my hurt and embarrassment was overwhelming but I had to stop those dreadful heart sinking moments of receiving those permission slips and watching the other children getting excited.
When the school photographs came out I was told in advance not to bring any home, the excuse that time was she had always hated school photographs and she would knocked me from here to kingdom come if I did. I know it was to save her the embarrassment and hurt of sending the photographs back instead of the proffered money in the envelope but I was fiercely loyal and disregarded any hurt and embarrassment on my part in favour of saving my mothers. The teacher begged and pleaded I just take them home to show her they were the loveliest ones she had ever seen in her whole school career and I must say they were very good but I remained steadfast and they were left alone on the desk when all the other children had taken them home. I never mentioned them when I got home but the teacher tackled me again the next day saying how lovely they were and all the children agreed and I quite enjoyed the attention, In the end she pouted and said she would buy them herself as they were too good to send them back to the school photographer to be destroyed. I don't know if she did but I would like to think 40 years later, her family ever found them in an old tin after her death and wonder who the cute, smiling 6 year old child was whose photograph had languished in that tin for so long, they would never know how unloved and scared that little one felt deep down inside at that time.
Most of the run ins with my father early on were of my own making but later his outbursts were fuelled by alcohol or the lack of when the money run out. My escape was school or at weekend and school holidays it was the fields and the streams surrounding our village spending all day tramping the fields , making dens with my brother. I was safer with him rather than playing with children my own age, my brother naturally protected me and kept me on the straight and narrow, knowing the consequences of my fathers sudden rages which were becoming common without me getting up to mischief. The problem was I was easily led and carried on the same bravado as I did at school when I was with my friends, they seemed to be able to do much more than me and when they were in trouble their punishments were less harsh. I was usually safe enough when I played with my neighbour because her mother must have had some kind of idea of the family problems and kept a closer eye on me, knowing since a baby she gave me more cuddles than my mother ever did. the problems really started when I played up the road. Two incidents stuck in my mind one when I was encouraged to go in the village one Sunday morning and steal matchbox car off the newsagent shelf and the other was when my friend across the road and I met a little girl at the end of the road