A note to the Prime Minister

Dear Mr PM

Yesterday my husband laid off one of our best workers. He was loyal, hard working and dedicated. We have tightened our belts and downsized our company to protect ourselves and our business for the past eighteen months. Darren had been with us for four years, he is in his mid thirties, he is not nameless, he isn’t a P45 or a dispensable commodity. He was a married man, with a mortgage, a wife and he is a damned good friend as well as an employee. When my husband told him we had no choice but to lay him off, Darren cried Mr PM but despite his own misery he understood our position.

My husband is distraught, he would be the first to admit he sobbed and I mean he sobbed. He is inconsolable; he laid off a good man and a friend. He shattered his friend’s life, rocked his stability and caused him grief and pain. He had no choice. Me and my husband are not hard faced business people, we are a small family business who have trained at least 5 young men over the past few years to become plumbers. We have sacrificed our time, our energy and our money to build a business we are proud of and that we love. My husband has a conscience, dedication to his work and the men he employs. He is a kind, gentle man.

Why am I writing this to you? Because I hope you never suffer the misery my husband did. I hope you can remember my story. Every day we fret for our future, we are the human face of your country, we are the hope for your country and your ‘Green’ Policies. We have a home, a mortgage, children and our one remaining employee. Think very carefully Mr PM about your decisions. I would hate for your wife to have to hold you whilst you sobbed the anger and the misery of your decisions out of your body. I would hate for you to have to turn to her and say, ‘all my life I have worked long and hard and for what? This!’.

We are not unique Mr PM; this is the country you inherited. It may be useful to you every now and again to remember the words of Yeats, ‘Tread softly because you tread on my dreams’. A country without dreams and hope for the future is like a man without a heart, it is a shallow, worthless, shell.

Yours sincerely

A Grieving Employer

Lest We Forget

Today is Armistice Day. When I was growing up, I remember my Grandmother telling me the stories of my grandfather and his experiences during the First World War. My grandfather was a quiet, shy man. When he was 17 years old, he joined the Cheshire Regiment and according to my grandmother, ‘he changed’. He fought in several campaigns and many of the young, innocent boys he grew up with never came home to the small market town of Sandbach in Cheshire. These included the 16-year-old boy, who my grandfather held throughout the night whilst he shook and cried with fear, asking for his mother. In the morning, my grandfather’s compatriots had to prise him from my grandfather’s arms as he protested that he was keeping him warm. The boy was cold and he was dead. My grandfather hated to travel but he served in Egypt, amongst other campaigns, where he contracted Malaria and according to my grandmother for many years, he would suffer the effects of malaria with intermittent bouts of shivering, sickness and fever.

My grandmother’s stories are my history. One thing I am certain of is that my grandmother loved my grandfather devotedly all her life and when she talked of the changes in my grandfather, she was not bitter - just resigned. She once told me that after his death, she missed every single day, and she lived over 20 years after my grandfather. No matter how ‘difficult’ he could be to live with he was her true soul mate, she accepted the sacrifices he made, and the impact they had on the rest of her life.

Over the years, I have watched friends go to war in The Falklands, Iraq, Afghanistan and serve during the ‘troubles’ in Northern Ireland. Now when my own children tell me of their friends going out to Afghanistan (one was the youngest solider ever to go Afghanistan, reaching his 18th birthday just days before he was sent) I know they will come back changed or they may not come back at all. When my own ex husband went out to Afghanistan I worried for the effect it would have on my children, I told a few white lies to protect them, making light of the fact that their father was not even in a war zone and that he was in no danger. It wasn’t entirely true but what could I do? They needed to believe that their Daddy was safe but the truth is, no one is safe in a war zone.

Yesterday students from all over the UK protested against cuts in Student Grants. Do not get me wrong, I wholly agree that every person in this country is entitled to a decent education and the opportunities this education could afford them. Had people like my grandfather never fought the wars they did life in the UK may be very different to today. The damage some elements of the protesting of students caused to the Conservative Headquarters was unforgivable. Where was their respect? I am not convinced that the people who initiated the destruction and invasion were all genuine students. I cannot condone the use of violence or destruction. There are too many people, young and old, who have given and are still giving their lives, their innocence, their limbs and in some cases their sanity, for the sake of others. At 11.a.m. sat at my office desk, I will observe the two minutes silence. One of my thoughts will be that some of the people who wreaked havoc yesterday will have the decency to remember that there are people, younger than they are, facing fear for their lives on a daily basis. I suspect those soldiers do not condone violence either, they just have to live with it daily.

