9th March 2023 • The HERALD • Page 77 v THE NEXT HERALD IS OUT ON 30TH MARCH v PART TIME SCHOOL RUN DRIVERS REQUIRED We are currently looking for new drivers to fill rewarding, part time roles in our busy, family run business. We specialise in transporting disabled and vulnerable children and young adults with a range of special needs to school’s across Hampshire. All applicants must be physically fit, 100% reliable and punctual with a pleasant attitude towards others. A New Forest District Council Private Hire License would be an advantage, however, we can help you obtain this. In return we offer good rates of pay and a reliable and well maintained company vehicle. Our working days are Monday-Friday and approximately 17-20 hours per week during term times. These positions may suit retired or semi-retired persons but all applicants are welcome. To enquire in the first instance, please email: schooltransportsouthampton@gmail.com HERALD RECRUI TMENT Poets Corner Dunblane Angels by Jim Dolber On the 13th of March 1996 15 young infants and their teacher were killed in Dunblane in Scotland, it will be 27 years on the 13th of March this year. They would now have been in their early thirties now with children of their own. I wrote this poem at the time. From the news at ten it’s sad to say, Of the tragic deaths in Dunblane today. A gunman entered a nearby school, And le young infants in a bloody pool. e sixteen wee bairns so young and sweet, Are no longer walking down the street. e playground’s silent there is no more laughter, As the little ones go to their herea er. ere will be no more skipping in the gym, Or to the hydro to splash and swim. Candles and owers their silent tribute pay, As families try to get through each day. So many memories of their short span, Of their rst step, could walk, then ran. eir rst drawing pinned on the wall, e little coat hung in the hall. ey say that time will heal as days go by, But no one can give a reason why. ese angels so sweet and young in years, Will never realise their hopes and fears. We can only guess at the families pain, At not seeing their young innocence again. Little angels please watch over me, Whilst I shed my tears of inadequacy. Love Falls like Rain from a Summer Shower by Jeane Balcombe I am drenched with love. But how can this be when you whom I love I cannot see? We met online – you’re far away. We cannot meet in the normal way. Instead we talk as hours fly by About our lives, our loves, and why We’re both alone in Covid Time But finding love on the telephone line. This love that grows and is so fine It holds us tight through an optic line. Love like the grass in city streets That creeps through cracks and seeks the sun And pushes up into the light Where crowds once made the city strum. Yet is this love when all that I know Is your voice and your tales of your life long ago? We are both old: we are not young. We’ve lived our lives. We’ve played in the sun. And now I pray we will survive This virus that has changed our lives. And so love grows across the miles And though I cannot see your smiles I hear them in your voice each day And sometime soon when it is safe I’ll find a map and pack my case And take the road, the long west way And go to you, and ask to stay. ©Jeane Balcombe, June 2020 Cheer Up Cheer Up ese bad days don’t last forever en back to the bingo - fat ladies forever ‘Chin Waggers’ on Wednesdays For more bingo and chat ‘Kurling’ for George with a lady called Pat ‘Sing along’ on Mondays, with food to delight With everybody happy with their moods quite bright THINGS TO COME by George Jenkins A group of “Oldies” met for afternoon tea Cucumber sandwiches with a tad of Brie Soon the conversation lapsed into the past Memories of “The Good Old Days” came thick and fast Hand me down clothes and hand me down shoes Unless one’s feet were too big to fit those used Tin baths in front of the fire, a weekly event Cleanest in first, lastly the grubbiest went To keep those regular trots to the loo A dose of Syrup of Figs, maybe even two! The privy down the garden stood rather stark No joke to make a visit when cold and dark! Imagine the fright when one memory was told Of a visit to the privy in the dark and cold Went to sit on the seat, but twas on to the lap Of the local tramp having his nightly nap! Gas masks, sirens, evacuation from home Pushed under the table when the sirens did groan Very little fruit and no sweets at all But here we are now, having survived it all!! DAYS GONE BY! by Dorothy Lockyer The New Forest Girl by Don Campbell Trunk-deep in winter’s ancient miracle New Forest lies, glazed into shapeless ways of turning sleets, all white, and over all held high, the cutlass of its frozen days. Cold that could lock all other time in one deep, silent text of history is there, and you have breathed it as the sudden sun sharded its glory on the dazzled air, were made one tree, one eld, one hidden town, one fragment of its union with the years, all that was lived in it, all dreams gone down to sunlight shining on its winter spears, whose silence cries for you, whose living hand touches you here in this unlikely land. Copyright Don Campbell, 1977 PUTTY IN MY HANDS by Isobel Smith Have your danced a Gay Gordons with a hyperactive drunk? Well, I have and I loved it, though it took a lot of spunk As he charged across the oor I knew for sure, his aims was me! He swept me up with both his hands, with speed you rarely see Now, the trouble was, he didn’t know, Had never done this dance So I could shove and twist him round.. like putty in my hands. We whirled around, we galloped, And we shot thought all the gaps. His exhilaration zinging, much more fun than sober chaps But the bests bit of this glorious drunk, that other did not see Was that his wife could take him home… He didn’t belong to me!
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