I am from an island. I am from changing skies. I am from sunshine with scattered showers. I am from empty beaches and umbrellas. I am from damp and mildew. I am from sunburn and blisters on the ‘one hot day of the Summer’. I am from north channel and south channel. I am from hot presses, immersion switches and occasional cold baths. I am from green grass and yellow gorse. I am from the Lough and the Cuban House and the Western Road and the dairy farm.
I am from Barry’s Tea and Hadji Bey’s turkish delight. I am from home grown potatoes and poached eggs. I am from meat and two vegetables. I am from illicit oranges. I am from creme caramel and smoked salmon and chips. I am from Taytos and swizzle sticks.
I am from fancy dress, choirs, ballet classes, elocution and amateur dramatics. I am from school outings to the park. I am from apple trees. I am from swings. I am from headless daffodils. I am from tree bark rubbings. I am from paddling pools and garden hoses. I am from tennis and back garden football and frantic outdoor table tennis. I am from clubs in the attic, chasing in the hall and hide outs under the steps. I am from dust motes dancing in sunlight. I am from big rooms, long corridors, empty landings and 5 flights of stairs.
I am from books. I am from John D. McDonald and Father Brown. I am from Georgette Heyer and Nero Wolfe. I am from Dorothy L. Sayers and Agatha Christie. I am from Hilaire Belloc and Samuel Pepys. I am from Pickwick Papers and the Diary of a Country Parson. I am from Neville Shute and Isaac Asimov. I am from Pushkin and Gogol. I am from P.G Wodehouse and Gibbon.
I am from fervent catholicism. I am from First Communions and Mass and Confirmations. I am from crowded churches with speakers outside. I am from Palatines and Puritans. I am from moving statues. I am from closing down factories, strikes and jobless growth. I am from oil crises and government crises. I am from emigration and unemployment.
I am from leg warmers and Adidas Roms. I am from gaberdeens and blazers, knee socks and hitched up school skirts. I am from wet hair and wet wool. I am from cycling to school and a three penny bus fare. I am from bunsen burners, language labs, nuns and all weather hockey pitches.
I am from drugs and reactions. I am from brilliance and indolence. I am from procrastination and kindness. I am from eloquence and silence. I am from long fingers and dark under eye shadows. I am from crankiness and patience. I am from love, helpless laughter and forgetfulness.
From Charlotte who did a much better job.
What are you from?
That’s gorgeous.
Fabulous: I can almost smell your childhood.
That was awesome…as was Charlotte’s post ..I’ve got to try this but I think it’ll be ages before I can come up with so much..err.. “Illicit oranges”??
Gosh, that’s wonderful.
I may try to do one although I’m viewing it as inferior before I’ve even started.
I have read so, so many of these, and this is my favorite.
Good Lord, BW. That is beautiful.
I love this snapshot of your childhood, but it’s more than a picture because I can smell and taste it too. I love the headless daffodils and the illicit oranges.
Yes. Beautiful.
…..
I am from the smell of rockpools and bicycle tires and musty paperbacks. I am from a place where it’s acceptable to simply sit and watch, sometimes, wherever. And I am from coffee and fountain pens.
And even though it’s not technically true – I am from Cyprus.
Wonderful and even, in one or two ways, magical…
Gosh, you are all very kind. I think I’ll start writing poetry here regularly and then you’ll be sorry.
I did one too but I don’t think anybody will be able to smell my childhood from it!
I like yours very much 🙂