August 13th

Is it really 25 years since Dad died?
Where does time go?
Read my tibute here


Jon is working today - so I will busy myself pottering, tidying and cleaning, and remembering.

Y is for Yorkshire

 

 

 

Yorkshire is a historic county of northern England and the largest in the United Kingdom.Because of its great size in comparison to other English counties, functions have been increasingly undertaken over time by its subdivisions, which have also been subject to periodic reform. Throughout these changes, Yorkshire has continued to be recognised as a geographical territory and cultural region The name is familiar and well understood across the United Kingdom and is in common use in the media and the military, and also features in the titles of current areas of civil administration, such as Yorkshire and the Humber and West Yorkshire.

Within the borders of the historic county of Yorkshire are areas which are widely considered to be among the greenest in England, due to the vast stretches of unspoiled countryside in the Yorkshire Dales and North York Moors and to the open aspect of some of the major cities. Yorkshire has sometimes been nicknamed God's Own County.^[ The emblem of Yorkshire is the white rose of the English royal House of York, and the most commonly used flag representative of Yorkshire is the White Rose on a dark blue background, which after years of use, was recognised by the Flag Institute on 29 July 2008. Yorkshire Day, held on 1 August, is a celebration of the general culture of Yorkshire, ranging from its history to its own dialect.

I was born in North Yorkshire and although I spent 10 years in Nottingham, I returned in 1986 when my Dad died. I love the yorkshire scenery, people and dry sense of humour so I thought for ABC Wednesday  I would share some yorkshire fun!

 

Yorkshire people are a very particular breed: they can be dour, they speak their minds and they are hard working, friendly and kind. Yorkshire people refer to their county as 'God's own county,' and indeed can boast some of the most beautiful countryside in Britain.

Yorkshire man takes his cat to the vet.
Yorkshireman: Ayup, lad, I need to talk to thee about me cat.
Vet: Is it a tom?
Yorkshireman: Nay, I've browt it with us.

A Yorkshireman's dog dies and as it was a favourite pet he decides to have a gold statue made by a jeweller to remember the dog by.
Yorkshireman: Can tha mek us a gold statue of yon dog?
Jeweller: Do you want it 18 carat?
Yorkshireman: No I want it chewin' a bone yer daft beggar.

A Yorkshireman's wife dies and the widower decides that her headstone should have the words "she were thine" engraved on it. He calls the stone mason, who assures him that the headstone will be ready a few days after the funeral. True to his word the stone mason calls the widower to say that the headstone is ready and would he like to come and have a look.
When the widower gets there he takes one look at the stone to see that it's been engraved "she were thin".
He explodes, 'Blimey man, you've left the "e" out.'
The stone mason apologises and assures the poor widower that it will be rectified the following morning. Next day comes and the widower returns to the stone mason, 'There you go sir, I've put the "e" on the stone for you.'
The widower looks at the stone and then reads out aloud, 'E, she were thin.'

J is for Journey!

~ Success is a journey, not a destination. The doing is often more important than the outcome. ~ (Arthur Ashe)

 

This morning I had a fantastic time on the beach with Freida. As usual we had it all to ourselves and as the sun was warm and the air was still it was a fantastic space to be. Whenever I am near the sea I always think of the times I was away from home and missed the open coast so much. I returned home when my Dad died and I knew the time had come for me to return home and look after mum. I will never forget the journey home as I knew my life was about to change, but little did I know how much. A few months later I met Jon. A holiday had been planned with friends to France for 5 weeks. It was during this time I realised I had met “Mr Right”. The journey home was a very significant one as I knew it would be the last journey I would make , as a single woman. We were married a few months later.

What significant journeys have you made in your time?

The Journey

One day you finally knew what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you kept shouting their bad advice --
though the whole house began to tremble
and you felt the old tug at your ankles.
"Mend my life!" each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do, though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers at the very foundations,
though their melancholy was terrible.
It was already late enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen branches and stones.

But little by little, as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly recognized as your own,
that kept you company as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do the only thing you could do --
determined to save
the only life you could save.

~ Mary Oliver ~

Friday + Special!

Friday 55 Flash Fiction is brought to you by G-man (Mr Knowitall). The idea is you write a story in exactly 55 words. If you want to take part pop over and let G-man know when you've posted your 55. Here is mine for this week!

Missing

Gentle Man kind blue eyes wearing a loving broad smile.

Smart appearance, tweed jacket and matching hat.

Interests include his family, home and garden.

Endearing sense of humour and a very generous nature,

Looking after all around him.

