Memories – poem

Posted on 22/05/2013 by maspring37

Boots on the Underground
Sirens wailing, feet pounding on grey pavements
Hurrying,scurrying to be first down the step
Each urging the other to run – to be quick
The stoic faced men and a woman that wept.

The old and the young with eyes cast down
Just staring at boots the black and the brown.
Scuffed with sole flapping and terribly torn
What had they been like when they were first worn.

Small crying baby, tired, missing his bed
Little cloth boots ; toes so cold and red,
The little blue boot on the child of just five
Setting out on the first journey of life.

The heaviest boot worn and so mired
Just like its owner, a man weary and tired
The solid black boot on the foot of the soldier
Polished and gleaming to take him on further.

The old woman who had seen it all ,content to sit
And wait for the end on her rickety seat
The end of the raid or the end of the war
It was all the same to her – in her bare feet.

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A Cuban Adventure

Posted on 09/07/2018 by maspring37

by Thoughts of a Senior Citizen

I’m safely home after seven days in Cuba and what an exciting time I’ve had. People have asked me why I go on several long haul trips. I tell them that life is infinite so I want to use every second wisely. Learn, listen and do everything you are able to do. I’m eighty years old, think I’m still in my 20’s , alright my body doesn’t let me act that way , but I try.

I can officially tell you all that Cuba is one of the most diverse but beautiful places I’ve ever visited. Havana is stuck in the past with their buildings and cars. We, my son and I, had booked a tour of Havana in an old Chevrolet. It was open topped and driven by a huge man named Ortiz. Our guide was Ida – pronounced Eeda. Imagine the scene – we had arrived after a flight of nine and half hours. We should have been there by 15.00 but due to weather conditions at Gatwick ( it appeared to be fine ) and a plane arriving late from Jamaica ( don’t ask) we left two hours late consequently absolutely shattered on arrival. Our hotel , Iberostar Parque Central , was in the middle of Havana, five stars and it was worth the extra cost. My husband had wanted to go there after learning that they drove old Chevys, and other American cars, I don’t remember the names. He would have loved the view from my bedroom window.

Everything is cheap until you add up the C.U.C.’s ( Cuban Convertible Pesos) you have to dole out. The Cubans are mostly quite poor and only earn between £13 to £15 per month so in effect the tourists are subsiding their salaries. They have to change the CUC’s into CUP’s (Cuba Pesos )to be able to spend . They accept English pounds but not American S dollars or American Express credit cards. I didn’t realise this until after I’d been there a while and actually woken up. £10 is roughly CUC 13.50 a months wages so you can imagine Ida’s face when at the end of our four hour tour in a convertible old car plus two course meal with beer , I gave her a tip of 20 CUC’s and the driver who stopped when we wanted to take photos , toilet breaks etc 10 CUC’s. It was the smallest currency I had. You can’t really hand over a 10 CUC and ask for change, can you? My son can speak a little Spanish and heard Ida say to the driver that we were very rich. We aren’t – I save my pension very carefully.

The buildings are either in need of repair or are excellent.

We had to leave 1 CUC per day to the lady who made our beds etc. We found out the hard way that it had to be every day , not at the end of our three night stay – she didn’t leave us any bottled water ( you can’t use the tap water not even to clean your teeth ) or coffee for the machine. WiFi is difficult to get . In our 5 star hotel we were given a card that allowed us to attempt to connect. This card had 24 numbers to input, by the time my son had input them all , the WiFi crashed so he had to re -input them all again. Once when he desperately wanted to contact his children in the U.K. it took him 20 attempts before he connected. The staff were really nice and helpful. On our last evening in Havana, before we moved to another hotel on the beach , I asked the concierge if there was a Paladar nearby. I had read that the Cubans open their homes to tourists, making part of their home into self owned restaurants. He recommended two and said that one of them, though expensive , was run by a chef who had cooked for Fidel Castro – Ivan Chef Gusto . As it was difficult to find , he went outside and booked us a “bike ride” because I can’t walk very far. This poor ,very weedy looking man had to ride his bike and his passengers along pot- holed side streets until we arrived a trifle worse for wear until we reached the Paladar. Mind you , he wasn’t so ‘poor’ after the amount he charged us. He couldn’t speak English , didn’t understand my son’s Spanish, or didn’t want to, and conversed by showing his phone with the amount typed in.

I was then greeted with this sight – two lots of narrow , winding stairs to sit in at a table situated either on a large landing or what once had been a bedroom . I wanted to put two photos next to each other, but haven’t worked out how to yet.

. I managed to climb up and sank gratefully, on to a chair and the menu was brought.

I chose the suckling pig as I love pork. I wish I hadn’t when it arrived at the table.

I thought it would come as a chunk of meat, not with a little leg on it and a knife and fork stuck in it. The crackling and meat were wonderful but I still would have preferred it to look less like half a baby pig. No, it didn’t make me want to become a Vegan – I love vegetables and eat loads but I like a little meat as well. The shared dessert was delicious though I couldn’t eat much of it.

Our trusty bike rider returned to pick us up and promptly set off , with two passengers who , I’m sure, weighed quite a bit more than the journey there but at least , he was considerably richer, The next morning we were picked up by coach to be taken to another hotel the Iberostar Tainos, in Varadero. I’ll write the next instalment of this hotel and things we did, later on this week as I’m off to the “Over 60’s Club ” where we will be having an Ascot Day. Hasta la vista. 😎🐎🐎🐎

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Say Goodbye to the NHS

Posted on 23/04/2018 by maspring37

by Thoughts of a Senior Citizen.

