Thursday, 26 December 2013

Christmas Past...

And as Church bells sang their praises

Paying homage to the birth

Of a new Christmas morn

She gathered no comfort

From their Merry peal

Each joyous toll but a death knell

Striking her heart with cruel reminders

Of those already deafened

To their jubilant pleas

©  Copyright Lynn Gerrard

Thursday, 12 December 2013

Beneath My Fur...

Beneath my fur

Beats a heart so strong

As to protect you

My whole life long

All is not lost

Can you not see

For I have you

And you have me

Poem only ©  Copyright Lynn Gerrard 2.8.2012

Saturday, 16 November 2013


This is hunger

This is pain

Let this world of plenty

Hang its head in shame

Poem only ©  Copyright Lynn Gerrard 2.8.2012

Monday, 19 August 2013


A hiccup a cough

A skip and a hop

An asthmatic wheeze

And a moan.

A grimace a groan

A breathless tired drone

A flip that's in need

Of a flop.

A sigh and a pant

A rambling long rant

A snigger a chortle a grunt

A grumble 

A mumble

A loud belly rumble

Just about sums me right up!...

©  Copyright Lynn Gerrard 2.8.2012

Sunday, 21 July 2013

My Dog!...

My dog's been sick

He's standing in the mess

Staring at me smirking

'Cos he knows

I'm not impressed!

If I move to shift it

He rushes, with a grin,

To eagerly consume

What was better out than in!

So now we're playing

Mind games

I'll win this that's a fact

'Cos if he isn't careful

I'll swap him for a cat! 

Poem only ©  Copyright Lynn Gerrard 2.8.2012

Monday, 11 February 2013


I thought about love a lot recently, fleetingly considering its meaning. Well...I haven't arrived at any conclusions because I don't feel that 'Love' can be defined. Some schools of thought apply more chemistry to love than comfort...deeming it no more than a biological urge procured to provide continuity of the species...and whilst I partly agree with this, I feel that its purpose to sustain our longevity is but one of loves multi-faceted layers. 

Love is labyrinthine in its complexities and I have no want to de-construct its machinations here...I know only that love is many things to many people, each experience of it being as unique as the individual who suffers its residency...and with that in mind...I shall tell you a love story of my own.

I have known love...and love has known me...indeed, we are still hearty companions... but this tale of love I have to tell is not one of partnerships and's one of tenderness, tolerance, and sacrifice...and it revolves around an uncle of mine ...Tom.

In 1917 Tom was born into a loving family of no modest number, his being one of ten children. This would have been one of Tom's first encounters with love...that given to him by his parents and his siblings and eventually, the love he duly returned, as his own young life began to flower and mature.

It was during these early years that the first fractures in loves perfect presence began to appear, when two of Tom's small sisters were taken ill with Diphtheria and sadly died. Whilst love remained, at this time, it was edged in sadness and melancholia...thus Tom learnt the pain of loss. 

Aged sixteen, having left home, circumstance found Tom living in lodgings in London. There it was that he discovered another aspect of love...through his meeting the love of his life Netta and they were each inseparable...until, that is, the early death of his Father demanded Tom return home to help his Mother care for the large family.

More tragedy was to follow when an older brother was  later reported 'Missing Lost at Sea' whilst serving with the British Navy during WW11...leaving the household broken and bare but not irreparably could also heal.

Tom, however, had decisions to make regarding love. To stay with his Mother who, whilst putting no pressure upon him to stay, he knew would be hard pressed to manage without his return to Netta who, unable to accompany Tom herself, waited for him in London where she hoped they would eventually be settled and able to continue exploring every nuance of their love.


After much thought and as difficult as it had been, Tom decided he couldn't allow his own happiness to overshadow the needs of the family...and so, with great reluctance and great sadness, after explaining the situation, he said goodbye to Netta.

They stayed in touch for some time but eventually Netta married and, whilst they were still firm friends, their contact ultimately tapered away...and was sacrificed...for love. 

Tom never married, remaining at home with his Mother ( my grandmother ) who was to pass away years later...but long before she did...I came along. 

