Friday 5 October 1990 -- Thursday 5 October 2017!


Dearest SonShine, today at 11:32 am is your official 27th birthday, but you're not here in body just in spirit. Five days after your 26th birthday, your backache turned for the worst and we decided against going back to the doctor's office and get directly to the A&E.


From there you spend 3 months and 20 days in hospital with the exception of 3 days between Christmas and New Year. On the last day you were with us, things got worst and you left again. This time by ambulance... You never came back. We spoke on Daddy's phone as yours wasn't charging. It was the last time ever. In your voice, I knew you were saying goodbye. We'll be having a cake today, chocolate, your favourite.


At least we know you're no longer suffering, but none of your doctors have been in touch with us... so we grieve still waiting unable to move on. They don't care that we need to know what happened to you... Happy birthday, SonShine, we miss you terribly and love you forever!



Hi all,


Do you love Supernaturals, such as Vampires, Witches and all? If yes, have you ever wondered where they actually came from? If yes, then it would be a great idea (and timing) to read my two novel eBook series -- The WynderMyre Memoirs. Novel One/Episode One is available now on PayHip and KOBO UK see links above or below.


I'll be launching Novel One/Episode Two soon as well as a few surprises and a new Merchandise Store for The WynderMyre Memoirs such as clothing and accessories.


Epub/Ebook format is available for your reading pleasure as well as if you want to help me acquire ISBNs so I can publish further and one day in print. Click on the Link for Tip Here, it'll take you to the PayHip website, the Bite-Size Preview of Novel One, Trieste-Her Journey, all four Prologues. It only costs One Pound GBP, and I'll accumulate this to purchase the required ISBNs. Thank you for your support, either purchasing my novels or helping me out.


Make sure that you have a PayPal Account, as well as a KOBO READER or an Android Device with Lithium Reader or the wonderfully discovered, PocketBook, which includes a Text-to-Speech if you fancy listening to an Audio of my stories.


I've been ill, but working my way up the ladder as we say, and will have quite a few things ready on time for June. Also, if you follow me on Instagram, and you're an author, I have an exchange Free for Free, I'll read and review your stories, if you read and review mine. You can either post the review with the book cover on Instagram, or directly onto KOBO's store site, where my epub is available now. Cheers!


Yours in blood, CeDany, BB, V-V!




Hello all,


If you love Vampires, Witches et al. Supernaturals simply. Asking yourselves, "Where do they come from?", then I invite you to read The WynderMyre Memoirs series of two Books made up of ten Novels. The Origins (the behind-the-scenes) of this Supernatural Family -- The WynderMyre.


Be of 16 years minimum to read all about the Adventures of Lady Trieste WynderMyre, the Heroine and MC of Novel One, then in Novel Two, discover all the Romances and Adventures of all the inhabitants from Seventh Heaven Universe. Thanks!


Yours in blood,


CeDany, BB, V-V!


P.S. If you want to learn about Seventh Heaven Universe, you can! View my YouTube Channel and enjoy the two eBook videos about my series. Links below!

Announcement - Launch - New Editing - Formatting - Colouring - Epub - Reading - FlowSystem


Calling all Indie Authors...


Announcing that from Saturday 7 July 2018, special price for 6 months, all of the above transforming your #manuscript into an Epub Flow Reading System at £5 an A4 page with a £25 NR Deposit. Contact me here. Yours in blood, CeDany BB V-V!




BookOne (Trieste-Her Journey) / Novel One (From Dawn Until Forever! is available for SALE NOW via PayPal on or on


It's £3 which is equivalent to $5.26 in Canadian Dollar; $3.93 in American Dollar and €3.41 in Europe and other countries using the Euro currency.


At Payhip dot Com you can pay via PayPal. On Kobo, they have multiple payment options. You'll get one EPUB copy. Thanks!


You've heard of "Four Weddings and a Funeral" here's a wee story which follows the same lines. Which will be in five parts.


