MY WEEK BY FRANCIS GAY
Gran’s gold locket I wear with pride, Both grandparents’ photos inside, Grandpa, whom I never knew, Fell in the Great War, aged 22, These dear people, no longer apart, Are always kept close to heart. With thanks we remember on Armistice Day, Those who gave their life, and the great price they did pay.
We both looked along the road to where three police vehicles had half-blocked the road after a drunken altercation. It was a bleak view.
“It’s just typical of this town,” he said. “What you gonna do?”
But behind me was the church I had just left where a hall full of children from the local community (many with no other connection to the church) were dressed as their favourite Disney characters and having a great time at a singalong. Volunteers were painting faces and making balloon animals.
All for free.
The man must have heard the singing and the laughter, but he chose to identify his town by the fight rather than the fun.
By the trouble-makers rather than the good hearts.
“What you gonna do?” he had asked. Well, as for me...I got in the car, put a Disney CD on, and kept singing!
When the foodbanks collect goods at supermarkets, they give out leaflets telling people what groceries are most needed.
George is used to people being supportive, so he wasn’t expecting the shop manager to give him a hard time. It seems he wasn’t happy that people were dropping leaflets in the car park and making the place look untidy.
George was at a loss for what to say – for a moment!
Then a man who had overheard the conversation said, “I’m not brave enough to stand here collecting like you people do. But I can pick up litter. Tell me where you’re going to be next, and I’ll be there. Now… I’ll get picking up!”
“I’m convinced,” George told me afterwards, “that we are surrounded by helpers. All we need to do is find the right way to make it possible for them.”
I happened to be standing with friends and their two granddaughters at an organised fireworks display the other evening.
The older girl, four-year-old Alicia, had been given ear-defenders by her parents. The two-year-old, Tammi, had no such assistance. Instead she leaned into her grandad’s chest as much as she could with her fingers in her ears.
A little while into the display Alicia turned and gave her ear-defenders to her cousin. Thereafter, little Tammi enjoyed the show so much more.
“That was so kind of you,” I said afterwards.
“Weren’t you bothered by the noise?”
“Yes, I was,” she said. Then she explained what I hadn’t noticed in the dark.
“But I just got Gran to hold my ears.”
Gran’s hands. Surely, the ultimate defenders in any scary situation for a child.
David’s a big guy. Bald. He won’t mind me saying he carries a little extra weight.
He just doesn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea. He met his neighbour’s nieces recently. Two teenagers and a girl of about 10.
His neighbour – for whom he has done the occasional good turn – introduced him. She didn’t use his name, she just said, “This is my guardian angel.”
When the girls looked askance, she said, “No. Really.”
That’s when one of the teenagers leaned closer to the youngest girl and whispered, “See! I told you they existed.”
David laughed at the thought as he told me about it.
“I wouldn’t want the girls getting the wrong idea of angels,” he said.
I’m sure they didn’t. I have met a few, and they come in all shapes and sizes.