After unaccustomed convalescent
immobility the ginger tabby
cautiously moves his back
legs and tail stepping carefully
to the back door down steps
to the back garden where he
attends to his private business.
Soon he will be chasing other
feline visitors off his
fiercely guarded territory.

Nana is catching up on
neglected activities after
her busy pre Christmas
sewing time. Elderly Brownie
with white muzzle and eyebrows
staring out of her coal black
face enjoys long snoozes
under Nana’s sewing desk.

After eleven long days
his family came home to
the joy of the black and
white cat. He and the eight
year old curled up together
on the couch while Mum
and Dad cooked dinner.
He purred loudly as she
stroked him, told him about
their holiday, enjoying
the family around him.



Mum felt better looking
at her tidy trimmed hair
reflection in the mirror.

The hairdresser pointed out
little brother’s thick curly thatch
would soon be hard to trim.

Brushing little brother’s hair
caused loud screaming sessions
but Mum still loved those curls.

Reluctantly she plucked little
brother from the salon’s toy
corner, placed him on the
special children’s cushion
on the hair salon chair.

But active energetic little
brother would not sit still
on the cushion so they stood
at the street window to watch
the cars go by. The hairdresser
snipped here and there as his
head turned from side to side.

At last the job was done
the thatch of curls scooped off
the floor into a plastic bag.

Mum went soberly home with
a cheery little brother and
a bag of discarded curls.


Afternoon Tea.

Mum wanted to take Aunty Jo
to a pleasant cafe for delicious
afternoon tea on her birthday
but the eight year old was still
wobbly after a horrible tummy
bug, had to stay home to rest.

The six year old and little
brother were deputed to
take Aunty Jo out,
ably supported by Nana.

In garden surroundings they
enjoyed the cafe’s luscious
food then happily explored
garden, sandpit, and seesaw.

The eight year old was most upset
at missing this glorious outing,
but Mum eased this suffering
of an eight year old’s heart.

When the others came home
they were met at the back
door by a buoyant young
lady with nails all painted
alternately in sparkling
blue and silver nail polish.

Afternoon Tea.

“It Waved At Me !”

Nana’s small juicy tasty apples
organically grown never sprayed
were cut in half put beside
the girls’ afternoon tea on
their special bright plates.

The outgoing confident six
year old enjoyed her food
but spoke hesitantly, didn’t
want her apple ……………….
……. said the worm waved
at her, she couldn’t eat it.

Rearing up from the apple’s
heart the tiny worm waved
its head from side to side.

Mum excused her from
eating her apple.

“It Waved At Me !”

Brm ! Brm !

Brm brm noises are
genetically predisposed
by the brm brm gene
on the Y chromosome.

Little girls rarely speak
this very strange sound.

Little boys know it
without being taught.

Four wheeled vehicles trigger
brm !  brm ! while being pushed
across the floor. As soon as
he sees one every little boy
knows to say “Brm !  Brm !”

Little brother has no big
brothers to teach him
only big sisters who do not
say “Brm !  Brm !” as they
draw pictures and dance
around in princess dresses.

Yet he still knows to say
“Brm !  Brm !” when pushing
his trucks across the floor.

Brm ! Brm !


On a brilliant sunny public
holiday the children’s roading
network in the park’s far
corner swarmed with children
and their families under shade
sails, on grass kerbs, around
roads and lights and roundabouts.

Wheels turned on scooters,
tricycles, and bicycles as
adults went alongside or behind
while little legs turned little
wheels navigating intersections
lights and roundabouts.

One or two collisions happened
then someone fell off her bike
on an empty stretch of road.
Her Dad condoled with her on
life’s unfairnesses then she
rapidly rode away again.

Other youngsters rode excitedly
on their way, threading their
way around each other at the
tops of their voices on this
glorious sunny holiday.


English Tutorial

Our childhood memories
experiences set up building
blocks, foundations of our
adulthood whether we accept
or reject them or mindlessly
continue their unconscious paths.

Yet adults often ignore children
forgetful of adult impacts on
young minds, discounting them
from music, art, literature.

My short story for my English
tutorial was abhorrent to my
young reviewing partner for
its theme of adult perceptions
of three children’s situation.

To him a story of childish
experience of an adult
created world could only
be a children’s story.

And children are not
a topic for literature.

English Tutorial