FOUR FUNERALS AND A WEDDING PART 1... If you look back at your childhood, you expect fun, sunny days, getting up to mischief with your friends at school. Seven short years that bring back sweet memories. If only Real Life was always like this... Seven years which began in 1966. First year Primary where you're only concerned with a love of learning and discoveries: reading, writing and arithmetic.. Don't get me wrong, to this day, I enjoy learning something new at least once a day... However, my education would be put aside, my progress ignored because by November 1966 all this would change.


A Sunday night, dreary, bleak and bitterly cold, second Mass (yes, he was Catholic) of the day for Grand-Uncle nicknamed by his two initials L.A. He had attended the regular morning service and later on a second mass at his Knight of Columbus gathering. The temperature had dropped later in the day. It was a penetrating cold.


Shortly after crossing the road, pain hit him squarely in the middle of his chest. He crumpled to his knees, never to awake again... One day later, a heavily cloud covered Monday, the first funeral as any experienced any other day, but with a difference of a grand Ceremonial that would accompany him to his final journey.


A crimson coloured metallic coffin with a fully lit Last Supper scene in the opening cover of his coffin. Two guards with swords in full regalia of a black 3 piece suit, white shirt -- a full length black cape with red satin lining completed with top hats.


Heads bowed and for a six years old, something newly discovered while overlooking this grand sight -- two wee blocks of wood are to be found below the swords for the sharp end to rest on and not destroy the funeral parlour's carpet. A wake with a difference due to Grand-Uncle L.A,. status and rank within the Knights of Columbus Association.


His funeral such a special one was covered by the local newspaper. That is where it all fell down for this wee girl. The photographer told her to place her left hand on the cold body of her deceased Grand-Uncle, to half-turn, look in the camera and... SMILE!


Yes!!! She was told to smile... it brought the assembled up in a chorus of displeasure... And the wee girl to suffer nightmares for years to come...


Part 2 to follow...

FOUR FUNERALS AND A WEDDING. PART 2... The Wedding... the year 1968 -- the bride-to-be is having an argument with the groom-to-be over the choice of flower girl... As you know fathers have the job to pay for their daughters' wedding (unless he has died by the time daughter number 2 find the love of her life and mother who was hoping for this last child to be a son, declines and the wee girl has to pay her own way...).


So, the job of flower girl falls to the wee girl, the wee sister of the Bride-to-be... The groom-to-be wants his favourite niece to fill in the job -- long-story short, the dress available at the Bridal Rental does not fit said niece, but the sister's wee girl.


Oh don't you see, this wedding should never have taken place. Both parties are tying the knot after their respective partner left them for the groom-to-be the ring was thrown in his face, for the bride-to-be, he told her that his mother wanted him to marry the Irish green-eyed girl that's been next door all along. Oh dear...


It's 6 am on the big day -- our wee girl is gasping for air as 3 entire hairspray bottles are dumped on her head to hold the curl in her side pony tail. She has asthma and no one bothered to tell the hair dresser that none is to be used other than gel.


She already has a massive migraine as she was forced to sleep with extremely uncomfortable rollers overnight. The shower she took with her hair in a plastic bag was done after everyone else and guess what? The boiler is empty of hot water completely...


It's September, bright, unfortunately frigid -- dressed in a pink chiffon dress tubular fashion with a very tight belt under her non-existent chest -- after all she's only eight years old and the particular faery is due four years later. Thanks to the Bride's energetic soft ball play a few days earlier, our wee girl needs to sport extremely thick stain covering medical make-up -- yes, her big sister broke her nose!


The whole wedding party is dressed for the occasions with loads of fur (I hear you scream: WHAT? Yo, it was popular back then). However, the Bridesmaid and the flower girl have to deal with the cold wind of this blustery September morning, the first of the autumn... Chiffon dress in light blue for the Bridesmaid who sports a chic bun made up of all her bottled blonde hair along with short sleeves and what I call Egyptian make-up with Elizabeth Taylor style false lashes.


Bridesmaid and flower girl, jump out of the Bridal car and rush up the church's stairs in order to get inside lickety-split -- ah no such luck to enter warmth yet, photographer wants to take pics. Yeah, 25 of them... by the time Blue and Pink girls make it in the knave of the church -- their hands are frozen to their flower bouquets.