I try not to moan about the things that hurt, after all aches and pains are part of getting old. There are far worse disasters than not being able to walk very far or forgetting the names of somethings or in some cases – everything.

I’m laying on my bed at the moment in quite a different sort of pain than my usual old person’s pain ( I turned 80 years old a couple of weeks back). I’m afraid to tell you that it’s a waterworks problem , which ,I know , is also often classed as an OPP. Not the usual two – one of which is named after a bird beginning with T . You might wonder what this has to do with the NHS . Well, I will tell you. I can remember when there wasn’t an NHS. You couldn’t pop to the doctors unless you had money and we, as a family, didn’t. I was bitten by a dog when I was about ten. The owner of the dog took me to the doctor and paid for me to have an injection of some kind. At the time I can remember thinking that the jab was worse than the bite. A few months on from this, I was hit by my father , I can’t remember what I had done wrong – probably cheeked him – I was a girl who didn’t know when to be quiet . Anyway, he hit me and blood gushed out. Me , being a one for dramatics, sat down letting the blood flow over the table . We hadn’t the money for me to have a doctor stitch it up . Being born contrary, I wouldn’t have gone anyway not after that injection. I was cleaned up, pressure put onto the cut over my eyebrow then as soon as it had almost stopped bleeding, a plaster was stuck on , effectively holding the two edges together. I still bear the scar to this day plus one on my lower leg. This scar was obtained when I didn’t do what I was told – Do not climb trees or walk on the high wall so you can pick the farmers apples. Yes, we managed but that is because , thankfully, we had nothing seriously wrong with us. But how many children , people in accidents or from cancer died because they couldn’t afford a doctor.

This all changed with the NHS and for the better. Now everyone can be seen by a doctor near them . Hospitals can operate, give us life saving drugs ,do all sorts of things that can prolong and better our lives. Until now. As I’ve told you, I am in a bit of pain but I know that my doctor works, sometimes 12 hour days. It’s probably his own fault because he treats us as human beings. He doesn’t stick to 5 minutes he should allot to each patient. He should have gone to lunch at the allotted time but because I needed help , I was tacked onto his list. He should have finished morning surgery at 1pm. I came out at 2 pm. This is the reason I haven’t called for an appointment just yet. I’m hoping with self help and drinking plenty of water ,my problem will go away. These are his last few weeks as a doctor so I am hoping I won’t add to his burden .

Most of my neighbours are old and we have been told that two ‘small’ practices near us are closing at the end of May. Between the two surgeries there are now over 5000 people old and young who must be allocated another surgery. I am lucky as I have a car and can still drive to where ever my new doctor will be. Many of my neighbours cannot drive or do not have access to one. How will they get the help they might desperately need. A taxi ? Try getting a taxi in the morning rush hour or in the evening at 5 pm. I have ordered a taxi to take me home after an Hospital appointment for my eyes. My appointment was 3.45p.m. The hospital staff have been cut. I came out at 4.45 pm. Hermitage Lane was a mass of cars seemingly stationary. My taxi , attempted to get to the hospital through all the people who going home, or going to the small industrial estate on the London Road end of Hermitage Lane which houses Poundland, Aldi’s and MacDonalds or on to the M20 , all these cars converging into a bottleneck. I sometimes wonder who on the planning committee has shares in any of the companies? The taxi turned up just before 6.00 pm. I got home just after six and I only live 3 miles away.

Many new houses have been built in my area of Allington , Maidstone. Every scrap of spare land , including a lovely Bluebell Wood , has been built on. There are still more houses being built on Hermitage Lane. Chaos reigns every day on the London Road and Hermitage Lane where there are still more houses being built. No more schools have been built for all the children coming into the area. There are certainly not enough doctors , nurses to cope with the influx of people buying these homes. I pity the poor Ambulance drivers or anyone attempting to get to the hospital. I know my doctor fought to save his surgery and though I don’t know the in’s or outs of the problem, I would like to know who it benefits to cut doctors with under 4,000 patients from their calling. Who does it benefit? More doctors will come under the strain of looking after us all ,from the very young to the old . I cannot blame the government for the chaos on Hermitage Lane , I believe it was Maidstone Council. One day we will hear that someone has died because they couldn’t get to the hospital in time, that’s if it hasn’t happened already.

What I do blame the Government for is ruining our NHS. Slowly but surely, with insidious laws and the creating of impossible working hours and environments ,the NHS is cracking up. They are breaking it into little pieces, getting rid of small practices is just the beginning. What are they hoping to achieve? A better NHS? Impossible with the present scenario. Perhaps they want to get rid of the old people, chase the younger people out of the country . Much better to do that than help the status quo. Do they think to themselves “As long the chaos is not in my backyard. ”

I have, if I’m lucky, at the most 20 years to live. Will I see the demise of the wonderful NHS as I saw in its birth? My son has survived Cancer because a NHS doctor diagnosed it early. If I hadn’t the money to pay for a private doctor would he have died, because at the time we were living on a pittance after my husband had a serious accident and was unable to work anymore. Would my husband have died when he needed urgent surgery after a devastating accident that would surely have killed him but for dedicated doctors in Brook Hospital. This Hospital has also sadly gone.

One thing I have always been proud of is our National Health Service. People all over the world have agreed. No other country is as fortunate as we are. Please, please save it for my children, grandchildren and great grandchildren. My latest great grandchild is due in July this year. Please make his life a safe and healthy one with the N.H.S.

