Hello and Welcome

To Pamela's Page.

I have chosen a dragon on an ink pot as I am from Wales, And I like to write poetry. Some of my poems will appear here soon.

To be born Welsh is to be born privileged. Not with a silver spoon in your mouth, But music in your blood And poetry in your soul.

I am new here ,and right now I'm more confused than Arthur Dent. Until last year the message boards were a new world to me.

So bear with me while I find my way around. Serendipity means-- An Happy Accident. This page was created by accident. Hopefully it will be an happy one.

I know there will be some problems along the way;

1. I don't know what I'm doing.
2. I don't have a computer!!!

I have a Bush Internet T.V./set-top box,so I don't know how much I can do here.But it will be interesting to find out.

If anyone would like to know more about the Bush Internet T.V./set-top box Bush Internet will give you all the information about it. If you want the technical details Click Product Information and look at Question 11.

I've said this page was an accident. I was reading The Garden message board on Radio Wales and I saw a message about The Friendly GardenU235344 here. I wandered over to take a look. I registered and found I had created My Space. As I am responsible for it, I will do my best to make it an enjoyable place to visit

------ MOMENTS ------ A poet can capture a moment in time Painting a picture with a rhyme; The song of birds on a morning in May; The smile of a bride on her wedding day. A couple, whispering words of love; A child knelt in prayer to God above. A baby's cry at the moment of birth, Surely the most welcome sound on earth. A rainbow after April showers, A garden filled with summer flowers, The wonder of a water-fall, A kitten,watching snowflakes fall. If we just take a moment to see. What a beautiful place our world can be. oxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxxoxoxoxo

RAINBOWS Pure light on sparkling water Sending beams across the sky Arching over hill and valley Giving beauty to the eye. Still we stand and gaze in wonder As people did so long ago. Looking up at the creator Painting skies with a coloured bow. Though modern scientists explain it: That still does not take away The miracle of Heavenly beauty Painted on a sky of grey.

WHO KNOWS ? Some call on Mohammed.Others call on Buddah. Some say The Great Spirit, others simply Lord. So many different people all with their own religions. All of them convinced theirs is the real God. All of us ask questions that no one can answer: 'Who is the Creator and What is his plan?' 'Is there a Holy Spirit somewhere watching over us?' Or was God created in the mind of man ? Most of us at sometime ,will have asked the question; 'Is there a Heaven somewhere, where our spirit goes?' If someone were to ask me, what would be my answer ? The only answer I could give is just two words, God knows.

STONEHENGE On Salisbury plain, the ring of stones stands for all to see. And anyone who passes by wonders how it came to be. Who were the ancient builders who set the circle there ? Was it an observetory or a place of prayer ? Did they worship the sunrise of a solstice dawn ? Or was it the light's creator that they called upon ? The druids in their robes of white would worship there today IF travellers fighting with police did not keep them away. That not the reason it was built, not how it should be. The builders who created it worked in unity. They must have worked together, or that ring could not be built. Those who would destroy its peace should be filled with guilt. To all who wish to visit there, whatever your gods may be. Honour those ancient builders. Go in peace and harmony. (NOTE: I wrote this poem in 1999 after watching a news report about the conflict between travellers and police at Stonehenge. Fortunately it has been more peacful there since then.) For more information about Stonehenge see theEdited Guide Entry A9564942.

As I was not born until 1950 I do not have a personal memory of World War 2. My Father was working in a coal mine and as that was a reserved occupation he could not join up, although he did try. My mother worked in the arsenal in Bridgend.I have heard some stories from their memories and I do have a later personal memory of someone who served in the forces during that time.

I often visited my friend and her father Wilfred H. Woods. He was then in his eighties but sixty years earlier he had served during the war in the Royal Air Force ground crews , driving trucks in convoys. He did occasionally mention his experiences but didn't go into much detail.

One day when I was visiting them, my friend was baby-sitting her grand-daughter (Wilfred's great-grand-daughter) who was not yet three years old, and an incident occured which gave me the inspiration to write a poem about Remembrance Day entitled 'The Eleventh Hour', although in the poem I refer to a grandfather ,not a great-grandfather.

It was in early November and as Remembrance Day is on the Eleventh Wilfred had been wearing a British Legion Poppy, which he gave to the little girl. "Pretty flower" she said. "It's a very special flower" he told her. Turning to me he said "You can't explain to such a little one what that flower means". "You can tell her when she's older." I replied.

Sadly that wasn't to be, as Wilfred passed away shortly afterwards. When his great-grand-daughter is older she will probably learn the meaning of the 'pretty flower', as she called it, but I hope that it will be only in an history lesson and not by seeing our forces at war again.

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