Open the Door and Peep in

Open the Door and Peep in. First attempt. Year 2007.

Now what can I tell you, maybe something that you might like to hear about.

And the years after it ended in 1945..

Now what kind of a story can I tell you I could tell you many things, I can tell you stories that can make you laugh and stories that can maybe make you cry and also stories which you could like to hear about.

 I have tried to remember as far back as possible and found it very difficult to remember very much at all about when I was a very young child so because of that I have decided, I think I may as well begin here.

 When I was a small child I vaguely remember being pushed around in a high black pram, I could have been about two years old at that time.

The next thing I remember is playing in a garden a rather nice garden, now by that time I was about seven or eight years old and growing up, as they say.

10/3.08

What I now would like is to have something published.

Just listen to me wishing for the moon.

One of my lovely children bought me this book for Christmas.

"How to get a story published."

Well I have to admit to my readers that what you have just read is only the beginning, a very small part of my life.

I have just touched upon it, this story of which I have begun to write and of which there is so much to tell.

I have taken a small part of it as a short journal.

Hopefully you might like what I have written and you may like to read more about my growing up years and of my

 live here there and every where.

I have now begun to write other stories about this and that.

However I must get on with this one before I get too old for the next.

Open the Door.and peep in.

Well here I am.

 I fancy myself as a writer and why not and as I usually have plenty to say, "I should have plenty to write about."

However as I have never played this writing game before apart from at school, which was a long time ago, 1937, until about 1948.

Therefore I soon began asking myself was I being rather pompous, was this a rather silly idea, and most of all was I expecting too much of myself with this new idea of playing,

The writing game, now however I have no regrets at all.

I have enjoyed writing my memoires although at times I felt so sad and shed quite a few tears from time to time but isnt that all part of our life

and maybe what God gave us our memory for.

Looking back are they not all part of the show, and part of this game we play, the good, and the not so good, and so sad times.

I soon realised had set myself quite a task, but not to be daunted I decided there and then that I just had to have a go, as they say, so off I went on this journey of

Writer and story teller.

As I travelled along I quite began to enjoy myself and thought my goodness I must have been born to this, clever girl that I am.

 While at school which had been so many years ago, and living in a small village situated on the Northeast coast of Great Britain where the wind blows fiece and strong and the huge waves roll into the harbour near where I live.

I had been an average pupil, from an average family, I think I was lucky coming from an average family there were not that many average families in those days less than one might like to admit to and yes, I think I was lucky.

There were many poor familys in those times which many do not like admit to.

Is  it all in the luck of the draw, do you think.

I was born in the 1930s not long before the "Second World War, broke out.

 I knew that what I must write about had to be something of which I was familier, at least for my very first attempt that is so now I had to decide of what I would write, in my head were a million things, however I needed only one to begin with.

I decided I would write about me, my family, all the people I knew and could remember when I was a child.