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Things I wish I had known

Posted on 24/12/2017 by maspring37

It’s O.K. To Grieve.

Partly by Thoughts of a Senior Citizen. The rest by a widow on Facebook.

The words in the second paragraph were not written by me, I wish they had been. I found them on Facebook. My husband died in 2004 and I found over the years that I have coped , I’ve had to , but it took a long time. I have met many widows and they each told me what their worst thing was , on losing their husband . The same could be said of men but men don’t often talk to me about their loss, so I speak of widows I have known. For some people , it’s about the loss of companionship. Others say , they can’t sleep by themselves. I missed my husband snoring though when he was alive , I used to dig him in the ribs and hiss “turn over”. I miss going on holiday with him, being able to comment on a T.V. Programme I have just watched , cooking for two and so on. A previous neighbour was devastated when her husband died because he had always paid the bills, ordered the oil for oil central heating system they had, had the car serviced. She didn’t even know what number to enter at the ATM to get money for food, buy petrol – I could go on. This is not the case for me, because I did handle all our money , book holidays , do the cooking, washing, buy our children’s and grandchildren’s presents. I was a bookkeeper so it was easy. In my case , it would have been my husband who was unable to cope. I did attempt to teach him to cook and I must say, his beans on toast was very good. We are never told that it’s alright to grieve. I once laughed at a joke when I attended a small get together six months after his death. Someone commented “Oh, I’m glad you are getting over it.’ As if I’d had the ‘flu. My worst moment was when I went to register his death. The Registrar asked ‘ Who is registering his death?’ I said I was and he began to type ‘Wi’ and I thought he was going to write ‘Wife’. He continued on to write ‘Widow’ and that’s when it hit me? I was no longer his wife but his widow.Even when I was walking with my family behind his coffin, I remember putting my hand up to touch it as I was sure I was having a nightmare. I hope the words below will let you believe that you can grieve in your own way, whether married for a year or sixty years and for as long as you need to.

oOo

Becoming a widow is not something you can prepare for before it happens. You can have all your ducks in a row. The funeral pre-paid and arrangements pre-decided. All of the legal papers drawn up. Even if your spouse lingers in hospice, you can never truly be ready. It won’t become real until he takes his final breath. And even then it doesn’t completely sink in for a while. Instead, it is like driving at school zone speed through pea soup fog. You can’t detect anything that lies ahead.

Like a cold smack in the face, reality hits at different times for every widow. Perhaps it is when they lower the casket into the ground. For me it was when I stood before the probate judge and declared under oath that my husband was deceased. No one told me I’d have to do something like that, or that the amount of forms I’d have to fill in would equal that of buying a house. Part of me wanted to scream, “He’s gone. What more can I tell you? Leave me alone.”

Thank goodness a kind clerk advised that I purchase at least 10 copies of the death certificate. Two years after the burial, I found I still needed to present proof to some entity that hadn’t gotten the message. Up to seven years later, I’d get an odd piece of mail addressed to him, even though I’d moved.

Here are four other truths no one ever told me about the widow’s experience. I want to let you know that each of them are normal and are okay to feel.

1. IT’S OKAY TO BE FUZZY-HEADED

Similar to pregnancy brain, widow’s brain is very real and extremely scary. You may wonder if you are losing touch with reality.

Forgetfulness comes with the grief, and as the grief lifts so will the short term memory loss. For most widows, the fog begins to clear within a year to 18 months. Some of it may never come back. My husband passed away in November and I have absolutely no recollection of Christmas with the family that year. Evidently I hosted it!

Write notes to yourself. Set things out when you think about it — such as a letter to post, a book to return, or your shopping list — instead of relying on your memory to help remind you to do it. Then forgive yourself when you cannot find the notes or after a half hour of backtracking discover your car keys in the freezer.

Many will advise you not to make any major decisions for a year, mostly because of widow’s brain. However, often times it is not possible. I had to sell the house as quickly as I could. I couldn’t afford to stay in it, and the last thing I needed on my plate was a foreclosure. Don’t act on impulse, but weigh your decisions, seek counsel, and take what actions you believe are best for you.

We each have our own schedule when it comes to mourning. Only you can decide when it is time to give away his clothes to charity or sell his power tools. However, if dreading these things drags on for months and months, seek out a confidential mentor or counsellor to talk with.

Tell your friends and family you are experiencing forgetfulness. Reassure them that it is a normal phenomenon and ask them to be patient with you. And by all means, if you are still employed, tell your boss or supervisor. Let them know it is a commonplace, physical, and temporary thing. Hopefully they will appreciate your honesty.

Exercise your brain by doing online puzzles and word games, crafts, or the daily crossword. Take up reading if you are not an avid reader now. Do not mindlessly sit for hours in front of the TV or get sucked into computer games where you can escape reality by being your invincible avatar. Both are hazardous for your brain and your psyche

.

2. IT’S OKAY TO TAKE SOMETHING FOR THE PAIN AND SADNESS

It doesn’t mean you are weak. You simply need a weapon or two in your arsenal to battle the grief.

Often times our heartaches turn into muscle aches. You are probably tensing every muscle in your body over all the adjustments you have to make and do not realise it. Pamper yourself with massages, hot tub soaks, or basking in the warmth of a sunny day. A heating pad set on low can feel comforting, almost like the hug you crave. Chronic aches and pains may intensify during the initial grief period. Talk honestly with your doctor about the symptoms and their onset, severity, and duration.

