Confessions of an Author

The Sword Pierced Heart  The Sword Pierced Heart by Anne E. Thompson I watched my son die today. My beautiful boy, beaten, battered and left to die. And my heart broke. I held my cloak close and I remembered the weight of him as a babe, like a boulder on my hip, wriggling to be free, to run and jump and climb. Those legs will run no more. Those limbs, I was so proud when they grew. I remember when he grew as tall as me, then taller even than Joseph. I remember watching him, stretched out as he ate, those long limbs seemed to go on forever. “I grew him,” I used to think with pride. Those limbs will not sprawl relaxed in my home ever again. I watched his hands, the hands that used to pat me cheekily on the head when he’d grown tall. Those strong hands which laboured with wood, which helped me carry heavy loads, which lifted young children playfully. They are no longer strong. I saw them bang nails through the flesh, felt that I heard the sound of bone shattering over th

Harvest Thoughts (yep, I do know it’s only March!) 1 I have some ideas for Harvest. Yes, I know it’s ages away, but things in churches move very slowly, and unless I start making noises now, it will suddenly be upon us. My reason for wanting to do something stems from last Harvest, when I arrived at church, saw someone had made a pretty display of fruit and branches, and thought, “Oh, it’s Harvest!” And that was it. Harvest meant nothing to me any more, and I’m not sure it’s meant to be like that. Harvest used to be quite exciting. When I was in infant school, we all took in tins and packets of food, and the teachers decorated shoe boxes. We had a special service, which I remember nothing about except that there was this heap of food in front of us, and we sang the same songs each year – you know, the ones about farmers, and hunter’s moons, and fields being ploughed. I’m not sure I had ever seen a field being ploughed, and I had no idea what a ‘hunter’s moon’ was. But that

Instow 2018 – Earthquakes and Sand 1 Drove to Instow House. Same as when we left it, including the copy of Hidden Faces which I’d left on the bookshelf. Ate dinner at Instow Arms, which clever Husband had booked before we left home. We ate early (7pm) but it was packed. I had creamy garlic mushrooms, which arrived in a bowl, like soup, and was delicious, followed by fish pie. Also delicious, but after a while I felt overly full of cream. Not a good choice by me. Walked on beach with Kia, who went completely bananas. She reverts to puppy on beaches, stopping regularly to dig holes. Watched tv, went to bed. Day Two Woke up to sound of seagulls and waves. Went to make tea and let dog into garden. Quite a lot of beach now seemed to be in kitchen. Drove to Saunton Sands. Husband suggested another walk to beach across dunes, but as I had left my bullet-proof vest and crash helmet at home (see blog from Jan 17  https://anneethompson.com/2017/01/30/a-walk-on-the-wild-side/  ) I d

A Quick Trip to Cambridge Cambridge is a great city for a short visit. We drove there, but all the narrow one-way streets, and students cycling, not to mention the suicidal ducks, meant that train would’ve been a better way to travel. Especially as, once you finally make it to the centre of town, there’s nowhere to park unless you take out a mortgage. We met Son and Daughter in Son’s extremely tidy flat (he left all his muddles at my house – feel I failed at a parenting point somewhere). Then we went to Bedouin on Mill Road for lunch. I’ve never eaten North African cuisine before, but it’s different, tasty, and best eaten slowly with some good conversation. The decor was lovely, the walls lined with fabric, so you did feel as if you had stepped into a Bedouin tent.   The only fault were the washrooms. The sign was somewhat confusing, so to be fair, I might have been in the Gent’s. It was very narrow, so a large person would find it impossible to manoeuvre past the ornat

A Letter to my Children : Visiting the ancestors in Hankerton. 2 Dear Children, Today I went to Hankerton, in Wiltshire. It’s a hamlet, a scattering of houses and a tiny church set in the Wiltshire countryside. It’s where my granny was born and raised, and is full of family history. It is your history too, so I will tell you about it, because one day you might visit on your own. Granny was born in Pear Tree cottage. She lived there with her parents, Mark and Mary Woodward. Mary washed clothes for the surrounding houses, and there was a well in the back garden, and a wash house next to the cottage. Mark was a busy man. I think he built part of the roof for the church, so maybe he was a builder. Mainly he was busy, because, it was later discovered, he actually had two families – my granny’s mother and another wife and children in the nearby market town of Malmesbury. Not sure which one was first, and therefore the legal wife. I have no idea what became of the other family,