THE WORRYING KIND (Part 1)

I'm sure that I worried before my mother died, but her sudden disappearance, seen through the kitchen keyhole one night as the ambulance attendants carried her away, never to return, sealed my fate as far as worrying was concerned.

Never again do I want to relive those feelings of helplessness and loss. I adored my mother. Even to this day, seeing a picture of this little 'imp' with the bucket and spade, under the protection of her elder sister, Zena, on the beaches at Scarborough, still can bring me, emotionally, to my knees.

No wonder my grandfather was seen to cry, for the first time,at her funeral. For , after all, she seems to cry out, as do all children, by their simple, innocent beauty, to be cared for. Yet none of us could, in the end, do anything to save her.



My place had always been, by her side.

Clearly, this is where I felt I belonged. She protected me and I , perhaps, thought that by keeping a close watch on her, I protected her too ..yet..despite that, I still lost my mother that December 7th 1947 to ulcerative colitis.

I was almost 5 years old. She was gone, to the muffled voices and shuffled steps and the endless night.



I am told that my Aunty Vera came for me. My sisters went to my stepfather's parents and I back to my 'nanny', Gladys, and her parents at #1, Ryedale View in Kirkbymoorside, Yorkshire.

Gladys is still like a second mother to me, her voice a balm to my pain.





"You're mummy is a star in the sky." I was told. This manifested itself as potentially devouring and obscuring , swirling , black and gray horrors in the night which wakened me in tears, frozen in fear.









It was as if death stalked at night as I feverishly scanned the skies of my dreams for signs of my mother star.







In your life expect some trouble
But when you worry
You make it double
Don't worry, be happy......Bobby Mcferrin