If you feel listless or down, let the doctor know that as well. Mourning can mess with your hormones and body chemicals so pharmaceuticals or herbs may be needed to help your system get back in sync.

Other things may crop up as well. I recall going to the dentist about three months after the funeral and her asking me when I started grinding my teeth. Evidently I did it in my sleep. She touched my shoulder. “Are you a new widow?” Problem solved. It was how my brain dealt with the empty pillow next to me. She fitted me for a mouthpiece. After a year, I no longer needed it.

Going places you both used to enjoy, such as church, out to eat, or to parties and neighbourhood get-togethers may be difficult at first. Eventually you have to do it. However, you can minimise the awkwardness of being “one” instead of “two.” Ask another widow to accompany you. They won’t mind at all, trust me. They understand what you are going through.

Get out and volunteer. Taking your mind off yourself for a while will do wonders for your mood and your mind. Surround yourself with positive, productive things to do. But be wary of becoming too busy in an effort to run away from the sorrow.

When milestones come around, plan an activity. A group of widows and I have a potluck each Valentine’s Day and everyone brings a rose to share. We have a list with anniversaries, birthdays, and the like logged into our calendars so we can invite each other to go to a movie or out to eat.

3. IT’S OKAY TO CRY AT THE DROP OF A HAT

Smells are powerful triggers of past memories, good or bad. Widows commonly won’t wash their husband’s pillowcase because they want to inhale his scent. Or they wear his shirts around the house to once again retain the closeness they miss.

Finding one of his shirt buttons in the lint trap might start the tears flowing. A song, a phrase, hearing a joke that he once told… so many little kicks in the gut can spring out of nowhere like a well hidden ninja lurking in the shadows. They steal your breath just when you thought you were coping just fine. I believe the brain lets the grief leak out a bit at a time to keep us widows from drowning in the deep, murky waters of loneliness and despair.

4. IT’S OKAY TO TALK ABOUT IT

The hardest part for me was when everyone else went back to their lives after the funeral. I couldn’t go back to the one I knew. I felt very alone. Luckily, I had widowed friends who knew that would happen and sought me out.

Don’t sit lost in loneliness. Seek out other widows. We are easy to find. Humans tend to migrate toward like kind, and it is almost as if widows send out wavelengths to each other. Divorcees sort of get it but not really. Nor do we fully grasp their struggle. But there is a symbiosis you can find with other widows. Lean on them. Make a pact with them, allowing you the permission to call them anytime day or night. It truly helps to know you are not the only one who has gone through the process.

Losing a spouse is like having half of yourself ripped away. It will take time to heal and rediscover who you are. Embrace the experience, don’t fight it. You will be stronger for it.

JOIN THE CLUB

Once you have traveled the road a while and learned the possible potholes, seek out new widows to comfort and guide. Drive them places. Eat out together. Go shopping or to a movie. Welcome them into your “widows’ club” of friends.

Then tell them they shouldn’t feel bad about temporarily leaning heavily on you. Someone did it for you and you are simply paying it forward. Their turn will come, too. We are a very special sisterhood who never stop needing each other.

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A Trip Back in Time – Part 2

Posted on 10/07/2017 by maspring37

A Trip Back in Time.Part Two.

Before we left Trogen the next day, we paid a horrendous amount of money to the owner of the rooms where  we  had stayed but then it is expensive everywhere in Switzerland. When I worked in Switzerland there were 12.00 Swiss Francs to the pound. Now you only get 1.18 Swiss francs to the pound. 

Herr ? was very appreciative and advised us not to travel on the  Motorway to our next stop – Liechtenstein but to go via Altstatten . He said the views were breathtaking. As I wasn’t driving , I let my son decide. He opted for the views instead of the boring motorway.  Our host was right – I’ve never seen such beautiful views and also have never been so frightened either. My son isn’t used to sitting on the left side of a car or driving on the right side of the road . He had never driven this type of car either. He was marvellous and nothing seemed to faze him. Every  time a coach or large vehicle came towards us , around one of the many hairpin bends, he duly pulled over to the right and I was left looking down at the very small strip of road  between the car and the edge of a cliff. The drops were terrifying, the roads were  two way and not very wide. One minute I had the drop on my side then the next he was looking down into the valley. That’s hairpins for you – everyone has a chance to see the view. Unfortunately there weren’t many places to pull in so we couldn’t enjoy the view  together ,in safety. From Altstatten we continued on our way and found we had driven into Feldkirch , Austria . I couldn’t believe it because I thought we would have been stopped at the border. I suppose that with the countries being in the Eurozone , border guards are no longer needed. We found our way back onto  a very good road ( it was wide) and made our way into Vaduz, Lichtenstein. We went up to see Vaduz Castle but didn’t go in. There were so many people and their cars waiting in the car park we decide to use the facilities and continue on to Interlaken.

The app  on my son’s phone that had given us directions to Trogen still  wasn’t working, I think it had stopped just after we left Trogen. So we were driving blind which is why we got lost. I decided to go into a chemist in Vaduz and asked for directions to  Interlaken. Luckily they understood my German conversation ( what do they speak in Vaduz?) and googled it. I asked if they could print the directions out and I would pay for them. The beautiful, kind young lady wouldn’t hear of it but said did I realise that the directions were all printed in German.  I knew I could read enough to know left, ( links) right ( recht) and go straight on ( gehe geradeaus ) I reckoned we could get by.. We were on our way at last , to stay close to where I worked so many years ago. We stopped halfway for a meal , guess where? What else woukd be  open on a motorway – McDonalds!  

