Write your memories,
write them down,
it will help you heal the years of pain
share your thoughts,
share your story,
a cathartic experience
to balance the hurt.
I have always written poetry so it was natural to write poems about my dyslexia. But sharing my poetry is something quite different. It is something extremely personal and something very big. In the book, I do look at personal reflection, unhappy memories and topics that may be sensitive to the reader.
But here goes, this is…
My Dyslexic Education
Chapter one
This is me, born Elizabeth Anne Devlin, known as Anne, (or Lizzie, or Lizzie-Annie by my mum when much younger) on Monday 28th June 1965 in Banbury, Oxfordshire, England, a charming and peaceful rural village and quintessentially English. When my dad first saw me, he said I looked a carrot due to my flaming red hair (out of a bottle these days and regularly applied by my hairdresser) cheers dad!
According to the 1830’s poem ‘Mondays child is fair of face’ that’s what I should be fair of face. I am not so sure about that. My childhood began as idyllic and without a care in the world, as it should be. I had two older brothers to play with and parents who loved and cared for me. Although I do not necessarily have all my childhood memories, particularly from my early years, I do remember a great deal. I have fond memories of light picnic teas in the back garden with sandwiches of meat or fish paste from those small glass jars. Or cheese, egg and cress or marmite on white bread still with the crusts on. Also and almost aways, cake and quite often small fairy cakes usually with yellow buttercream oozing out from between two butterfly wings and always homemade.
We played tin soldiers on the grass; I can still see their little red uniforms and silver belt buckles as they lay set out on a green and blue checked rug on the back lawn of our walled garden. We sledged excitedly down a nearby hill, which seemed incredibly steep and incredibly long not to mention incredibly high. The snow then was proper 1960’s snow, thick, beyond soft and of course icy cold. The same mountain may well be no more than a mound to me now as an adult. I remember I had a small plastic doll called Mimi, I think I can even smell that plastic now, it was very distinctive. It is interesting how an odour can take you straight back to a memory. I also had a teddy bear, surely every child should. My teddy bear was very special to me and was called Teddy Togs and of course I still have him somewhere in the house.
We would swing at the local park in front of what I think was the village hall, just a short walk down from our house and there was always lots of fun to be had at Sunday school and church events. We pretty much attended all of them and attended church every single week.
My dad was the minister of our village Methodist church, in addition to another couple of nearby churches within the same circuit. I was so very proud of him and close to him, so much so I would often accompany him to an evening service despite my young age, just to be with him and spend time with him. We had good conversations in the car journeying there and back, we would sing, usually changing and making up the lyrics or tunes as we went, making them our own. We would laugh so much, so very much and over the smallest most insignificant things. We would truly laugh over nothing really and just act completely daft and completely silly; it was great. There was certainly never a dull moment when my dad and I got together. I remember as a young adult we would have phone calls that literally were just laughter.
Despite the lack of colour, the first of the following black and white photographs shows my dad in his dog collar, which was stiff white plastic. It must have been very uncomfortable and was part of the dress of a methodist minister. The photograph at least shows my curly wavy hair if not the ginger red. The second photograph shows again my curly and wavey hair. You can also see the knitted clothes I was wearing a buttoned jumper and pinafore. I cannot remember the colour of either but the hair would definitely be red.
My dad worked hard, too hard really, so often never having a day off unless we were as a family, away on holiday. Unfortunately and on more than one occasion I remember that even our family holiday, usually to Devon, Wales or the lake District were interrupted by someone dying. The lake district was where both my mum and dad were born and raised until their late twenties. Mum studied at teacher training college in Wimbledon, London. Despite being able to see into the famous lawn tennis club from her room, she never went to watch one match as she disliked all sports and still does. She does not like the idea of anyone having to lose. Can you imagine being so close to the Lawn Tennis Association courts and not going to see a tennis match?
I love tennis, watching and playing; however, I am really not good. I always attempt to see myself as a strong, dominant Serena Williams type of player when holding a tennis racquet! I did do a few months of an afternoon session for older ladies, brilliantly titled ‘rusty rackets’ and this is something I would like to take up again, once I do eventually retire. My love of tennis began one summer holiday. In Leicestershire in the early 1970’s the schools would close at the end of June for two weeks, it became known as the July fortnight. All industry shut down and Leicester was practically like a ghost town as many families travelled for their annual holiday away from it all. I remember my 10th birthday as it was the last day of term 28th June 1975.
During one particular July fortnight my friend who lived across the street was away on holiday so I was left with not a great deal to do. Wimbledon has always been the last week of June and the first week of July. It was on television everyday so I began to watch it and was quickly and completely hooked. I later went down to see many matches at the famous grounds. This was in the days with standing room on all the show courts. So, I would queue for hours with my friend and we would eventually pay our £5 to get into the grounds. We were then free to queue again outside any of the show courts and finally get in to see a match. I saw all the great players of the time, Borg, McEnroe, Connors, Navratilova, Evert, Becker, it was just great.
During the long school holidays, we would go very often to the Lake District. We went to vising grandparents, aunts and uncles. We would walk when it wasn’t raining, around the countryside, or coastline, not my favourite thing to do as a small child. I remember that on occasion we had complete fortnights of summer holidays and complete fortnights of rain on occasion. Well, it would not be the lake district without any lakes. Anyway, sadly if someone in dad’s churches had died, this meant that he would need to miss the beginning of the family holiday and join us a couple of days into later. But he did what he needed to do in order to care for the needs, spiritual, emotional and any other type really, of those in his parish. His work was a true vocation and a real calling. Nothing was too much trouble for him, he was always a people person, people came first always.
Nothing really happened in my early years of childhood, nothing out of the ordinary anyway. I remember getting hit in the face by a swing at the previously mentioned and often visited park. I also remember saying that the hairdresser nearly cut my ear off, which of course did not happen. But other than that, life was good and just as it should be for a young child, no cares or concerns at all.
Why oh why could life simply not remain in this serene, laidback and carefree state? This was a wish of course which was impossible as one simply cannot avoid at any cost the fact that one grows up. The reality of growing up for me however was a cruel one.
A young girl.
Tin soldiers on the rug,
games on the grass,
swinging high and sledging down
great hills of snow, so fast.
A baby doll called Mimi,
walking in fields of flowers
these are the things
of my early days
and how I filled my hours.
Churches, fetes and Sunday school
my special teddy bear
happiness and love surrounding
me and my brothers
pure happiness without a care.
