This Old Biddy

This Old Biddy

by

IRENE CONSTANTINE

AuthorHouse™ UK Ltd.

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© 2014 Irene Constantine. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 01/03/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4918-8971-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-8970-1 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-8972-5 (e)

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Contents

Old Biddy

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Chapter 70

Chapter 71

Chapter 72

Chapter 73

Chapter 74

Chapter 75

Chapter 76

Chapter 77

Chapter 78

Chapter 79

Chapter 80

Chapter 81

Chapter 82

Chapter 83

Chapter 84

Chapter 85

Chapter 86

Chapter 87

Chapter 88

Chapter 89

Chapter 90

Chapter 91

Chapter 92

Chapter 93

Chapter 94

Chapter 95

Chapter 96

Chapter 97

Chapter 98

Chapter 99

Chapter 100

Chapter 101

Chapter 102

Chapter 103

Chapter 104

Chapter 105

Chapter 106

Chapter 107

For

Catherine Ann and James

Old Biddy

I’m an ancient maiden aunty. Past her sell by date. This old thing is no longer a chicken. She’s flapped her wings, for the last time. Biddy is definitely a boiler. It’s a quiet life, these days, but rewarding in many ways. Read on, but only if you want to, no force will be used. I hate force, persuasion, is much better, enjoyable even. ‘Chicken,’ which is often used as an endearment, is what the word means. It’s from the Irish name, Bridget. I do have a wee dram of celtic, blood, but it’s Scottish, Campbell.

This is the first chapter, so I’ll jump about a bit, and later on the script will be more orderly, I hope.

I’m a pest, always have been, since I was in my mother’s womb. I was untimely ripped from my mother’s womb Shakespeares words, not mine, spoken by Macbeth. It was a forceps delivery. I still have a dint in my forhead.

How does this old biddy manage to use a computer, you wonder. Well sit down, comfortably, and I will tell you. ‘Age-concern’, a national organisation, arranged for members to go to ‘the village well’ (not the one, pussy fell down) a room next to the doctor’s surgery. There we had five free lessons on the computer. A teacher from ‘craven college in Skipton, trained us. That well is no longer there. Dried up, no money. This task accomplished success fully, I bought a computer. My nephew James, set it up for me. Then later in my 70’s I went to ‘Settle college’ (once my old school) Settle girls high School. Here I learnt desktop publishing. Now I have printed my own poetry book. I didn’t think when I left school at seventeen. I would one day come back, as an old biddy. Many years before that I came back to take a typing course in the original school before it was extended, and became a comprehensive school. The desks were till there. We were in one of the classrooms. I had a wander round. The first time I had ever seen it so empty. It was in the mid 1950’s when the new wing was built on the hillside. I was invited back (an honour for just a few of us) before the foundation stone was laid for the new school. Closure.

All you need initionally for writing, is a pen or pencil, and a piece of paper. Any venue, any time. I have been known to scribble in church, when a thought came into my head. My immortal soul is probably damaged. Please forgive me, it’s only a small sin. Finally I will be busy With my computer putting it all together, and printing it out. That will be a mammoth job. But bit by bit I will do it. God willing.

Chapter 2

One cannot just sit still. and wait for death, can one? Legs are not so strong as they were, arthritis. Stamina is at a low ebb at times. I like a nap, after lunch. But at the present time, I have one eye open, on the weather. It is not a pretty sight. Washing is drying, on the clothes line. It likes fresh air. Today is pleasant, sometimes, even sunny, but rain is lurking in the distance. I haven’t many emails today, and I didn’t look on facebook. It’s for young people gossiping to their friends, enjoyable but time consuming. When I get my new computer it will be left behind. It’s definitely not coming with me. This is only the second chapter, so I’m still jumping about a bit. Later on it will be more orderly, I hope, but I can’t guarantee it.

In my lifetime, I’ve done a lot of different things, helping other people of all ages. I’ve had trainings for some of these, voluntary jobs, which I’ve enjoyed, I’ve also seen quite quite a few different cultures, and scenery on holidays. Many happy memories there. However, now it’s my time. I can please myself, as far as the law allows.

I love to write. It’s my special hobby. I’m the past, living in the present. Today is the only time, that matters. The moment in time, which touches eternity, pauses, and then is gone forever.

Recently, I went on a trip, to Bowness, and Ambleside. I strolled along, beside the lake, in bowness, enjoying the scenery, birds, boats, and people, lots of families with small children. There’s our future, our treasure. Our beautiful, island home, will survive. It’s difficult, at the moment, economy wise. It has to improve, it will. It’ the 30th of may, bank holiday Monday, a wet month, now on it’s way out. I’m enjoying the green, green, fields, after all the nourishment. The trees are still green in their summer dresses. In June they begin to dry out, and then later in autumn, we’ll see the twigs, skeletons, as it were. I love to see the trees silhouetted, against the fiery sunsets, we get, at this time of year.

