Me and Myvanwy
A growing obsession
Darning an Edwardian underskirt
Practise makes perfect
Lovely Car Boot Finds
I ride a bike...not a lovely Pashley or Smart Town wheels with a basket, but a very old ordinary second hand bike called Myvanwy (after the Betjeman poem)...I can't drive I'm totally useless... but me and Myvanwy we can do anything, she is a magic carpet, sweeping me wherever I wish to go..she can carry cupboards! strapped to my back..shopping and me and we go faster than the wind blows....only on the country tracks though ha ha..so I set out on my bike today... really to stop myself making anymore jams and pickles.....(.though I will be making mincemeat the sweet vegetarian kind, it needs two months to mature....so I just have enough time)... and set off for the car boot.
Well as you can see I am also busy embroidering and making for Christmas and buying far too many things, lovely things from the car boot just lately...... anyway back to work tommorow..the students came back Monday and we have the First Years for their first Embroidery Lesson.. I leave the rest to your imagination...
Lots of laughter, lots of love....... this is the poem I so like.........
Kind o’er the kinderbank leans my Myfanwy,
White o’er the playpen the sheen of her dress,
Fresh from the bathroom and soft in the nursery
Soap scented fingers I long to caress.
Were you a prefect and head of your dormit'ry?
Were you a hockey girl, tennis or gym?
Who was your favourite? Who had a crush on you?
Which were the baths where they taught you to swim?
Smooth down the Avenue glitters the bicycle,
Black-stockinged legs under navy blue serge,
Home and Colonial, Star, International,
Balancing bicycle leant on the verge.
Trace me your wheel-tracks, you fortunate bicycle,
Out of the shopping and into the dark,
Back down the avenue, back to the pottingshed,
Back to the house on the fringe of the park.
Golden the light on the locks of Myfanwy,
Golden the light on the book on her knee,
Finger marked pages of Rackham's Hans Anderson,
Time for the children to come down to tea.
Oh! Fullers angel-cake, Robertson’s marmalade,
Liberty lampshade, come shine on us all,
My! what a spread for the friends of Myfanwy,
Some in the alcove and some in the hall.
Then what sardines in half-lighted passages!
Locking of fingers in long hide-and-seek.
You will protect me, my silken Myfanwy,
Ring leader, tom-boy, and chum to the weak.
White o’er the playpen the sheen of her dress,
Fresh from the bathroom and soft in the nursery
Soap scented fingers I long to caress.
Were you a prefect and head of your dormit'ry?
Were you a hockey girl, tennis or gym?
Who was your favourite? Who had a crush on you?
Which were the baths where they taught you to swim?
Smooth down the Avenue glitters the bicycle,
Black-stockinged legs under navy blue serge,
Home and Colonial, Star, International,
Balancing bicycle leant on the verge.
Trace me your wheel-tracks, you fortunate bicycle,
Out of the shopping and into the dark,
Back down the avenue, back to the pottingshed,
Back to the house on the fringe of the park.
Golden the light on the locks of Myfanwy,
Golden the light on the book on her knee,
Finger marked pages of Rackham's Hans Anderson,
Time for the children to come down to tea.
Oh! Fullers angel-cake, Robertson’s marmalade,
Liberty lampshade, come shine on us all,
My! what a spread for the friends of Myfanwy,
Some in the alcove and some in the hall.
Then what sardines in half-lighted passages!
Locking of fingers in long hide-and-seek.
You will protect me, my silken Myfanwy,
Ring leader, tom-boy, and chum to the weak.
No comments:
Post a Comment