Many moons ago when I was a little girl and lived with my grandmother in a small wooden house besides the woods, I remember, quite clearly, my dread of Mondays! This was the only day I was happy to go to school so that I would avoid the wash day blues.

     I’m sure my grandmother was trapped in the 30’s, agitating my small cotton dresses on a posser in an old zinc tub.  Out would come the blue dolly in a special bag to whiten the clothes and those all too familiar soda crystals. Then I’d watch, fascinated, as my clothes were squished through a mangle, to get rid of the excess soapy water. I can only guess now, that prior to this, she would have taken the washing down to the river and bashed them about on a stone! Why we didn’t have an automatic washing machine like the rest of the world beat me!

     But these wash day blues, did have a silver lining. By the time I arrived home from school, the washing would be blowing in the wind on a long stretch of line. This was tied to a tree at either end of the garden and supported along the way, by long branches. I would always stop and watch in amazement, and imagined my dresses escaping the wooden pegs and flying off on adventures. Oh how I wished I go with them! It always brought a huge smile to my face. But when it rained, things were quite different.

       Four wooden poles set parallel between two metal frames, hung from the ceiling in the kitchen, above the fire. On those rainy wash days, my grandmother would hang the squished out clothes over the poles to dry. Those were the days I liked the least, coming in from school to the smell of  drying clothes making everything feel cold and damp, despite the glow of the fire and a cup of sweet tea.

       But there was always a hearty supper on the table, every day of the week. This is where my love for food began. We never ate ready meals or processed food and I was never taken out for fish and chips or a takeaway. In fact, the first Indian meal I had, was just a few years ago.

       Now, strangely, when I look back at those wash day blues I long for them again. Oh how much my friends missed by not going to school, smelling of carbolic soap!

The Romans thought I had medicinal powers, how right they were. I am also popular in Belgium, where they have a museum in my honour, in a place called Le Musée de la Fraise.  I have a part to play in reducing heart disease and certain cancers and I’m related to the Rose family and smell just as sweet. Who am I? My name is Fragaria, (my scientific name of course) Lord of the Strawberries.

      Let me tell you a little secret, I am not a true berry. You see, true berries wear their seeds on the inside of their coats. Not me, I am rather unusual, inasmuch as I wear my seeds on the outside. Did you know that I am the only fruit that does this? How clever am I?

      Some like to pickle me (ugh!) and some eat me fresh. After all, I am low in calories and high in vitamins C, K, B6, potassium, amino acids and folic acid. How amazing am I? And would you believe that some people eat me when I’m green and tart! Oh, just the thought of it makes me quiver!  Now If you have to eat me at all, then please wait until I am bright red and juicy. I have to say, that I am rather sweet then too.

        Once you have made a home for me in a pot or in the ground, I will surprise you with fruit for up to five summers, if the birds don't beat you to it. But please let me sleep in the winter. It is not too much to ask.

Quite often, when I am working at the hospital, I gaze momentarily out of the window at the sea in the distance and long for my bench by the pond. I can almost taste the sweet tea as I imagine sitting there...waiting...watching ...for nothing in particular but aware, nevertheless, that at any moment I could see something amazing.

     Perhaps I have an overload of imagination. I can see why some people can turn a molehill into a mountain, as I certainly can, according to my kind an unassuming husband. What I can’t understand is what do people think about if their head is lacking this substance. 

      If you know anyone who hasn’t any imagination and you think that they could benefit from some, let me tell you a simple way in which to do this.

      First, you read to them! Yes, adults too! You tell them stories and evoke pictures in their heads. They will see places they have never seen before and hear words they never knew. Hopefully, they will bring to life a part of themselves that has been hidden from view. Similar to opening a door that had been locked forever. Now throw away that key!

       I quite often find that my imagination enables me to escape from life, when the need arises. As a chemotherapy nurse, I used to use my imagination more frequently, to help cope with the demands of my job.

       So by encouraging people to use their minds as eyes, by listen to stories or tales, you are developing their skills to cope with life in difficult situations.

       Mr Einstein once said “Imagination is more important than knowledge. Knowledge,’ he said, ‘is limited. Imagination encircles the world!’

       So next time I gaze out of the window and imagine my bench by the pond , I will taste my cup of sweet tea and think of Mr Einstein. I will smile to myself and remember the meaning of his words. To imagine, is to switch the light on and look at the world!

Last night was a nightmare! It started the moment I settled down to write. It was late, a time when most people would be sleeping. But this is the time when I get most of my inspiration, staring out into the darkness that blankets the village around me. Sometimes, on a clear night, I watch the stars and if I’m lucky, a shooting star will entertain me. But there were no stars as I tapped my keys, just rain drop on the window pane and that strange noise again.

       For those who follow the stories, you will remember the strange noise that came from Mocha’s old room, the one she died in. I must quickly tell all those who don’t know, that Mocha was a very old hen who spent her last few weeks, as a house hen (on the advice of the vet of course! ). Well it came back, no, not poor Mocha but the noise, in the room above my head.

       It has been quiet for many weeks now; no Jako, no Jake (the two very fortunate field mice) and no sign of slip the slug and certainly, no strange noise coming from Mocha’s old room. Life was trickling along nicely at our home for waifs and strays. But all good things come to an end, so the saying goes.

     It started with a low droning sound which got louder and louder. I was sure it would wake up my kind and unassuming husband.  But he slept through it and so did two fat cats. The third one was missing.

      While the droning echoed in the room just above my head, the old coat stand in the hall crashed over and made me jump. As I rushed to see what was happening, a tiny figure ran over my foot. I knew in an instant that it was Jako. And then I saw the missing cat, with poor tiny Jake in his mouth (yet again) well, his tail was in his mouth.

      ‘Drop it!’ I screamed. He dropped poor Jake to the floor and scarpered. Jake scurried underneath the coat stand.

      The noise upstairs had stopped and the house was quiet. An eerie quiet, as if something else was about to happen. Now where was Jako?

      I caught dear Jake in an empty biscuit tin with the expertise of any professional mouse catcher.

      ‘Let’s go for another stroll over to the field,’ I said to Jake. And as I was putting on my wellies, I felt something soft and warm under my toes. Thinking it was a sock, I curled my toes around it and dragged it out.

      What happened next happened in a flash. I screamed as Jako catapulted through the air and landed, thankfully, in the washing basket. I couldn’t have made up a better story, but all this is true.

      ‘I have a book to complete,’ I said to Jako and Jake as I strolled across to the field to let them go, yet again. But I doubt they cared.

      ‘Goodnight my little friends,’ I whispered in the torch light. ‘Please take better care.’

     Back in the house I was greeted by my kind and unassuming husband calling from upstairs. He asked if everything was ok.

      I picked up the coat stand and sighed, before shouting up the stairs, ‘yes, everything was grand!’

      I made a cup of sweet tea and strolled back to my desk. It was then I saw him.....Slip the slug was back!

‘What are you looking at?’ said one swan to the other.

‘Nothing!’

‘You must be looking at something. You’ve been staring down there for ages!’

‘What’s it to you?’

Silence!

‘But it’s dark down here.’

‘I like the dark,’

‘But you have to come up sometime.’

Silence!

‘I will when they’ve gone.’

‘They?’

‘Humans!’

‘Oh!’

‘The one with a camera!’

‘Well they won’t see us under the water.’

‘That’s good.’

‘Do you think they’ve gone?’

Bit of plopping about.

‘Yep, they’ve gone!’

‘Good, they must have got fed up when we disappeared!’