The night before the rehearsal had gone perfectly -- why? No one had touched the free flowing spirits -- the Bride-to-be had a snoot-full. Now, everyone else is seated waiting for the ceremony to begin, the flower girl is the first one to walk on the organ resounding notes of "Here Comes the Bride" yes, very traditional...


Her legs feel as if they have turned to jelly -- no booze for her, but she is oh so very shy, it's a difficult time for her to face all of immediate and distant relatives starring down at her, as if they're waiting for her to make a mistake... Our wee flower girl, counts in her head, the first notes ring out and looking ahead sees the wedding co-ordinator giving her the sign. Deep breath and one together, two together and so on.


Suddenly, the whole assembly explodes in laughter -- the flower girl just wants to disappear in the wedding carpet... Oh wait, it's not her fault, phew! What a reliefThe laughter is directed at the Bride who had to puke and nearly pulled her father down in the puddle -- you can imagine the rest.


When the organist realises that the flower girl is walking alone with no Bride-to-be following, thankfully he stops. Our flower girl, who by now notices what happened, find strength of heart and shouts -- well, would you hurry up, I've no plans to marry this guy today or any other day and definitely not in this fashion.


The years of abuse by big sister finally left the wee flower girl... Now, if you have watched such films as Four Weddings and a Funeral as well as Wedding Crashers, you know that many single girls use such venues to find their own happy-ever-after.


Sorry, but not always, especially when the only ones near your 8 years of age are first cousins who wouldn't dare be caught dancing with a cousin. So, our wee flower girl spent the night dancing with her 7 uncles. her father, grand-father and older first cousins whose girlfriends weren't invited. The only thing that made it enjoyable for Pink girl was that she became a ballroom specialist dancer, where her father paid for extra lessons. Ooh a lovely compensation.


Finally, the next day was party time for our wee flower girl, she was getting her big sister's bedroom with a double bed to boot. However, it wasn't a bed of roses, because Funeral number two was looming by mid 1969. Part 3 is coming up...

FOUR FUNERALS AND A WEDDING, PART 3... Third Grade/Primary year began in September 1968, just as every other had begun... One very important event (VIP) the teachers said at the beginning of this school year was going to be repeated over and again throughout...


July 1969 was going to get us all on Earth to witness this VIP event, of course, I'm speaking of the Moon Landing.. Yes, it took place for real. No, it didn't happen it was all cloak and mirrors -- you discuss this amongst yourselves. My story is not about the reality or make-believe of this event. It is more profound... going as far as to say, Spiritual...


For most of us, 1969 was the Height of The Flower Power, Mini-Skirts, Maxi Gothic/Vampire Style Black Coats, Go-Go Boots, Catsuits and the advent seeing fashion explosion that was to follow soon, the Platform shoes and the Afro Hair-Style.


Yes, the Beehive of the 50s-60s was dying fast, bouffant Hair-Style was going to be replaced by very little hairspray but loads of chemicals -- LOL! -- one Ozone-destroying chemical replaced by hundreds of Ozone-destroying chemicals -- all in the name of the dastardly fashion...


This wee girl was longing for the day that she could own her own Go-Go Boots, Hot Pants in Hot Pink and a Maxi Black Vampire-Style Coat. What did she get -- a two piece Lime Green Swimsuit along with a Dress/Shirt again in floral green -- oh the horrors -- our wee girl is born in Spring -- not at all in line with Lime Green colours, which made her look utterly sick...


Taking where we left off, after the horrible wedding, she's slowly enjoying her new found bedroom and the spacious double bed. After the crazy Bridezilla four years of preparations, she wanted peace, quiet and to find solace in privacy...


She wanted to continue the regular learning, her newly found extra-curricular activity called Creative Writing -- just carry on with the good stuff. No! It was not to be as everyone spoke one word of regular things to be followed by a verbal diarrhoea of the upcoming Moon Mission from Apollo 11.


Talks of Buzz Aldrin, the pilot, Neil Armstrong, the Mission Commander and the rarely mentioned Michael Collins who remained aboard the main spaceship while the two first mentioned took the Eagle Module that was to land in the Sea of Tranquillity -- due date 20 July 1969...