It's all about Respect

The Chilean Miners were raised from their own living hell this week. The world watched in awe and amazement and universally we were moved by their stories of resilience and strength. They emerged from a dark choking hole, like human butterflies emerging from the chrysalis of the earth. They were dragged towards the light in a metal pod called Phoenix.

These men had risked their lives to extract copper. Little mention was made of their working conditions. The story was of hope, resilience and the camaraderie they were forced develop amongst their group. They were a shining example of teamwork, strength and faith.

I work in plumbing and heating. When I heard the miners were mining for copper when they were buried alive, it added a completely new dimension to my view of their release. These men, unknown to me, spent their days working in dangerous, dark, inhuman conditions. They risked their lives to provide the basic raw materials that ultimately allow my company to function. Their lives, distantly, touched my own and I was filled with respect for the risks they take in their daily lives.

That led me on to thinking about Big Pink Heart an organisation that promotes the idea that it costs nothing to show respect to others and by doing so we can create a better society.

The following morning on Twitter, someone I follow, was predicting another day of workmen in their house and anticipating their failures before they had even set foot through the door. There was no respect given to the workers, they were the butt of what this person assumed was an amusing anecdote. I felt for them, they were to work for a person who had berated them before they had even arrived.

There was a link between the two groups of workers. Both groups of men, had wives, families and a job to do. They provide a service. They probably dread their daily toil some days, yet they do what they have to do to make it through life. It brought to mind that everyone, no matter what our position in society, should be treated with respect and that respect comes in many forms. Respect for human dignity under extreme conditions. Respect for someone you have asked to complete a task on your behalf because you do not have the skills to complete it yourself.

Respect is a chain reaction and just as the miners in Chile were tenuously linked to my world hundred of miles away, I had respect for the workmen entering the house of someone who had already judged them.

Huge ‘Respect’ to Big Pink Heart some of us ‘get it’ and Good Luck with your challenge because that is what it is; a challenge to change peoples perceptions of their fellow man and to offer respect as a first option, not an afterthought.

http://www.bigpinkheart.co.uk/hello.asp

The Tree

(image ©EllaJenkins 2010)

The weather has changed and it has become decidedly autumnal. After a weekend of extreme negativity from external forces, I am struggling to learn the lessons the last few days are trying to teach me.

I have spent much of the weekend gardening, digging, moving soil and constructing flowerbeds. The solace I find whilst up to my elbows in muck is immeasurable! Who would think the smell of soil and the look of a freshly dug flowerbed could bring such comfort to the soul?

Working on The Alan Wood Memorial Garden has proved to be an emotional experience. Some of Alan’s older and closer friends than me are putting hours of back breaking work into the garden. Sometimes when my body aches from digging, I wonder what drives people to create a lasting tribute like this. I love the camaraderie we have. I have turned acquaintances to dear friends since Alan’s death and oddly, I have laughed more in the past 12 months than I had for some time before.

My youngest daughter and I were having a discussion over the weekend about ‘ultimate good and ultimate evil’. Whilst digging I had time to ponder, quietly, to myself.

Out of ultimate evil has grown a tree with every leaf a symbol of goodness. The wind that strokes the leaves of this tree prompts the tinkle of a laugh, the sigh of hard labour or the shudder of regret. The tree struggles occasionally as the roots try to find their way through the dark cloying soil of darkness and disbelief but look up and you will see light skipping and twinkling over the branches and you know that good will triumph over evil.

Each leaf is a personality touched by evilness. There are young, tender branches combined with stronger limbs extending from the trunk and each one stands basked in the light of hope. The autumn will remove the leaves from our tree; they will fall silently to the ground like quiet tears, apparently taking all signs of hope with them. The leaves will die and rot away but the goodness from them will seep into the dark, damp soil. It will go into a state of dormancy, or so it will appear. It is merely resting, guarding itself against the cold, protecting itself from the elements that nature will use to test its strength. We know that come the Spring each one of those leaves will reappear, thankful to see the daylight, thankful to see the sun, thankful to dance in the breeze. As every leaf sings and dances, the tree is a spectacle of strength, hope and regeneration. It takes all the leaves to create this vision, working in unison, fighting the elements together.

So my puzzling over what the weekend had taught me has become clearer. There is strength in unity. Eventually, despite the struggle against what sometimes seem impenetrable odds, good will always form a close and strong bond in its silent battle against evil.

Watch our progress here:

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Alan-Wood-Memorial-Garden/128773460507919#!/pages/Alan-Wood-Memorial-Garden/128773460507919

A First, a 21st and a Heart Fit To Burst

It is my son’s 21st Birthday on the 12th of September. It is my granddaughter, his daughter’s, 1st birthday on the 11th September. What do I think of that? Well, I am incredibly proud.

