Phyllis Blue
S. Wales, UK
Phyllis BlueS. Wales, UK |
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Born March 2nd 1930 at grandparents home in a happy village called Bedday (meaning graves). Father ,William Courtney, was a master sign writer. We were six children: Dennis, Gellyn, Phyllis, Franky, Howard and Pauline. Life was humble but so happy. I was educated at the village schools. I left at fourteen and went to work as an upstairs maid. I returned to Wales to wed Haydn blue and had four good children: Heather, Robert, Teresa and Norman. I now have grandchildren: Andrew, Mark, Sharifa, Lean, and Nisa. Followed by a great-grandson, Joshua. My husband enjoys his garden and allotments. I sing in Pen-y-Bont (meaning bridgend) Ladies Choir. I enjoy religion and like to write true facts of friends lives. I believe that prayer can heal. |
GypsyGypsy Rose Lee and husband Jack, both of Romany RaceLive with infant son Joseph on the meadow green, Their fairy tale caravan any picture would proudly grace. Spotless caravan all alone on daisy meadow stood, Pie ball horses graze on the sunny hills. A bubbling brook runs through bird singing wood. No stranger ever allowed to enter caravan of long ago. Red door forever open, to show table with white lace cover Brass shine like gold as to catch the sun light glow. The gypsy family work and live in one large tent, Sharp knives chip tree wood, make pretty stick flowers and pegs, Family work in contentment until close of sun light sent. Gypsy Rose Lee, a strong dark handsome woman, great willpower to own Put all colourfull flowers and pegs into very large basket With infant son walk to valley where love and friendship and known. On each visit to friends, large pot of tea soon made Ah / tea cups to drain, swirl three times, make a wish, Cross Gypsy's palm with silver, tell of fortunes paid. Those gypsy green eyes look deep into cup for its story, Still is the silence, strong stern dark face look up, Signs in cup spill out tears to happiness, weddings, sorrow bring glory Stern face speak of dark man "Beware he be not what he seem, Journey across water where mountains meet the sea, In walk of life, cross of seven'th path, will find the dream. Telling of fortunes over, there are frowns and smile Gypsy rose relax, light up her old smoke'ing pipe Green eyes stare into danc'ing fire flames, another story to file. Gypsy Rose Lee love the mountains, the hills, and meadow green Husband Jack suddenly pass away to live in higher fields Fairy tale caravan die with him, no more to be seen. Valley people sing in prayer for their Gypsy friend, Old stone cottage that stand alone near daisy meadow Become Gypsy Rose Lee's home, for her sad heart to mend. All to soon little Joseph's fourteen, and off to work must go. Pit had and boots all heavy, bag with Tommy box and water jack, slung on back. Down the dark coal pit go five foot little Joe. Pit hooter call day shift over, Gage bring up the tired miners, Faces all smiling and black, all just dying for a fag, As they walk the mile ash path home, there is joyful singing of Carolina. Soon to reach village, old men stand outside pubs closed doorway Little Joe goes up to one wide old man and in earnest voice declare, "Please sir I do not want to be a Gypsy anymore after today." The kind snow white hair and smile and to little Joe reply. "My son this is your true birth right, your fate, your destiny, From across the eastern sea's came your family with knowledge from high. The seed took firm root in young Joe's heart to stay Young shoots became ever green branches That in prayer give thanks to heaven for this bright new day. Today six foot, dark and handsome Joe stand outside pub of closed door Proud of his gypsy birth right he is often heard to say Proud of my inner sight giving me faith and hope for evermore. |