Granted, I was excited! I had read my fair share of UFO books by then (home collection courtesy of my father) and a natural curiosity to see wee grey men popping up on the Moon surface (our natural satellite which I read popped out of molten Earth and created the Pacific basin). I may have been 8 to 9 years old by then, but my reading material was supplied by a natural curiosity acquired from reading The Atlas published by National Geographic.


Yes, I'm a Star Trekker -- 1966 going back a wee bit, had invaded our television screens -- a thirst to find out what was out there as eloquently uttered by James T Kirk -- to boldly go where no one has gone before. It created a curiosity of what was out there, just beyond the layers of O2 and what could be lurking amongst all those beautiful stars in the night skies.


Venus has always been the only planet found with the naked eyes, just there to the left, mostly, of Mother Moon. Enters into the picture, the one man, beside my father, who did not laugh at my questions, who used the Farmer's Almanac and said that the Moon was an important piece of rock that affected us all on a daily basis. Grand-Pa, namely Joseph Arthur, always referred to as Gramps or Grand-Pa. A loving wee man who introduced this girl to the joys of Cultural Dining namely, Chinese Foods.


By age 2, I knew the pleasures of Chicken Fried Rice and a love of an entrée with a special fruity sauce that to this day is a missed delight, the EggRoll and Plum Sauce. The China Man, as he liked to be called, had made me a miniature set of chopsticks.


Gramps, was the man who always had a bag of sweeties; hemp ropes and a plank of wood to make an impromptu swing, hanged from the garage roof. A beautiful hand-made swimming pool, rectangular metal base, covered in left-over rubber material from the diving club, dugged into the back garden at a diving depth of six feet to which was attached a filter and recycling pod which kept the water clear and with a constant body temperature of 98.6F or 39C.


In a few words, Gramps was a Genius at DIY. Nevertheless, his knowledge of anything I asked was answered and completed with the books to support the answers to my never-ending questions. Many a time, this man that was my Gramps, was referred as the most patient man on Earth, close to having the patience of an Angel. When he gave you a promise -- it was a solid guarantee -- he would honour it no matter what.


Which brings me to the title of this story -- Funeral Number 2... I had not recovered from Funeral Number 1, it may have been just a very serious grand-uncle, but a free bottle of Pepsi and having the pleasure of finding the missing words for his daily Cross-Word from a strange dictionary, was regretted daily even after 3 years.


At the beginning of 1969, celebrations rang again after Yule Time... January heralded two birthdays, the aforementioned Gramps on the 8th followed by my dear Papa on the 12th. As we chose the 10th as a middle date to celebrate both grand occasions, obviously the subject that was on everyone's lips was the upcoming Moon Landing.


As usual, since I could get so much out of the teachers at the infernal school, I turned to Gramps to see him plunge into his vast knowledge and pulling a few strings amongst his many friends to know more about the Rocket itself, the module that was going to stay in orbit with said Michael Collins and the Eagle lander.


I sat at the dinning table fascinated with every words that Gramps uttered partly in English and French. That day, he made a promise to me. As from the end of the School Year in June, I was packed daily to spend my time with Gramps until September came again.


Days passed, February's Holidays turned into March's one birthday blended with Easter -- a quarter of said Easter cake contained a miniature message of this wee girl's 9th birthday. April's rain arrived with a vengeance and washed away the winter's snow and the blossoming of the crocuses. 


Followed by two intense months for myself May and June, cramming the studies to end this third year of Primary, doing as best as possible to ignore what was on all around growing intensely now, simply on a daily basis, the landing of Humans on the Moon.


One night in early July, my parents were planning a trip for two -- two weeks of recovery from 1968 crazy-intense wedding that had lasted four years -- they needed to recharge their batteries. On their own, blissfully leaving this wee girl with a Gramps that loved her and a Grand-Mother who told her to stay out of her way. Shopping night, where they stocked up for provisions, Mother and Grand-Mother were doing the rounds of the three major Groceries Stores in the immediate area.


