At three years and nearly eight months old Freya definitely seems to have climbed aboard the rollercoaster taking her from being a toddler to a child – and what a wild ride it is. Sometimes she seems so grown-up, especially when she’s in her school uniform, racing into nursery without a backward glance. I always… Continue reading Freya, Freya, Quite Contrary (Why Didn’t I Name Her Mary?).
Keep looking for the helpers.
It is usually when things are at their worst that I need to write the most. At the moment, though, with all the awfulness going on in the world, I haven’t known what to say – and, rightly or wrongly, I took a step back, retreated into work and fiction where it feels safe and… Continue reading Keep looking for the helpers.
Tales from an East Anglian Childhood: Edith Cavell.
"Her name liveth for evermore," reads the inscription on nurse Edith Cavell's grave at Norwich Cathedral but sadly over the years her name, together with her bravery and the sacrifice she made, has faded from the public eye, as so often happens with the passing of time. It is the 100th anniversary of her execution during the First World… Continue reading Tales from an East Anglian Childhood: Edith Cavell.
The Little Things Make A Big Difference.
Unsolicited advice, usually offered at The.Worst.Time.Possible, seems to be a fact of life when you have a child but so too, I’ve found anyway, is something else that we perhaps take less notice of... kindness. I see it in the little things; the way that random people return Freya’s smile or respond to her wave… Continue reading The Little Things Make A Big Difference.