View of Lake on our way to Wilderswil

I called  out  the directions to my son – Motorway no 8  –  keep to the left , – leave Motorway at  junction 36  – enter Motorway 4 etc. My poor son had pain in his neck and shoulders from wrestling with the wheel and sitting in one position for  nearly three hours.  I don’t remember how many tunnels we went through but it was a lot. I’ve never seen so many and some were very long as well. We kept getting told , this was a toll road we were on , and this one , in the end we were worried  we were clocking up huge tolls charges . We entered Wilderswil and found our hotel. What a relief. The hotel was lovely, our rooms looked out on to the Jungfrau. There were cows in the meadow and horses trotting off to have their evening meal. Idyllic scenery. I can thoroughly recommend this hotel . The food was great too.
By the way, we didn’t have to pay any toll charges because  hire cars have a sticker on the front which charges the hire firm. I guess, the hire firms stick extra charges on the bill regardless of how many toll roads you drive on. 

This is view from the dining area at the Jungfrau Hotel , Wilderswil. Just a couple of miles  from Interlaken. Next instalment – our trip to the Jungfraujoch. 

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Why?

Posted on 09/07/2017 by maspring37

Why Are There Suicide Bombers?

by Thoughts of a Senior Citizen. 

Almost everyone in the world has heard about the senseless killing in Manchester and London. I despair for the future when young men and women decide to take their own lives and to take complete strangers with them . It doesn’t just happen in London but whether it is in Manchester, New York, Sydney or Timbuctoo, the result is the same – carnage. How can these children ( they are to me) think it is right to kill innocent children, honeymooners, policemen who are here to protect us. 

                Surely ,they don’t really believe that they will go into a better life? 

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A Trip Back in Time.

Posted on 09/07/2017 by maspring37

by Thoughts of a Senior Citizen.

As promised I’m going to tell you about my short holiday to Switzerland and as usual , all the things that went wrong. The whole saga will be in instalments , one  every day or so because you won’t believe it , especially what happened on our return to England. At the tender age of 17 , I travelled to Switzerland working in Oberhoven , Thun, Interlaken and lastly in Trogen at the Pestalozzi Children’s Village . Earlier in the year my son suggested we retrace my steps so I could show him this beautiful country. I was delighted and booked rooms in Trogen ,  St Gallen and Wilderswil , which is just outside Interlaken. He booked the flights and a hire car. So far so good – you’d think. Never believe that when the  surname is Springett.

     We set off at 4 am for Gatwick Airport and amazingly nothing went wrong on the way there. I’m booked as a passenger that requires ‘Special Assistance’ which means there should be a wheelchair  or buggy ready for me. I mention this only because it is relevant to the calamity that happened on our return journey. My son had booked his car into an off site parking lot , and after a few missed turnings ,we eventually we arrived , and got on the bus to go to the airport. Once we got there , I was settled into a wheelchair , pushed towards the gate allocated for the Zurich flight and left by a cafe. We were just about to eat  the sandwich and drink coffee when our enjoyment was disrupted by a staff member . He came to push me through the gate before I’d even taken a sip. No liquids allowed even though it was the airport’s own  coffee. I was able to stay in the wheelchair except for walking through the gate . I walked through and it beeped. Walked back and it beeped. They queried  if I had a belt or something with metal on. I whispered that the only thing I wore with metal in was the underwires of my bra! The lady went all over me with her hands , embarrassing us both until I suddenly remembered I have a replacement knee which all metal. Problem solved and I was wheeled to the aircraft.

      Once in my seat, middle of three, I relaxed anxious to get underway. I love  the take off and the landing , it’s the boring bits in between that I could do without. My son was sitting on one side of me by the window ; on the aisle side was a young man with very long legs . They invariably encroached on my side as did his elbows. Luckily, my legs are as short as the flight. It always seems to me to take longer to go to Europe probably because of the hour difference between the two countries. We landed safely then went to pick up the hire car. This is where the first biggish  hiccup happened. I can speak German quite well but I have never had dealing with car hire firms which is why I didn’t realise that “Miet Wagen ‘ meant ‘hire car’ . We had chosen the cheapest car hire so while everywhere was blazoned ‘ Europcar ‘ or  ‘Easycar’  and other such names ,we couldn’t find ‘Alamo”. Finally , we found ‘Alamo ‘ tucked away in a corner – great we would soon be on our way. I was hoping that there wouldn’t be a second  Battle of the Alamo because we weren’t on our way!   My son was asked for his credit card so they could put an amount of 1500 Swiss francs on , in case we had an accident. He only had a debit card on him which they wouldn’t accept. Luckily, I had one and also my driving license with me. I was classed as the main driver with my son as the second driver. Believe me, there is no way I could have driven around some of those hairpins. And of course, it cost more. Armed with the keys and all relevant papers, we set off to collect the car. Oh no! , it was a Fiat 500. How would that tiny car cope with the mountain roads?  Still, we were on our way,  with me in the passenger seat thankfully . 

         I knew Trogen ( our first stop) was near St Gallen so we headed that way . We travelled on the motorway which is like our motorways except they aren’t so crowded and are in wonderful condition. Also the car coped  very well with the hills . In fact, it was better than my car here in Kent.  Now in Trogen , we had to find our rooms for the night. I wasn’t worried about parking ( I’d booked a parking place) or food as I had made sure there was a restaurant next door. We arrived and there was only one parking place and no answer when I rang the door bell. We walked to the restaurant to see a large poster saying it was closed Monday and Tuesday.  We were here on the Monday. We walked on to a small snack bar,’ Ernst,’ to eat . I explained in my ‘German’ that we were going to visit the Kinderdorf Pestalozzi. An old woman in the café (probably the same age as me) came over and said she had also lived there but it was just after I left. Amazing,  that just by chance ,I had met a former inhabitant of the village. After a sparse lunch, we left and drove up to the Children’s Village.

