Tag: JG

It was the end of July, during the school holidays, and I was staying with my aunt Sheila on her smallholding about 20 miles from home. It was officially to give her some company. However, I think mum just needed a week off from my 14-year-old comments and tomboy-like fooling about. It was quite warm and pleasant, lots of sunshine and all was well with the world. Aunty had asked me to put the hens in their runs for the night to keep the foxes at bay. I closed up the enclosure, double-checked it was secure, and headed back to the cottage

When I was around 15-years-old, mum and I had a long weekend away in the Cotswolds. She had been ill following a cycle accident and wanted some fresh air and a slower pace of life for a few days. We stayed in a Bed & Breakfast which was also a working mixed dairy and arable farm. The owner’s wife, a portly lady in her mid to late 40s called Bella, met us on the first evening and gave us a lecture about safety on the farm. Yawn! Don’t go near any machinery. If any machinery comes close, wave to make yourself obvious and step out of the

This true story was told to me by my roommate at university. Helen was a good looking 18-year-old, almost 19, when the incident happened. It was late April and she had been home for a family party. I believe it was her maternal grandmother’s 80th birthday, if I remember correctly after all these years. I heard the key in the lock to the door to our flat and Sandy walked in walking very gingerly. “You OK hun?” I asked, concerned. “Have you hurt yourself?” “Hi Jo, not as such. But yes, I do hurt,” Sandy replied cryptically. “So come on,” I pressed. “What have

My husband Tom and I had been working 7 days on various projects since Christmas and thank goodness our diaries both worked out for a quiet week last week. So we rented a small cottage in Norfolk to get some rest and recuperation, and to do some walking and bird watching. On Tuesday evening, we decided to go to a local wetland reserve with tall reed beds and some trees where starling murmurations were a regular occurrence. We had been told about the starlings by the lady in the pub just down from the cottage the evening before. Armed with our binoculars and camera,

Spanking had been banned for over two decades by the time I started at St Martin’s, a girls grammar school in all but name. They prided themselves on strict discipline, and the slipper and the cane had been a regular occurrence, both in and out of class, 20 or 30 years before. However, since it was outlawed, they had to be more imaginative. Detentions were common, both single and full class ones. Suspensions were also used, but only where other options were proving futile. However, the single most effective method of control was a sternly worded letter home. In this, the teacher or head teacher

It was the Sunday before Christmas and I had promised to take Emily, my best friend’s daughter, to see Santa at the local shopping centre. However, there had been a road accident and the traffic was chaotic. We finally got to the car park at 3.45, knowing everything closed at 4.00 pm. We flew through the mall eventually getting to the grotto with just 5 minutes to spare. “Sorry, we are just closing,” the elf on the door said. “Come back tomorrow.” “I can’t because I am working, and Emily has been looking forward to meeting Santa, haven’t you dear?  Oh