As New as sliced bread,

If you remember, as I do, the first time I saw sliced bread, it was quite exciting, all neat in its special packet. This was in 1941 or '42, when the Cold War was on in Europe. Thinking back, it was probably because of rationing or saving bread - or at least, all the crumbs one loses in cutting it.

The second time I saw it, was again in Ireland, probably because of hygiene - paper packets were no longer in short supply.

Now, the third time I saw the magic sliced bread was in where I live now, in South Africa, not so
terribly long ago.

So it is no wonder I laugh at the phrase, As new as Sliced Bread.

Fair play.

Once, in the 1920's, when the English soldiers used to put up road-blocks , so that they could search cars for carrying arms or even suspected persons, Linda came to the obvious remains of a roadblock in a rural part of the west of Ireland, where there were signs of recent activity; trampled grasss, broken branches, and even an emptyand battered looking car.

She stopped to look for any one who might need her attention. Suddenly, she heard a groan. Nearby, there was a deep ditch, in which lay a British Tommy holding his head. She went to him, checked him over, and told him, "Don't move, I'm going for help."

She drove as quickly as she could to the nearest barracks, ran to the door, leaving the engine running, and shouted, "I am a nurse, taking an emergency case to hospital. There is one of your men in the ditch, hurt, back at Finner Crossroads. You had better get help for him. I must go!"She ran back to her car, and shot off.

Some months later, she was in Dublin, taking a deaf and cranky elderly aunt for a drive, when she met another roadblock. The car was halted for questioning. Her aunt, very deaf and shouting," Drive on, Linda! Why are we stopping?" Just then, a British soldier came over to see what all the commotion was about. He looked into the car, at the driver. His face never changed, as he turned to the other soldiers and said, "I know this lady; you may let her drive through."

It was the same soldier Linda had met at Finner Cross in the west!

Linda Kearns.

I have written a couple of Blogs now, and in each one, I have mentioned my mother, Linda Kearns. It was hardly likely that she would be the sole person bearing that name. I found many entries under that name, but only 2 refer to her, of whom I am very proud.

She was a nurse, a rebel, and a soldier. Of the former, there is one great irony. She was awarded the Florence Nightingale medal, by the Red Cross headquarters in Geneva, in 1951. It was then awarded internationally to five nurses every two years, so it was then an enormous honour to receive it 'for behavour beyond the call of duty'.

Now for the irony. My mother thought that Florence Nightingale had spoiled what she considered a very good job, (You must remember that in those days, nursing was thought little of, ill-paid, only for girls who were not suitable for higher education.) All Linda's life had been devoted to the betterment and the treatment of young nurses.

Years previously, for example, she had realised that nurses in training would work continuously for 4 to 6 weeks , according to the timetable set by the hospital for their probationers. Then they would get two days off. Now, if you come from the rural parts of Donegal, for example, it is going to take almost all of one day to get home, and the same to get back to your hospital.
So what is needed is somewhere to stay for two days, at a very reasonable cost. Or if one has had flu, or appendix, it is impossible to stay in bed in one's hospital flat, and rely on being able to recuperate.

By begging, pleading, explaining, Linda managed to get wealthy friends, big shopkeepers, even solicitors together to form a management group together, who were willling to help.In time, they succeeded in buying a suitable house, furnishing it - some rooms were even called "The
Clery Room", because it had been furnished by one of the biggest stores in Dublin. In time, Linda's dream came true, and The Nurses' Holiday and Convalescent Home in Howth, Co. Dublin was opened.

Forbidden sweets

When I was a child, I was not allowed to buy chewing gum. My mother always said the continuous movement of the jaw reminded her of a cow "chewing the cud". The mental picture of the contented cow, standing there, unmoving except for the jaw, was enough to put me off, too.

I was a teenager when I learned the real reason for her intense disllike of chewing gum. She was a tall woman, with particularly long legs. When she was in the U.S.A., in the 1920's, she would go into a hotel for, say, a cup of tea or coffee, almost folding herself up to fit under the table.

Practically every time she stood up to leave, she would find lumps of masticated chewing gum adhering to her clothes at knee level, which had been stuck under the table by the previous occupiers. Disgusting isn't it......? And that is why I never have liked chewing gum!

Introduction

I have been told you might find my blog interesting. I cannot see why, since even the word blog is new to me, who have often been described as a dinosaur!

However....; I am an old woman now, born to elderly parents, with memories of times which I've even heard called "the olden days" like the beginning of a fairy story for children.

Which reminds me, why can I not find any traces of fairies, gnomes, or elves here, where I am visiting, or in South Africa, where I live? Unless you count the tokolosh, in S.A., which seems like a dirty, evil, nasty old man.

Now in Ireland where I was born and lived for half of my life, there were dozens, believed in by many. There was the fairy who looked after milk on Churning day. You had to behave yourself, if you were a youngster, or leave out a saucer of milk for the fairy that evening, so that butter would come on the milk, so that the housewife could have fresh butter on the table.

You must remember that this was all 'in the country'. There was little or no electricity . In the cities, people had to buy butter, bread, eggs, milk, even vegetables, the poor things, while we who lived on a farm, or spent their longed-for holidays there, had all the joys of food home-grown or home made. It was almost like two separate countries, although such a small one. No matter where you were, it was no farther than fifty miles from the sea!