Free rides for boy born on Paris train

I've emerged from cosy darkness,
My once-tucked-up limbs unfurled,
And instead am in another place:
A noisy scary world.

Is this what being born's about?
Good reason to complain.
It was peaceful inside Mummy,
But it isn't on this train.

I'm aware of people chuntering.
The service is delayed
But, with workers always striking,
This is normal, I'm afraid.

And, as if that were not bad enough,
There's grimmer news besides:
For a quarter of a century,
They're giving me free rides.

For details of my other books - Britannia's Glory and James the Third - please see the blog/post of each, both dated October 2024.

Cadbury's creme eggs (again)

After Christmas has gone,
Winter still lingers on,
But soon there is one consolation.
Every year, without fail,
Crème eggs are on sale,
And I cannot resist the temptation.

Just till Easter they'll stay,
Bringing comfort my way.
Who cares if the waistline may bulge?
Or if clothing gets tighter?
A dark day is brighter
For chocolate, in which to indulge.

And now here's a good wheeze:
I've discovered they freeze!
(Don't defrost them too fast - melted's awful).
So I'm planning to buy
A whole year's supply,
And stash them away by the drawer-full.

For details of my other books - Britannia's Glory and James the Third - please see the blog/post of each, both dated October 2024.

Logging in to Amazon

I'm very fond of Amazon:
It's quick and it's efficient.
My log-in details (always there)
Mean one click is sufficient.

I'd ordered sundry items,
But this time could not connect.
An alert box popped up warning me
"Your password's incorrect".

I'd never ever changed it,
(Though, it's said, one often should).
But they'd send a code to email.
This sadly proved no good.

If I want to access "Outlook"
I must leave the page I'm on,
Then - armed with all the info -
Return to it anon.

With care, I duly noted
All the digits they required,
But these proved to be "invalid".
Had their usefulness expired?

I tried once more, to no avail.
This really did now irk.
So "Contact Us" seemed sensible,
Except this didn't work.

My query floated round my head.
The words were well rehearsed.
I clicked the link, and then found out,
I HAD TO LOG IN FIRST!

For details of my other books - Britannia's Glory and James the Third - please see the post/blog of each, both dated October 2024.

Ode to Shelagh

Shelagh Simpson, who sadly died last month was, for many years, Catering Manager at the Jessop Hospital for Women in Sheffield. She was a larger-than-life character who was funny, kind-hearted and wont to swear a lot - thus becoming known as "Mrs Bleeding Simpson". Although on a tight budget she, and her admirable staff, consistently produced extremely good food.

Environmental Health Officer (and thoroughly nice man) Roger Hart was the bane of our lives. The kitchen was located in a Victorian building, and we lived in fear of what he'd find next (and how much it would cost to rectify).

This verse was written to mark the occasion of her retirement from the NHS.


The words to describe her aren't easy to find:
Shelagh's wholly unique; she is one of a kind.
To improve patients' food they've brought in Grossman (Lloyd)
But what good your Oliver, Smith, Leith or Floyd?

Who else but our Shelagh, without qualm or gripe,
Would scour Sheffield butchers to seek out some tripe?
Just because, if not found, we would find ourselves failing,
A little old lady, who's fragile and ailing.

Oh so many times she's been put to the test,
But has never been fazed, matter not the request.
A short notice buffet? No problem, we'll try...
Could you please do mince pies? Yes, I know it's July.

Her language is colourful - says what she thinks,
But she cares, and remembers what everyone drinks.
A few more of her sort's what our service is needing,
Her departure, I'm sure, will leave all our hearts bleeding.

E'en a Hart name of Roger, who comes unannounced.
What's he chuffin' found this time? On what has he pounced?
A temperature blip? A cockroach? A cricket?
She can now grab his probe, and knows just where to stick it!

She leaves with our thanks and our love and goodwill,
And a bleeding great gap no one ever could fill.
To the young docs, she's mother; tonight she's "mine host",
So please raise your glasses, Our Shelagh, a toast!

