Where I’m from
February 14, 2015
I am from home-made school uniform, from a class of four and lots of attention. From a bed full of toys and hours spent dancing. From days on my bike and jumping down sand dunes.
I am from a slate-fronted home tucked away by the towans where the whisper of the sea can be heard and children’s laughter echoes down the lane.
I am from gorse bushes and brambles, marram grass and bluebells.
I am from lime and lemonade and a packet of peanuts shared with my sister over-looking the sea. From hours with my brother in tutus and dresses.
I am from a fondness for sweet treats, a sweetshop and home-baking.
I am from Andrews and Trevillions, by way of Detroit. From generations of Cornish and from siblings in Australia.
I am from the fear of failure and the importance of education. From a home filled with books and beautifully penned letters from my father at sea.
From ‘you’ll have worse than that afore ‘e die’ and ‘ah, gusson with ‘e’. From ‘do what you’re told, when you’re told and not when you feel like it’ and ‘do as I say, not as I do’.
I am from an old parish church dating back to the 5th century, from congregations on a Sunday where I tried on my mother’s rings and searched my father’s pockets for Polos. I am from a winter spent bell-ringing and the close proximity of granite graveyards surrounding by blocks of slag.
I am from the Kernow of old; home-made pasties, Lancia tart, honeycomb mould and clotted cream with everything.
From the cosy aga in Grandma’s kitchen, from watching her kneading saffron buns and hevva cake. From the baritone of my grandfather singing in the bathroom. From the smell of my Grandpa’s pipe and my Grandma’s traditional tea set.
I am from the centre of a column of graduation photographs and the middle of a proud display of eight grandchildren. From a home far from here but always in my heart.
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