Yet another aspect of love was to be found here when, at the age of five, my parents divorced. For reasons I wont labour you with now I went to live with Gran and Uncle Tom...where each day was a new experience of selfless love. Gran was a huge and vital part in all of this but this tale is of Tom...and so it shall remain. 

Tom nurtured me through every juncture of my life. From infancy, to adolescence...all the way through to adulthood. He patched my grazed knees, he helped me with homework, he nursed me through sickness, he worried that I was reading and writing too much gory stuff, he made me laugh!

He taught me kindness and tenderness and much, much, more....but mostly...because of what he did and how he was...I learned of love. Yet you know the strangest thing? He never once told me he loved me...not once...but he didn't need doesn't always need a voice.

Time moves on and eventually Tom's health began to fail. He'd helped to nurse most of his family through sickness, having provided seamless, loving care for my grandmother during her final it was his turn to feel a new side of where he would be looked us...his family.

Now I am about to tell you of a thing which will never be removed from my memory...and it's a something that I will treasure always, as dramatic as that may involves three little words. You think you know what they are don't you?...You're mistaken...I'll explain.

Tom had been admitted to hospital. It was an occurrence that was becoming more frequent...and more worrying each time. His declining health and subsequent fragility meant that I had recently become his advocate whereby I looked after all of his affairs. Thankfully, this particular day Tom had recovered sufficiently enough as to be allowed to come home and so I'd happily gone to meet him. 

As I walked into the ward I saw Tom chatting to a nurse and I heard her say to him, without a hint of malice...'Tom, you must really trust your niece' which, through the most genuine, honest smile I've ever seen, he simply replied... 'Beyond All Others'...and in that moment I knew a love of such purity as to put any other in shadow.

Uncle Tom....a truly gentle man....

Sadly, not long after this, Uncle Tom's condition deteriorated and I recall standing by his bedside at the hospital one evening...carefully trying to squeeze a little taste of a fresh cherry upon his tongue...when suddenly, he took my hand in his and ever so gracefully, lifting it to his lips, placed a gentle little kiss upon the back of it.

I don't know where his mind had taken him at that moment...but I'd like to think that in his final hours...maybe it was Netta's hand he was holding...who knows?

What I do know is that whilst 'Love' is many things, as it manipulates and maneuvers our lives around it, we could not exist without it...unfortunately many have ceased to exist because of it! 

However, I was lucky in my life...I knew Tom.

©  Copyright Lynn Gerrard 

Saturday, 12 January 2013

A True Tale of a Spooky Peculiar Something...

Today I thought I'd share with you a true tale of a peculiar something that happened to me many years ago when I stayed at my MG's ...(Mother Gargoyle)... house overnight, after popping in for a quick visit earlier in the day. 

At that time I was expecting my first womb squatter...(or 'child' as some prefer to call them *shudder*)...and given circumstance had left me with no other plans that evening, I readily accepted my Mother's invitation to stay over. Not just 'cos she's a great cook but because she's good company too, lively, funny, crazy and a great cook...did I mention she's a great cook?

Anyway, outside the night was cold and miserable but inside, near the roaring fire, sitting with a steaming mug of hot chocolate between our hands me and my Mum were cosy...(though I never understood why we didn't each have a mug!). 

Gradually, as the evening wore on, the heat from the fire and the general ambience of snug began to take effect and soon we were ready for sleep. 

My Mum had offered me the spare room but in there there lurked a gargantuan chest freezer which held within its maw the remains of a cryonically suspended herd of cattle which she'd purchased from the local abattoir at a discount...and the motor had a strange hum to it that could easily be mistaken for muffled I declined. 

Mother then suggested I sleep in bed with her's the thing. We are each entitled to our own little foibles and I respect this, however, my Mother's foible was to sleep in a cat suit so she'd look presentable should someone break into the house! 

Yep! That's what she did, I jest ye not!

Don't misunderstand, she wasn't dressed as if she was auditioning for a part in a Batman was an all in one trouser suit thing, you know, the kind of outfit you'd expect if  Coco Chanel did Onesies.

