Writings

Bluebell Woods

Since we are still confined to local outings, we decide on a trip to a nearby beauty spot, the Bluebell Woods in Denton, it being the 30th of April and bluebells being out.  I had never been before and it was quite beautiful although, being a rather bosky wood full of bluebells in the shade, the pictures are not as bright as all that.  I finish with a sunny one of my garden pot rhododendron, also just coming into full bloom.  According to google map, the Bluebell Woods are only fifteen minutes away but no, it takes us on a ring road detour of Stockport to get there, about half an hour.  It's years since JB went and the roads have all changed.  I had never been before so it was a new  treat to see them.  Still, no problem, we think, we know where we are now, near the back of Reddish Vale.  We set off back under our own steam but miss a turning and next thing we know are on the M60 motorway.  Oh no!  We start google maps.   At at roundabout, we turn off too soon and are back on, yes, the M60 miles out of our way.  We end up on it three times thanks to google map, which even sends us back on a motorway when we have just got to Stockport.  We eventually emerge in a rush hour crawl at Cheadle, quite in the other direction from Denton.  It took us an hour and a half to get back.  Next year, I will dig out my road atlas and take it from there!  Still, it was a good excuse for a few glasses of rose prosecco to settle the nerves when we got back for our tea!

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Two teddies are now

Both in my keeping,

Gifts to toddler grandchildren, us.

When new, Bruin was purple, larger,

With a deep growl.

My brother's.

Teddy was smaller, fawn,

Mine.

He lost his growl after an unfortunate fall 

And a sink bath.

I loved Teddy with a depth which included emotional guilt.

I was jealous because Bruin was bigger and purple

And  my own ted  must never know of that.

I was the oldest but the girl.

Perhaps that played into who got which bear.

Bruin is no longer purple,

Faded after decades on my brother's windowsills,

At home and in his flat.

For a few years now, both have looked down from

The high shelf beside my daughter's childhood raised bed.

They leaned together, slightly forward,

As if wanting to come down.

I climbed up to get them the other day and soon saw why.

Both lambswool, moths have pecked their back legs into small

bald patches.

It's been a poignant time as my mother has lately died too.

I felt I had let them down, the two teds, 

Neglected while cherished still.

I've dusted them off and put them on the coverlet

Of the single bed below,

Where they seem more contented, two old men together.

Better now, their worn little faces seem to say.