I love my home, on windy ridge, my name for it. Once almshouses, now rented to senior citizens(still registered as almshouses officially) but those days are long gone, in my village anyhow. Here we are, old biddies, on the last mile home. There are seven dwellings, terraced, six flats, and one house, in the middle, mine. It’s lovely. I’ve painted murals on some of the magnolia walls. I’m queen bee. This house was once a church, converted in 1982. The upstairs sitting room, is extended onto pillars giving panoramic views, across this lovely yorkshire dale, the best scenery, in the country, tha knaws. I’m predjudiced,

It’s almost eleven, time for coffee, and a bite of summat, to eat. We old biddies are well looked after. The s.c.a.d mini-bus, and age-concern mini bus take us on trips round the countryside for a small fee. Plus once a month s.c.a.d takes us to the supermarket to buy food. Door to door service for these trips.I call the s.c.a.d.bus, skipton charity for ancient delinquents, don’t tell them. It’s really skipton, and craven action for disability—sharing, and caring. Every Friday it takes me, and other members to age-concern Hellifield for lunch, and, entertainment, My talent is for comedy, laughter is the best medicine, especially around christmas Take buttercup syrup or a large gin as well. Both if you like, but not at the same time.

Chapter 3

My brain has just had a long rest. It’s been stressed, and I was drained. It was hard work, mentally, arranging my entry into BT broadband. I’ve had a good service from ‘wanadoo’ for a while now. However, broadband have a good offer on now, my reward they say for being a good customer. There was a lot of information for me to write down. I get three months free use of broadband. Then I pay £15.99 per month, which will soon go up 5op. This will be by direct debit. My telephone bill will also be monthly, by direct debit. Not daft BT, apologies. This obliges me to use this service for 18months. Then a renewal I expect, or more instructions. The last step taken by me was to contact my bank. That was quick, and painless. I caught the bus to settle, 4miles away, taking my last bank statement. The clerk put the relevant information into the computer. My new computer, screen, printer etc is waiting downstairs, until the hub is delivered by royal mail, in about one week. Information goes through hub to the telephone power point. I’m learning a lot in my old age. The next stage will be completed by my nephew James. When he has time.

Tomorrow, I’m going to Morecambe, and, Lancaster, with SCAD.

Today the ash tree, at the entrance to our private road, was lopped. It’s on railway property. I rang network rail, to get this service done, and they were here three days later.The very low branches have been removed, and the tree is healthy, which is nice to know. Now no more high vehicles will get scratched.

Over the past few years, I’ve had some unusual experiences. Not all of them in hospital, and, not all morphine induced. On one occasion my friend and I went to Saint Anne’s for the day. It was a pleasant day, a little rain. I get messages in my sleep occasionally. On this night I got one. This one stood out. A tooth needed attention. In my dream I rang for the dentist. He came, and removed the tooth. When I awakened in the morning, I felt a space in my mouth. Oh heck I thought, a tooth must have broken off the plate(false teeth tha knaws), not for the first time. But it hadn’t. It was the last capped tooth, which had left me. Well I’m alive. I haven’t swallowed it, or I would have choked. It must be in bed. It wasn’t Well the dentist must have taken it He hadn’t, eventually, I found it, under the pillow. Curiouser, and curiouser. What old biddy would like to know is. How did that tooth, flesh of her flesh, and bone of her bone, know about the tooth fairy?

Today it’s Sunday, and James is coming to set up my computer. Oh no he isn’t I get a phone call, he’ll come on Monday night, which he does.

The computer matches the digital television. They guard opposite corners, of my sitting room. Both have black screens, when switched off, Television is close to new gas fire. Computer is close to windows, in between two of them I hope I live long enough to enjoy these new things, and also to finish writing and printing this book. I’ve got the beginning, and the end, and the middle is coming along nicely. The computer also shows dvd’s. I have a few, competition with my cd’s. James has had another visit to program my computer to show dvd’s. Now it’s simple enough for old biddies to use. Now I’m completely relaxed. Grey cells have settled down, after jumping about again. See you later biddy says. It’s one of the in statements, at the moment. When at the end of pcc meetings the vicar used to say see you later I was tempted to say, what time but never did. I am discreet occasionally. Oh yes I am. I do hate the favourite adjective of the moment—amazing. The other adjectives hate it as well. They are jealous. What’s wrong with astonishing, exquisite, uplifting etc.

Chapter 4

James has replaced my electric light bulb, with a long life one. Old biddies aren’t safe standing on stools. If they fall off, brittle bones might break, snap, no crackle, and pop, no treat. Come to think of it, a ride to hospital in the ambulance, makes a change, and hospital staff, and doctors, and nurses are kind. We are a liability at times. Thanks to all you kind people out there.xxx. The new bulb is pretty, with four dangling fingers, and it gives a better light than it’s predecessor.

