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Otherwise my novels, short stories, verse, family, music, memories, vulgar interests, detestations,
responses, apologies. I hold posts to 300 words* having found less is better than more.
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* One exception: short stories.

Sunday, 21 October 2012

Let's try pansies instead

Mrs RR said, “We must get some wallflowers next week.”

And I sang,

Wallflowers, wallflowers growing up so high,
We are (pretty maidens?) and we are going to die.
Except for XXX XXX, she’s the youngest here,
Turn for shame, turn for shame,
Turn your face to wall again

Directly out of the vaults of memory but what made this different was the length of time since it was last referenced: almost seventy years. And I can be sure of that because of that second line. I was so young that almost any mention of death terrified me; in this case future death is admitted by the singers in the song. They appear prepared to consider their own deaths. For me at eight or nine death was an image: lying in an open grave, able to see anonymous crowds walking by, no one caring that I had died. No one caring.

There are some advantages to getting older.

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