Last seen August thirteenth nineteen eighty six

Answers to the name of John Henry Davison, Dad.

The greatest gift I ever received come from God, I call him Dad! - Anonymous

John Henry Davison came into my life when I was 7. Mum had just got a new job at the prestigious ICI, Wilton Training Centre. One of the Training officers was John Davison, or Jack as he was known. Mum was one of the secretaries. This was her first job following the harrowing divorce she had gone through, a visit from the bailiffs to strip the house we lived in, seizing goods to cover my biological father's bankrupted business debts, a nervous breakdown.

Mum borrowed the deposit for a small terraced house from her 2 brothers, Uncle Bob and Uncle Stan. It needed lots doing to it, including total rewiring. We all know how single women are targeted by unscrupulous workmen, and back in the 1960's things were no different, so Jack helped Mum by making sure she was not taken for a ride. He also helped where he could, as electrics were his "thing!"

The very first time he came to our house I was introduced to "Uncle Jack!" Years later I learned he had been more nervous than me! I was playing with my doll's house.
He spent time talking to me and I liked him. He re-wired my doll's house, I had the best there was! Independent switches in each of the rooms, as a real house would.

Over the years a friendship developed and he would visit us every Saturday. It was quite a treck for him as he did not drive and travelled from just outside Guisborough.

Mum eventually introduced him to her own parents.
My Grandad, a man of few words took him out for a walk! He wanted to know his intentions as Mum had been through so much.
Jack assured him he had her and mine best interests at heart.
Grandad was re-assured and a great friendship was kindled between them.

On one of his visits as Jack sat with Nana who was quite ill. Nana drew him close and asked him to promise he would look after Madge and Denise....he promised.
On June 17th, 1970, Nana died.
On November 1st Uncle Jack and mum were married, the day before mum's birthday.

We moved to a bungalow and after a couple of years we all moved to Guisborough,
Dad's home. Mum and I loved this change although by this time I was at University.

Mum and Dad were both still working at ICI. Dad had a very stressful job and in 1983 he suffered a massive heart attack. It resulted in him having to stop work.
In those days ICI was one of the best emloyers, with very good benefits, both Dad and Mum left with "Golden Handshakes", mum deciding to leave in order to ensure Dad had the rest he was to need.

Happy with their bungalow in Guisborough, they bought a static caravan at Rosedale Abbey. They loved to visit and stay whenever they had the time. Infact, the photograph above was indeed taken in the caravan, by mum.

On the morning of August 13th 1986, whilst staying at the caravan, Dad told mum he would prefer go home. He wasn't feeling very well. They had planned on going to Danby Country Show, one of their all time favourites.

They packed up and set off for home. It would have been a very busy day on the roads, due to holiday traffic, -the Whitby to Guisborough Road in particular!

As the car passed Gisborough Hall, Dad brought the car to a stop and slumped forward.
He had died, literaly at the wheel.

I was teaching in Nottingham at the time.
I received the news later that afternoon and returned home the following day.

This was to be a turning point in my life. I was to return home and look after mum.
I had a fantastic relationship with Dad, he was indeed my Dad.

Notice how he suddenly evolved as Dad from Uncle Jack? It was the same in our relationship.
I don't know when it happened, it just did. One day I just called him Dad!
Dad recounted the event to mum..he had cried at the time, privately, with pride and love.
I often sit in Dad's chair and remember him....I will take great comfort in doing that today, August 13th 2010!



When Dad was at school he learned the poem " Meg Merilles" off by heart. This he would recite when his teacher asked the class to stand up, one by one and sing. Dad was incredibly shy as well as tone deaf, this was his contribution. he often recited this, infact at the drop of a hat!

Here is the poem in it's original form, for Dad!

Meg Merrilies

Old Meg she was a gypsy; And liv'd upon the moors:
Her bed it was the brown heath turf, And her house was out of doors.
Her apples were swart blackberries, Her currants, pods o' broom;
Her wine was dew of the wild white rose, Her book a church-yard tomb.

Her brothers were the craggy hills, Her sisters larchen trees;
Alone with her great family She liv'd as she did please.
No breakfast had she many a morn, No dinner many a noon,
And 'stead of supper she would stare Full hard against the moon.

But every morn, of woodbine fresh She made her garlanding,
And every night the dark glen yew She wove, and she would sing.
nd with her fingers old and brown She plaited mats o' rushes,
And gave them to the cottagers She met among the bushes.

Old Meg was brave as Margaret Queen, And tall as Amazon:
An old red blanket cloak she wore, A chip hat had she on.
God rest her aged bones somewhere — She died full long agone!

John Keats