I’m going down to the post office today, to get some money with my Barclay connect card. Getting money from the post office, reminds me of an incident a few years since, when we had pension books for this service. On this occasion I was child minding in skipton, with my youngest charge. I got some money from the post office there, and he wanted to go every day after that. Thought there was an endless supply of money there.

My home on a hill is on the edge of the village, so it’s quite a walk down the hill, and up the next hill to the village.The same coming back down one hill, and up the other, I call my area windy ridge, and it is today. These houses, once almshouses (still are officially) are now rented out. The hospital of James Knowles, a charity. They were originally built in 1613, benefactor James Knowles, a manufacturer. They are let out to senior citizens. I musn’t call them old biddies, they wouldn’t like it. I do.

Our post office is the life blood of the village. It’s in the village stores. My papers are delivered from here. I buy my lottery ticket here. They are agents for a dry cleaning service. Medication is left here to be collected by patients. There is a café. You can buy sandwiches to take out. Bacon butties are popular with workmen in the area. Books are donated, and for a contribution you can take one or more. Money towards Christmas lights, They are beautifully arranged from tree to tree on the maypole green. Some small strings twinkle from amongts the trees on Kayley Hill. One of my hills. Bless you little lights, I love you.

I can’t carry a lot of heavy shopping from the village, and I don’t drive, so I shop on line at a supermarket, and have monthly trips to another supermarket, in the SCAD mini-bus. Whose a lucky old biddy then? Me me me. There’s a few of us in the SCAD bus. This trip is organised by a member of age-concern Hellifield, of which I’m a member. Hellifield is only a mile or so from my village. I can see the houses from my upstairs sitting room window. I like wandering round this supermarket, no cars there, just slow moving trolleys.

I’m a dreamer. I like wandering about, especially at the seaside. Last week I went to Morecambe. I walked slowly across the road, arriving safely, on the other side. From behind me came a gentle voice, Darling. I turned round. A car had stopped. A young man was looking out, at me. You’ll get killed, if you wander about like that, I’ve heeded his warning. Thanks young man. I hope you read this someday.

I’ve certainly jumped about a bit. Shortly I’ll be going to another chapter. How shall I start, at the beginning of a new day, fresh, rested. Yes that’s what I’ll do, and I’ll be writing about another subject, at this moment I don’t know what that will be, but I have so many memories, something will spring to mind. I’m just waffling on a bit, because I haven’t quite reached where I want to be on this sheet. It willhave to do, methinks, cos I’m getting tired.

Chapter 5

It’s Wednesday, 22nd September. I enjoyed Pope Benedict’s papal visit. He’s here in my country, for the beatification of John Henry Newman, scholar, poet, writer. For many years an Anglican. He became a catholic, and eventually a cardinal. The pope was welcomed by our queen, in Holyrood Palace, Edinburgh. Gifts were exchanged. I didn’t want the pope to visit because of recent scandal, about child abuse, by catholic priests, to young boys, in their charge. This disgusting behaviour, has been hushed up, for many years. The pope knew about it when he was a cardinal. I’m not a catholic, but was pleased to see how well he was received, by lots of young people, mostly. Pilgrims, they were called. Pope Benedict smiled a lot. I hope he enjoyed his visit.

I have been into Vatican City, in my second favourite capital—Rome. The Sistine chapel is the most moving building I have ever been in, because of Michaelangelo’s Paintings. There’s the last judgement on one wall, and, best of all the exquisite ceiling.

I was having a weeks holiday on a coach tour, visiting Italy’s important cities. Florence was off the itinary, because of floods the previous year 1996. We flew from Southend to Milan, where we were picked up by our coach. We were to visit the coliseum (saw it at night) but I said to the courier. I want to see the Sistine chapel, and Saint Peter’s. You’ll get lost she said. Saint Peter’s square will be crowded. No I won’t, and a thing of beauty is a joy for ever, the coliseum is a thing of horror. My name is Constantine, like the first Christian emperor. I belong in Saint Peter’s. The long siesta’s shorten visiting times, but I managed to go inside Saint Peter’s. La Pieta sculpted by Michael Angelo, was a thing of beauty. It’s since been smashed by an idiot with a hammer. I expect repair work was done. It was a grown up Jesus, laying across the Madonna’s knee. That was a lovely holiday. I saw a lot of interesting cities, buildings, and beautiful works of art. That was also my first flight. On the way out, I had two take offs, and two landings. I will explain. After we had been flying for about an hour. I said to my neighbour This plane is going back, it’s banking. The pilot came in to tell us, not to worry, nothing was wrong. There was no panic. We landed back in Southend, refuelled, and took off again. We never found out what was wrong. We landed in Milan, about two in the morning. It was very very hot, my first experience of continental heat. I never wore make up on that holiday. It melted away. Neither did I wear nail varnish, It gave up the ghost in the bottle, curdled. I’d seen Venice, Naples, Assisi, and lots of