My son and I , in front of one of the Houses in the Pestalozzi Village.2017


      It’s sad, because it is  the same as I remember but in another way it isn’t. For instance, the Italian house had been knocked down to make way for the Information Centre.  I had already written to them saying I was coming to Switzerland  so we were greeted  by the friendly staff , taken for coffee and then a short tour of the village. Some of the houses are the same as I knew them but others are new build. It is no longer a place that takes care of war orphaned children from different countries but one that has Programmes to show young teenagers from many different countries how to communicate and encourages acceptance of  different nationalities. For instance , one group made up of African countries, German, French etc. on arrival had to write down what they thought about the other nationalities . Some wrote that Germans were not very friendly. Another wrote that the French  were  too friendly. By the end of the course they brought out their ‘perceptions card ‘and realised that they  no longer applied. They were all friends. Below is a photo of me when I worked in the Austrian House looking after 14 Austrian children plus the Housemother ( who is  in the photograph with me) and Housefather who were also Austrian. I showed them a C.V. from Herr Bill who was in charge of the village when I worked there. One staff member read my tattered C.V, then queried my birth date saying they had made a typing error which pleased me but also made me laugh. 

The Austrian House in 1958, Pestalozzi Village

   We returned to Trogen and found the owner had returned. He showed us to some concrete steps going up alongside the building. I can’t go up steps without pain so I said that I had requested the rooms were on the flat. He said anyone should knew that everywhere in Switzerland it’s going to be hilly. True, I suppose.Of course, I fell going up, with my hand going into a thorn bush, leaving my left arm covered in prickles. Anyway, there was a lovely view from my bedroom window. We asked the landlord where we could eat and he pointed to ‘Sonne ‘ just up the road. On entering the Inn , I asked for a meal but the man said he’d only just taken over the place and wasn’t serving food just yet. I repeated this to my son in English and promptly , the man who was Irish  , said he would knock us something up.  The meal was roast potatoes, green beans, and a lamb shank ( delicious) accompanied with a glass of Guinness .  Thank you, Brian, I slept very well. 

Brian , owner of the Sonne public house in Trogen.


That’s all for now, I’ll probably write the next instalment on Monday. I’ve got to do the laundry, mow the lawn ( jungle)  and clear up. Perhaps I’ll do that tomorrow as well. 

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An Eventful Holiday.

Posted on 07/04/2017 by maspring37

 A Visit to Italy

by Thoughts of a Senior Citizen.

View from balcony showing Castell Del’Ovo

 I have just returned from a short but wonderful holiday to Italy . While I was there I began to write a blog about the exciting trip in minute detail, complete with a photo of the wonderful view from our rented apartment’s balcony . Apparently, the panoramic photo appeared but the description has vanished into cyber space. This has happened a couple of times before, the worst one was after I had visited my mother in hospital . She had made me laugh at some of the things she said , even though she was quite ill after suffering from a stroke so I wanted you all to see what an amazing person she was.

      So I will start again beginning ,not with Gatwick Airport though that was traumatic
( someone tried to take my wheelchair) but with a taxi ride from Naples Airport to a private apartment we rented through Airbnb.    

       We had decided to take a taxi because the thought of getting on and off public transport with two cases and a wheelchair would be too much for this little old lady.( Very old as I had my birthday last week) The voluble Italian stowed our luggage away and after asking if ‘ Mamma ‘ was alright we set off. No , make that rocketed off. Imagine being driven by a talkative man who could only speak a few English words, who used his hands, arms, every part of him to ask us where we wanted to go even though I had given him the address . Not only did he wave his arms about, he turned to talk to my son who was sitting on the back seat! I had my eyes glued to the road which was packed with equally manic drivers probably  on their way to work. Each car was trying to get in  front or alongside the other cars,  criss- crossing the motorway as if they had right of way over the whole area. If the constant blare of the horn didn’t clear the way , the yelling didn’t work ,the ‘hand signals ‘ appeared causing tempers to rise. It seemed to me that I was in a race to the death. Most Italian cars appeared to have dents and scratches, I wonder why?  This went on for some time until my son mentioned in response to the question ‘Where you wanna go tomorrow, Mamma?’ ( I couldn’t speak ) that we wanted to go to Pompeii. The driver  took his hands of the wheel and looked for something among the litter on the dashboard. Apparently , not finding it, he picked up his mobile phone , turned around – gave it to my son and told him to take the number of his phone! He promised he would ‘ Geeve Veri gud price. €90 for Mamma.‘ I swear he had his back to the road in front for five minutes! 

 The road up to the apartment was very narrow , yet cars, motorbikes and people were rushing up and down with no thought of each other. They pulled out of side turnings regardless whether there was room. I’m sure they just close their eyes and hope for the best – which is certainly something I was doing.    We arrived thirty five minutes later , I wouldn’t say safely, and ‘ Mamma’ slid out of the taxi as limp as a wet rag. We didn’t ring Antonio the next day – my heart would have given out if I had to go through that again. I’m all for trying new, exciting things but a version of Robot Wars crossed with Banger Races with me in the middle, isn’t one of them.  