With it she wore a headscarf to keep her hair neat AND upon her lips she wore a subtle shade of salmon pink lipstick ( smudge proof )!

Don't know about you but I've yet to see a crime report proclaiming 'Burglars outrage at facing unkempt female!...."We're scarred...we may never burgle again"...lamented Slasher Smith'...

Regardless, I simply couldn't face that sight so I very happily settled for the couch, falling instantly asleep.

In the early hours of the morning I was awakened by the pronounced chill in the air. The only illumination came from the window facing me through which, amidst a subtle glow, the moon cast silvery shadows around the room. Gradually I became aware of a slight movement by the couch near my feet. 

I squinted my eyes to make more sense of what I was seeing. 

With disbelief, I witnessed a twist of mist slowly forming from the floor towards the ceiling...narrow at the base and a shoulder span in width!

Silent, scentless...just there! I was absolutely frozen not with fear...with incredulity....FEAR came shortly after when the wispy shape of a  horses head started to nose its way out of the wall!!

Never have I moved as fast as I did that night...and as an ex dancer and school Games captain, ( back in the day ), ...that's saying something! 

Sprinting up the stairs, I charged into my Mother's bedroom....gasping for breath but still functioning enough to notice that she lay sleeping, perfectly centralised upon the bed, arms folded like some funereal sculpture...scarf neatly in suit unruffled...lipstick un-smudged.. 

"Mum" response.

"Mum"...still nothing.


"Uhh? Wa...whosat...wassup??"...unconsciously her hands were checking out her dress status for neatness...( just in case I was a burglar )...then mild panic entered her voice as sleep began to melt away...

"Lynn! You ok?"

"Mum...there's a horse in the living room"


"There's a HORSE in the living room!"..I repeated, aware of how mad this must sound...but not really caring!

"Oh right"..she said, in the same casually accepting tone she used when the local shop was out of bread...."I'll get the torch"

Now then...I was so relieved to get any reaction from her it didn't cross my mind to question why we would need a torch. It was an average sized two bedroomed house...with electricity...and if a horse was lurking in there...we'd know!

But downstairs we went...Mother in Ninja mode...torch in hunting.

It wasn't there, quelle surprise, but still Mother continued to check every nook and cranny of the place as calmly and as casually as you would search for misplaced reading fact she'd be more frantic had that been the case! 

Well, I wasn't going to risk another visitation by the ghost of Mister Ed...( any child of the late 50's 60's will know what I'm talking about here) I succumbed to Mothers suggestion and climbed into bed with her...resplendent, as she was, in her burglar friendly attire. 

The rest of the night remained uneventful, apart from the contented snores of Mother who had resumed the rigid, centralised position of her perfectly neat and tidy slumbers. 

The following morning, as I enjoyed a breakfast of pickled red cabbage on toast, ( it was a craving thing ), we went over the nights events. Without a doubt I had seen what I had seen, the twirling smoky mist and the wispy horses head coming through the wall. 
I knew the houses in the area had been built post World War 2, having been fields prior to that but I didn't know much else of the area's history, so I remained without answers.

Mother insisted that whilst she believed me she'd never had any such experience in the house but then she'd never spent a night on the couch. She couldn't provide answers either but she did offer to investigate further by asking 'Maureen'. 

"Who's Maureen?" ask...So did I! 

"Maureen from next door... there's a good chance she'll know what it was all about"

I perked at this information, thinking that Maureen must be some kind of psychic or at least have further historical knowledge of the area. I couldn't wait to find out more!

"It makes sense really"...continued Mother.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, if the head was sticking out of my wall...then the other end must have been sticking out of Maureen's wall!"

I never did get to the bottom of it all. All Mother said was that nothing came of her asking Maureen other than she'd stopped popping round for a coffee and tended to avoid eye contact in the street. 

Maybe if I'd spent another night there I'd have been able to find out...straight from the horses mouth...who knows?

©  Copyright Lynn Gerrard