Buttercups and Ladybirds.
Before the Charles White School was built there were fields of tall grass and wild flowers. Summers seemed to be never ending and warm, we ran freely without fear and I remember the fields of wild flowers when we took old jars and stabbed holes in the metal lids to put bugs in. One field was full of buttercups and from a distance there seemed to be bunches of red flowers amongst the buttercups. When you got closer there were thousands of ladybirds. We ran and brushed them into our jars and would look at them, and take them home. They were fascinating to look at and mother made us put them into our garden to eat the green fly. Now I hardy see the Ladybirds at all they seem to have disappeared, and so have the fields of buttercups and wildflowers which is possible the answer. Remember when we use to put a flower under our chin to see if we liked eating butter? We humans certainly know how to destroy the environment now I hardly see any Ladybirds, which is such a pity.
We use to say this Nursery Rhyme when I was a child.
The English version has been dated to at least 1744,
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Ladybird, ladybird, fly away home,Your house is on fire,Your children shall burn!
Or this one:
Ladybird, ladybird fly away home,Your house is on fire and your children are gone,All except one,And her name is Ann,And she hid under the baking pan.
Written by Susan Oliver.
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Matlock Green Post Office.
Being a young girl I was very embarrassed to go into the Post Office at that certain time of the month. My mother made me and said I was very silly, it was nature's way, but it made no bit of difference to me. I still hated going. Mr. and Mrs Yates were lovely people and I would walk into the shop and wait if there were customers and pretend to look at birthday cards until they left. If Mr. Yates was still there I left and tried again. Sometimes I hoped that Mrs. Yates would come to the front of the store and Mr Yates would go and have his cup of tea in the back, and so I would wait again and look at birthday cards. When he had gone I rushed up to the shelf and grabbed the Kotex and rushed to hand it to Mrs. Yates. She smiled, asked me for the money but by that time I had blushed , and my face was a bright red. She always put the Kotex in a big brown bag and it was such a relief to disguise it for something else. One day when I went in as usual time I noticed a change. Yes there was one Kotex on the shelf and the rest were in big brown bags. I was so pleased. It did not matter now I could go to Mr. or Mrs. Yates and hand it over for payment for the big brown bag. I stuck it under my arm and left the shop in the knowledge that no one would know what was in the big brown bag. But everybody did!
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Written by Susan Oliver.
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"The Cat Sat on the Mat."
My first school was the Presentation School for Girls although there were a few boys in Montessori and Sister Perpetua took the class. She was a diminutive lady who wore glasses and loved cats , and she always smelt of boiled fish heads. I think she fed all the cats in the vicinity. I remember Sister Perpetua the most for helping me. In those days there were no learning disabilities, you were either stupid or dumb. I had dyslexia and for the life of me I could not grasp reading. I do not know why she kept me in, or why she spent time with me but I often cried and she would ignore it and soldiered on with me, never scolded me. Maybe she knew I was having trouble and I was really trying, or maybe as a teacher she had seen this before that some children do not all learn in the same way. One day we were reading in class,and it came to my turn again to read out loud, I hated that. I put my ruler along the line and gazed at it for awhile, then a light turning on I got it. " The cat sat on the mat". I smiled for the first time in reading class and I knew it was because Sister Perpetua took time to teach me well that I could read that day.
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Written by Susan Oliver.
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The Little Red Headed Boy.
When I was three years old my mother and I would walked through the Hall Ley's Park to the bakery on Dale Road. We would pass the miniature railway and nearly every day a little boy with his father, or maybe his grandfather would ride up and down on the train, and still be there when we walked home. I asked mummy if I could have a ride and mother would make some excuse that we were too busy, and that made me sad.
My mother decided to walk on the other side of the park, probably tired of by requests to ride the miniature train but I could still see that the little red headed boy every time we walked to the bakery having train rides, and I was not.
As time went by I noticed that the little red headed boy was not there anymore and I asked my mother where he was. Instead of brushing me off with some excuse, we sat down on the bench. Mum told me that the little red headed boy had been very sick with Leukaemia and had died and fallen asleep one night and went to Heaven where the rest of his family were to look after him. He was now well and could play with all the other children. Of course his parents were sad but they knew they would see him again.
My mother told me, in such a way I would always remember him. I did not know his name, and that did not matter, what mattered was he was not ill anymore, he was with his family, and he could play with all the other children. For a child of three that was all that mattered.
Written by Susan Oliver.
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The Hairdresser.
My mother Cora Oliver would go weekly to Rita Haslam the hairdresser on Dale Road. Sometimes I would go with her and watch .We would climb the stairs and were greeted with a smile and of course a cup of tea and the gossip of the day. When I felt bored I would go outside and look in Evan's Jewellery Store, at all the silver and jewellery or stay and read the magazines at the hairdresser. My mother hated her fine flyaway hair she called it fluff. There did have their own hairstyles in those days and I always thought my parents were old but of course they were not they were in their late 20's to 30's. Oh so old! The beehive was in at the time if you sprayed it with hairspray it lasted nearly a week! There was the blue rinse, pink rinse, new and so exciting new for that time!
Mrs. Fay and my mother Mrs. Oliver were friends and they had the same hairstyle. They were both blonde and had a piece of hair in the front dyed a lighter blonde. I think they call it chunking today? They looked the same like Sisters. Mr. Fay was the editor of the Derbyshire Times at the time.
Written by Susan Oliver.
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