For details of my other books - Britannia's Glory and James the Third - please see the blog/post of each, both dated October 2024.

Guest blog

My friend Viv, whom I've known for sixty plus years, wrote this verse for her friend Kay, after discovering the nightly ritual involving Kay's husband Bill. Sadly, Kay died four years' ago d is much missed.

I know a house in Ashley Park.
And things go on there, after dark.
Time always brings a change of fashion,
But lessens not the bedroom passion.

The hour draws nigh. The clock strikes ten.
You say to Bill, 'I'll go up then.'
You do your very best to hide
The urge that's rising up inside.

As Bill sips Horlicks, by the hearth,
You languish in a bubble bath.
Exciting thoughts grow ever stronger.
You can't contain yourself much longer.

You've slipped between the cotton sheets
And ponder on the coming treats.
Has Bill prepared and got things ready?
You wet your lips, your heart unsteady.

Adrenalin! Exhilaration!
Such pleasure in anticipation.
You hear his footstep on the stair,
And suddenly, your Bill is there.

Now real indulgence can begin.
You settle to your nightly sin.
It starts with something hot and steamy.
The next is fruity, smooth and creamy.

'Magnificent,' to Bill you say,
'Thank heavens for my chocolate tray.'
The empty mug and empty plate
Speak volumes: that was worth the wait.

Your finger gets a final lick.
'Goodnight... and, Bill, I'm feeling sick.'

For details of my other books - Britannia's Glory and James the Third - please see the blog/post of each, both dated October 2024.

Operation Frankton - "The Cockleshell Heroes"

Today, 7th December, marks the 75th anniversary of the start of Operation Frankton, one of the most daring and imaginative sabotage ventures of World War Two. There is a commemorative monument in Saint-Georges-de-Didonne, near Royan.

France was occupied and so,
The harbour of Bordeaux
For the Germans proved a valuable location.
Britain came up with a ruse:
Royal marines in small canoes,
Would plant limpet mines and thus cause devastation.

They would sneak up the Gironde,
To the port that lay beyond.
Five "cockles" and ten crew - all highly trained.
Dropped off-shore by submarine,
In a bid to stay unseen,
They'll hide by day, so secrecy's maintained.

One pair drowned, (it is assumed).
Two other pairs were doomed.
They were captured by the enemy and shot.
Though they must have been afraid,
Their comrades weren't betrayed.
Four paddled on to carry out the plot.

In line with what was hatched,
The devices they attached -
(Each one of these had carefully been primed).
Then they slip off undetected.
The explosives they'd connected,
Later detonate at 9pm as timed.

The effect was as predicted,
Much damage was inflicted
On the half a dozen ships that had been mined.
The exploits of the four
Helped abbreviate the war
By six months, as Churchill later on opined.


© Maggie Ballinger, 2017

This verse is an extract from Britannia's Glory. For details of this, and my other book - James the Third - please see the blog/post of each, both dated October 2024.

Breast feeding problems

My new born babe has lost the plot.
She won't latch on. My boobs are hot.
They've gone all hard, feel very sore.
It's sad, because there's milk galore.

I'm very tired. It's most depressing.
I have the kit. Have tried expressing.
From bottles, she will blithely drink,
But not from me. My spirits sink.

'Try skin to skin,' the midwife said.
'Don't sit. Try lying down instead.
You've done so well, at least so far...
And stuff a cabbage down your bra!'

This strange advice must be well meant,
So off to Tesco's hubby went.
I waited, trying not to panic.
He brought the veg. Savoy. Organic.

The very best, it seemed, he'd chosen.
Two leaves were chilled till almost frozen.
Round where my baby once had sucked,
The soothing greens were duly tucked.

I'm not serene. I'm not all smiles.
The iron tablets gave me piles.
I feel a mess. A mess I'm looking,
And now I smell of cabbage - cooking.

For details of my other books - Britannia's Glory and James the Third - please see the blog/post of each, both dated October 2024.