The apartment was everything we could wish for – two balconies with outstanding views over the Golf of Naples, the Castell dell’Ovo and Mount Vesuvius and very comfortable beds. Each morning we had breakfast in the apartment and ate out in the evening except on the last day, the reason why will become clear. On the Thursday we took a taxi to see Pompeii ( I had mixed feelings , sad and horror) we then decided to get our taxi driver ( Fabio) to take us to Salerno to visit my uncle’s grave in The British War Cemetery at Salerno. My Uncle was only 26 years old when he died on a lonely road in Italy during the WW11 leaving a wife and two children. As far as I know , no- one from our family has visited the grave so we decided to go. I found out that Salerno was situated about 30 k.m from the Ruins of Pompeii so believed it would be ideal to combine both trips . We made an error on not asking the price because the cemetery was another 20km further on. We are both very glad that we did go, in spite of the cost, because the cemetery containing over 1,846 Commonwealth graves was beautiful. 107 of the soldiers are unidentified which made me feel so sad that somewhere 107 families are still unaware where their loved ones are laid to rest. My Uncle Billy’s gravestone is no. V.A. 28. The grass was being mowed as we stood there. Luckily, the man on the mower said the V meant 5 otherwise we would still be looking. It was so emotional for me to see the beautifully kept cemetery. Each gravestone was spotless and the grave  weed free. The surrounding countryside is breathtaking. We are both so glad we went. So sad , so many young lives wasted . I will never understand why people start wars. They never achieve anything good.   

What with the long, long day , Fabio having a big argument with a very large vehicle for most of the motorway and the cost of the journey ,we were exhausted and couldn’t afford to eat out . We nipped down to the local supermarket for some delicious salad ingredients. This involved me in the wheelchair hoping that my son could hold onto it as the hill was very steep. Going back was difficult with him pushing on the not so steep bits, having a breather and me holding onto the back of the chair navigating the steeper bits, step by painful step. 

Our  next trip is to Switzerland – during the 1950’s , I worked in Oberhofen, Interlaken, Thun and the Pestalozzi Children’s Village. My son wants to experience some of the places I knew. So it’s the cogwheel train up to the Jungfraujoch and on another day maybe pop over the border to Lichtenstein. I’ll let you know. 

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Posted on 06/04/2017 by maspring37
Posted in Thoughts of a Senior Citizen | Comments Off on

We Can Learn from the Children

Posted on 04/02/2017 by maspring37

Learning from our Children

by Thoughts of a Senior Citizen 

I’m laying here in bed feeling somewhat the worse for wear ( bad back and chest infection not booze) watching the finale of Junior Masterchef USA. Watching how the young contestants both aged nine – yes- nine years old created a top quality starter, entree, and a dessert was amazing . They both knew how to cook things I’d never heard of , let alone cooked with.Though this isn’t the thing that amazed me most about the whole series. It was the way the 24 young children from all over the USA became friends , helping each other while still competing against each other. In one programme , with just five minutes to go, the eventually winner overwhipped her cream . Another girl told her she had two bottles of cream spare. The other girl whispered “Are you sure?” Then on receiving the nod ,gratefully took the cream ,rewhipped it, taking it down to the wire, never giving in. How I wish the thugs, the layabouts who want something for nothing could be taught this. The generous young lady who gave away the cream went out of the competition . Would she have won the show if she had hidden the spare cream? I don’t know but she would have still been in the show. I’m not sure any of the adults would always act that way, in fact in another cookery show some years ago , we saw how a would be Contestant winner hid some baking trays the other side needed saying “Alls fair in love and competition”. I so wanted her to lose, which I’m glad to say, she did. Anyway, these 8 to 13 year olds blew me away. The emotions and friendships that formed between them all wastotally   awesome. Now I’m English and we aren’t usually so effusive in our praise ; we stick to ‘well done’ or ‘not bad’ but I have never seen adults act like these children. We certainly could learn from them. Even when one of the team really messed up causing a catastrophic disaster , they rallied around supporting each other . I know Donald Trump, Theresa May, Angela Merkel etc. could learn a thing or two on how different genders, nations, colours, religions could get on together, pulling together to make the most of this wonderful beautiful world we live in instead of destroying it . 

It brought to mind , I was once told that my gaydar, was non existent. I thought later , why should I want  it to exist at all. I take people on face value all the time. It doesn’t affect me or my life what kind of sex others enjoy – how can it? Should I be hated because I like Marmite and you don’t ? Each to their own. And yes, I have read the good old 50 Shades , well, the first book  only because  I have enough pain in my life without reading  about some of the things stated in there.  As long as it doesn’t hurt anyone ( unless they want to be) and isn’t against the law , I’m happy. Yes, I have been hurt many ,many times when a friend, family member has torn my heart in two. I was told “Oh, you know what he – she’s like”. Yes, perhaps I should have expected it but I just keep hoping. I forgive most people as I would hope they forgive me with one exception . If she  ever read this she would know because she did something that can never ever be rectified. I know all about how hate destroys both hater and hated but that is  one wound that will never ever heal. 

I know I’m in the last years of my life and cannot change things as I would have them but I want the world to go on turning, to become better. With my children, I have tried to teach them right from wrong but if they haven’t learnt it or  rather do not want to embrace my rights and what I consider are wrongs, this becomes their choice and for all I know ,they may be right. We all must learn from our own mistakes!    We all only have one life , for goodness sake, let us live it happily together. When my sons were young they and their friends would fight vowing never to speak again then a few hours later be out playing football together. Learn from the children .

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Internet Dating for the Aged.

