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Glass Mountain Writers - Liz Barton
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Liz Barton has belonged to writers' groups and attended workshops most of her adult life which she says 'has been both a therapeutic journey and self-indulgence'. The range of her writing includes newspaper articles, short stories, plays, poems and songs. She has read her work on BBC Radio and at various festivals, including Off the Shelf.
With fellow members of the Glass Mountain Writers she performed one of her songs at the Beighton Festival. She also 'accidently appeared' on TV, whilst taking part in a Ray Hearn workshop about writing songs on the theme, My Yorkshire.
Childhood myths
Mummy now I’m older please tell me
Where all babies come from
Do you know what they will be?
Hush my little darling it’s a mystery
Elves and Fairies hide them
Safely, beneath a gooseberry tree.
What cruel, sadistic mind conceived
This strange perverted tale,
That little children grow up knowing
The magic of a newborn child.
Mummy now I’m older please tell me
Where do all the fairies live?
I want to ask them for a wish.
Hush my little darling creep, secretly,
Down the garden to the old oak tree.
But, remember, use the wish wisely.
What cruel, sadistic mind conceived
This strange perverted tale,
That little children waste time thinking,
Dreaming of that wondrous wish.
Mummy now I’m older please tell me
Why do fairies want my teeth?
I want to keep them please.
Hush my little darling listen to me
They build fences round their homes
So you will know what you see.
What cruel, sadistic mind conceived
This strange perverted tale,
So children search for fairy homes,
Imagine wondrous magic times.
Now that I’m older I know I’ll be
A teller of fairy tales,
Childhood myths and mysteries,
To stimulate imagination,
Wonderment and joyful play.
Magic woven into life
For children of every age.
Feely food
“Come on now, wake up. Come on, come on we haven’t got all day.” The strident tones hammer on the anvil but the brain is not responding. An iron hand grips my arm urgently shaking, “come on dear, time to go.” My head swims, the sound of returning consciousness thunders in my ears to be overtaken by the clatter of metallic instruments. Instruments one never catches sight of but, their ominous weight of sound brings fear and loathing, pressing you down into that chair of torture.
“Come on, child, rinse and spit.” A plastic beaker is pushed into my trembling hand and the water swills round and round and round echoing the swirl inside my head. Rudely I’m pulled to my feet but my cotton wool legs are not performing as they should and I’m dragged outside to the waiting arms of my mother.
“Sit there,” mother commands and I hear her talking to the receptionist.
“She’ll be fine. Let her have some ice cream and nothing hot for the rest of the day.”
“Ice cream,” now you’re talking swims into my mind, but my mouth has a strange metallic taste and when my tongue finds the gap it is repulsed by the soft jelly-like resistance where once had been a sharp rock of white.
Mother, always one to follow instructions to the letter, walks me straight to the corner shop and asks for a small cornet. “There, aren’t you a lucky girl,” she burbles, smiling in a way that does not touch her eyes. “All over now, and I’ve got some jelly for your tea.”
I lick the ice cream and leave a stripe of red. The cold, wetness slithers over my tongue but no sense of pleasure follows the first swallow just that metallic taste assaulting my senses until I can smell it, drown in its nausea and hear its pounding invasion of my body.
That first experience has robbed me of a lifetime of pleasure. So many times I have been seduced, by the warm ambience of good food and company, into accepting desert. How stupid will I never learn! The cold spoon with its icy treasure touches my tongue, God knows how the mechanism works, but my head begins to spin and that roar of impending unconsciousness pounds towards me. A quick sip of wine halts the full disaster but the pallor of my being can stop all conversation.
Life
Alone in the maelstrom
Of life’s busy crowd
Calling for someone
To reach out.
You tell me I’m cheerful, happy and bright
You hear not the splash
From the tears of my heart
Alone in the silence
Life thunders and roars
Unheeded the splash
In an ocean of tears.
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