When I mapped out my life, probably when I was about his age, I never imagined I would not stay married to his father for all of my life and that my own child would be a parent before he was 21. In black and white (or on a screen) it doesn’t look good really. I could be classed as a dysfunctional mother with a son that is far too young to be a father. But, I repeat, I am incredibly proud of my son. He has been with the same girl since he was 17, they did use contraception, but a change in the type of pill and confusion over whether it was the pill that caused his girlfriends periods to stop meant that she was 23 weeks pregnant when they knew for sure.

When ‘that’ phone call comes, you just know what is going to be said. Instinct kicks in, your heart starts to pound and if I am blatantly honest, I wanted my own parents. I was too young to cope with being told I was about to be a grandmother, I was too young to teach my own son how to be a father and I was not prepared in any way, shape or form to deal with the emotional highs and lows my child would be sure to experience. I didn’t shout, I didn’t call him a fool, I didn’t castigate him, I just kept saying the words, ‘it will be alright, we will make it work' and even when I doubted it I kept telling him.

My son was terrified of the birth; he has a genuine phobia of hospital. On the day his daughter was born he went to the hospital, he sent texts every hour and then it went quiet. My husband went to bed, I stayed up. I paced the kitchen floor. I made cups of tea I didn’t drink. I sat on the doorstep in the dark and silence. I felt scared and I felt very alone. At 12.40a.m. I received a text, it was a picture text of one very crumbled, very pink, very perfect little girl. A few seconds later, my son rang. I could not hear his words and I didn’t understand anything he said. I could only hear huge, gasping sobs and I was desperate to hug him. I asked the questions and he gasped back the answers. He put the phone down and for a few minutes I sat on the doorstep on my own in the black silence and I cried. I cried for her future, I cried for my son’s future and I cried with relief for his girlfriend.

My granddaughter’s mother is a fantastic; she dotes on her baby and my son. My granddaughter is very pretty and obviously the brightest baby in the world!

Nearly a year has gone by. My son changes nappies, he feeds, baths, read to/plays with baby and showers her with love. He went back to University a month after her birth and he carried on his studies for 4 days a week, then he came home and spent time with his child and his girlfriend. In the holidays, he has found work on a local farm, every day he is at work by 7,30a.m returning late in the evening and some days he checks the animals on a Saturday and a Sunday. He NEVER complains, he just gets on and does as he needs to do. Yes, sometimes I regret that he does not have the freedom some of his peers have.

In the past year, I have seen him change dramatically. He is even funnier and even more loving and caring. He works incredibly hard at university, his job and caring for his baby. He interacts with his own family more, he helps in the house and he drives me mad not removing his very muddy boots before he comes into the house, leaving pieces of his car lying about the house and he stuffs the washing machine to the gunnel's and ‘forgets’ to hang it out to dry. He is not perfect, thank goodness, but he is my son. Despite the critics he has had over the past 12 months, he has held his head up, stood by his girlfriend and loved his baby as if his life depended upon it. He enters his final year at University soon, he is doing a degree in Physics, this will be his hardest challenge but you know what? He might just be OK and I just want him to know as he approaches his 21st Birthday that I love him with all my heart.

Lets Start a Campaign

It had been a strange end to the week. I was delighted to discover that the very charming Clare Balding had joined Twitter. I then felt rather guilty at my own joy when I discovered that she had joined, initially, to vent her anger at a recent review of her programme, ‘Britain by Bike’. I shall not summarise the aforementioned review and ongoing tarrididdle it can be found here http://www.thefword.org.uk/blog/2010/07/homophobia_appa

Then on Saturday morning I was astounded to see (via Twitter again. I know I should get out more!) that ‘The Sun’ had an article stating that the young Joe McElderry had decided to announce he was gay. Do not get me wrong here, I have absolutely NO problem with young Joe being gay. None whatsoever. What I have a real problem with is the link between both stories. Joe should not have to ‘announce’ his sexuality and Ms Balding should not have to read disparaging comments and witness name calling in relation to her sexuality (apparently in the name of humour; I don’t see many people laughing by the way). We live in an accepting society. Like hell we do! And more importantly, I truly cannot get my head around what anyone’s sexuality has to do with anything (with the obvious exceptions where that sexual orientation is illegal and or/harmful to other non-consenting humans).

I do not introduce myself in the following way, ‘Hi, I am Mary, I am rather frustrated heterosexual due to the fact I work too hard, don’t take enough holidays and live in a house that resembles a drop in centre for teenagers, nice to meet you’. Why don’t I? Because no one gives a damn (apart from my husband of course) it is completely irrelevant to anything I do. Can you imagine the meeting of Commonwealth Leaders, ‘Ladies and Gentlemen I give you Mr Cameron, quite obviously, as can been seen by his wife’s current condition, an active heterosexual’. It would be bloody ludicrous and stir up a right box of frogs.