Posted on 22/08/2016 by maspring37

Do You Lie or Tell the Truth.

by Thoughts of a Senior Citizen.

I really am quite happy on my own , I have a few select friends , good neighbours and my children to talk to ,if I feel fed up. Then someone suggested internet dating . I don’t know about you but I can’t see any man of my age wanting to go out with me. I think they would probably want someone a bit more active – if you know what I mean. Laying in bed last night I began composing ( mentally, of course) an advert.

Wanted a male  friend for a  Senior Citizen around the age of 78 years old. 

That’s not a bad start, is  it?  You see, that is my age and I couldn’t cope with  a toy boy . I’m past rushing around , going dancing and such. Gone are the days when I played badminton, squash and used the gym on a regular basis and I’ve got the dodgy knees to prove it, I think it will be my hips next and I daren’t think about my shoulders . I’ve had several injections in them and though they didn’t feel too bad afterwards I would prefer to carry on making sure I don’t raise my arms anywhere near my head.  One good thing is I can’t hang the washing out.

Given to complaining about everything. 

The weather is too hot so I can’t sleep, or it’s too cold because I can’t afford to put the heating on. Well, what does anyone expect ? My husband , gone these 12 years , used to tell everyone that “You don’t go for a walk with Margaret, it’s more like a Cross Country Run.” Sadly , nowadays, I hobble to the car parked on the drive or unpack my ‘Gofaster’ buggy to go to the local shops.  If I drive further or are away for the day , my knees let me know how naughty I have been and refuse to work the next day. Still, at least I’m still walking on my own.

Likes to eat when she feels like it but not later than 7p.m. This rule can been disregarded on occasion .

It was broken last Saturday when my son and I attended my very good friend of many years ,her wedding. Forget all the youngsters in their £4000 dresses , she had one made for her and she looked beautiful. Come  to think about it, he, her intended, didn’t look too bad either. I’d never seen him in a suit before. It was her second marriage and I’m so glad she didn’t make the same mistake as she did  the first time. I introduced the first one to her and even went to that wedding – a faral flaw , you would agree. This marriage should last because they were neighbours in their youth and  have been together for the past 14 years. Something always stopped them marrying, a family death, then another one and then her little sister also died suddenly. My friend isn’t young but as I tell her she isn’t catching me up . I’m positively ancient compared to her. 

Likes things done her way or not  at all. (This includes what programmes to watch on the television) 

My husband used to call me the “Zapper Queen” . I was always in control of the remote. I did let him watch football etc on the big television in the lounge while I went into out bedroom to watch quiz shows etc. I made sure he knew how sacrificing I  was . He really appreciated it but I never told him how much  I enjoyed laying on our comfortable bed with a cup of tea on the bedside table and perhaps a few biscuits as well, watching whatever I wanted to. 

Forgets names, dates and even the names of her children and their offsprings. 

That’s one of the blessings of getting old. We can become cantankerous , forgetful and put it all down to old age. I belong to a Creative Writing Group through the University of  the Third Age or as we write it U3a. We all meet up on the last Friday of the month to discuss our offerings on a specified subject. I enjoy this  group so much that I turned up to the last meeting  a whole 24 hours before the group was actually due to meet.  

Loves  to talk and talk and talk. 

If only there was an event in the Olympic Games that involved talking, I would have won the gold medal every year during the  last fifty years of so. At the wedding my poor son sat opposite me and had to listen to me involving everyone at the table in my conversation whether they wanted to or not. The gentleman sitting next to me heard about all the countries my husband and I had visited and the ones I visited after he had died. He wasn’t to be outdone because he opened his Smart Phone and showed me photos posted by his son and family  from their holidays in Singapore. He was a very erudite man but not for me – too young at only 70 years old. ( and he looked too active.) 

 Doesn’t Suffer Fools Gracefully. 

Can’t understand  people who do not appreciate how lucky we all are to be able to embrace technology, have the N.H.S. on  hand , plenty of food in the shops , be able to learn new things whatever age the person is  . I really appreciate that  fact about the NHS because there wasn’t any NHS when I was young. I have a scar over my eye , just under my eyebrow, when I was badly cut when I was about 12 years old. I’m glad I wear glasses (I know it should be  spectacles but this  word makes me think of tentacles or testicles  , neither of which I want near my eyes. ) because the frame hides the baggy skin around  the scar. My mother  stuck a plaster over it and that was that. No stitches or antibiotic injection then. Things always happen to me such as when I parked on double yellow lines , displayed my Blue  Badge, completed my errand and returned to find a parking ticket  fastened to my windscreen.  I wrote immediately to challenge the charge. The following week , I went down to the seaside with my granddaughter and great grandson. We couldn’t park as usual, in a disabled only car park, so back to park a single yellow line. As we returned to the car , I noticed a man in uniform holding a clipboard. He appeared to be looking at the cars, then he disappeared into the disabled car park. As he returned ,and approached me , I was ready for him. I said ‘ Excuse me, it is alright for me to park here , isn’t it? ” He replied “Don’t know,  love , I’m a Gasman” 

Likes Reading , Writing and Arithmetic. Loves dogs, cats except allergic to fur. Enjoys musicals, plays in fact any theatre shows. Loves travel especially flying. Loves Eating but not washing up. 
Well, that sums me up. If anyone wants to meet an old woman who thinks she is still in her twenties until her body lets out an almighty creak and she lets out a quiet “blast ‘ or “sugar” when the pain hits , I’m your girl. I’m an OAP with attitude. ( And I’m always right.) 

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