Humans should be judged by their human content in terms of compassion, kindness and inspirational characteristics. What they do in the privacy of their own bedroom/kitchen/stairway is no one else’s concern. To carry on this outrageous behaviour by silly name calling and innuendo is far more revealing about the ‘journalist’ concerned (and his arrogant Editor) than the article is about Ms Balding’s sexuality. Joe McElderry is a young man and I understand why he ‘came out’, he did it to prevent being ‘outed’ under embarrassing circumstances at some later date. He is 19 years old! What sort of society are we creating?

I know! From now on, we must all introduce ourselves to people at parties/BBQ’s/Parent’s Evenings/on the train etc, by clearly stating our sexual preferences. If we proceed down this line of approach I reckon in 12 months both of the articles I refer to, will be completely pointless as everyone will know everything about everyone. In this way we can get back to the true grass roots of judging our fellow humans – by character, personality and talent. I can’t wait to see my post man’s face on Monday morning when I start my new campaign.

Every Cloud and All That

I tweeted this morning about depression. Not sure what possessed me. It was uplifting to discover than quite a few online friends were supportive of my comments. I could sense that many of them knew precisely what I was feeling. Beneath the elation, there was a brief moment of sadness.

All of my adult life I have battled with depression. Do not get me wrong, I am not a miserable, down beat sort of a soul. I positively love life and like to think I have an optimistic and humorous view of the world. The problem with depression is it creeps up on you, grapples you to the ground and stamps on your head. Usually when you least expect it. It IS the ghost of darkness and lurks constantly in the recesses of your mind. It has taken a lot of soul searching and watching my response to certain triggers for me to learn to ‘manage’ my depression. That is what I do. I manage it. I don’t control it, I don’t cure it, and I don’t expect it to completely disappear. In earlier years, I battled long and hard. It became a personal challenge to become depression free forever. It was pointless and I accepted that this is just the way I am and that I cannot remove it. I learnt to live with it. The lows can last hours/days/weeks or very occasionally (thank goodness) months.

I call these days my grey days. It can be the brightest, sunniest day but to me the sun is dull, the green of trees and grass is not as bright, I can’t smell the fresh grass, or soil that has just had rain on it. I feel like an ice cube is wedged in my brain. I flit from one job to another, never concentrating on anything and I just want to curl up in a ball in the dark. Everything is a struggle, even deciding what to wear or when to have a shower (if I can even bothered to!). I set myself tiny, tiny challenges each day, one very small step at a time and eventually I get to the end of the day. I try to congratulate myself when I go to bed that I have got through the day, this isn’t easy when you feel like even the simplest tasks have been equivalent of a climbing the north face of the Eiger in a wet suit carrying a tonne of bricks on your back!

These days I ensure I make the time to make time for myself. I grow flowers, veggies and herbs, I bake, I read a fair amount, oh and I use Twitter! My husband is brilliant, how he puts up with me sometimes is beyond me, the first husband never managed it! When I feel I am retreating into myself I MAKE myself visit a friend, a neighbour or spend time with the children.

I have tried medication, it make me angry! I am used to my brain churning over nonsensical things and most of the time I enjoy its busy whirring. I cannot cope with the cotton wool head medicine gives me it is a dreadful feeling. St Johns Wort has been my salvation on many occasions, I know its medicine but at least it is natural and seems to work … sometimes!

I rarely speak about my depression. I try and hide it. I don’t speak about it because even after all these years I feel a bit of a failure. I get incensed when I hear people talk about depression and say, ‘why can’t you just snap out of it, it’s not as bleak as you make it out to be’. It is that bleak. Do you not think if we could ‘snap out’ of it, we would? Imagine how useful and less stressful that would be. When I am at the bottom of my pit of despair, I see you, I hear you and trust me, I am trying to claw my way out of the bottomless pit of dark, clinging, blackness that can and sometimes does, convince me I am mad!

The best thing about depression? When the light comes on, the sun shines SO bright, the flowers smell great and the birds sing such sweet, enthusiastic songs and you KNOW that life is great. You KNOW every day is an adventure. You KNOW that your family and friends love you. You KNOW that all is well in your own little world. If you suffer depression, don’t be afraid to talk about it. You are not mad you are just a bit different at this moment in your life and there are a quite a few of us out there. It does get better; in fact, when you come out of your tunnel the light can blind you. Keep Smiling :O)