At the last one, I decided that I had enough and stayed on in the car, reading material from the library by the car's interior light listening to the radio's newscaster announcing that it was 8 pm and what were the current news of the day.


Suddenly, Gramps clutched his chest and rendered a sound, I've not forgotten yet. Dad yelled to me to get out and go tell Mother and Grand-Mother that he was driving to the hospital just five minutes away. I just had the time to get out, closed the car's door and Papa took off... The groceries in the cart were abandoned we jumped into a taxi and 15 minutes later arrived at hospital.


Gramps had suffered a Coronary Thrombosis at 75... it had not been fatal, he was not out of the woods yet. Critical and stable were the words I heard flying out of the mouths of nurses and doctors alike. Nothing else to be done, we couldn't see him until the next day.


Friday couldn't arrive fast enough. I woke up at the crack of dawn in anticipation of spending a few hours with Gramps. Sadly, the hospital rules took over and I was told that due to my age -- I was nine and the grand-daughter -- I had to sit in the waiting room on the first floor without a thing to read, to do or anyone to speak to.


It was made more heartbreaking when we returned home and the phone rang nearly every 15 minutes for continuous updates on Gramps' health. Meanwhile, a dire feeling plunge my heart is despair. I fretted away the night of Friday to Saturday until a few hours short of dawn, a voice shook me awake, it said: "I made you a promise that we would watch the Moon Landing together and no matter what, we will watch it together, you can count on me..."


I fell asleep, relieved of the good news. Saturday morning the bells that rang from the strange rotary phone at my Gramps' house shocked me out of a deep sleep. All I heard of the conversation was that we had to get to hospital as quickly as possible.


By the time we arrived, Gramps had departed this Earth, it was the 5th of July. Fifteen days before the Moon Landing predicted to take place on the 20th. I was devastated at the lost of a wonderful man, who along with my father made me the woman I am today... Needless to say, I dreaded the wake.


Two very long days at the funeral parlour, where the only sustenance was tea or coffee. The baby fat that was still haunting me, dropped off completely. The tears flowed until I felt that every glass or cup of liquid I ingested just fell out of my eyes...


The natural event where I would get packed away for the Summer Holidays with Gramps got cancelled effective immediately after the funeral on the 8th... I spent my days either walking around the six main block of streets, rooted myself to the television to get the news on the launch of Apollo 11.


Finally on 16 July, alone in the house with the usual instructions of what to do in case of an emergency, I sat on the sofa by myself to watch this anticipated event... What happened afterwards was nothing short of a miracle -- a cold breeze entered the living room where I watched and a dent appeared on the sofa next to me... Confused but without fear as no reaction came the kittens at my feet, I called out his name: "Gramps, is that you?"


No verbal reply came, but a burned out match appeared in the ashtray and the smell of apple-smoked tobacco reached my nostrils. The depression stayed on the sofa until Apollo 11 had completed its Mission and returned to Earth.


On the last day, just after the program concluded on television, a large smoke cloud appeared and I saw the outline of Gramps -- smiling, he said: "I promised you we would watch together... I kept my promise, I'll see you again, I promise, goodbye for now..."


Goodbye Grand-Pa, thank you!


Next part coming soon... 

FOUR FUNERALS AND A WEDDING, PART 4... 1973 a lucky year for some, not so good for others... The fear of the number 13 (known as Triskaidekaphobia) has plagued people the world over from as long as it has existed... Our wee girl has never had a problem with it -- she had ancestors that were Native Indians and more than few that were known as Medicine People, involved in Rituals -- the common White Witches as well as Wicca, Paganism and Celtic origins. A hodge-podge of religions, beliefs and all that makes her who she is today.


At the end of the day, she wanted PEACE everywhere in the world, was disgusted by War, Violence and in particular Extremism... In the short 7 year periods her story rolls off here, she had experienced one extremist person close up... Her maternal grand-mother, who everyone insisted she kissed upon meeting her without fail, would utter strange words as she was being kissed: "Judas!" followed by a shove.


Our wee girl ended up on her behind time and again, complaining to all around who would listen, to no avail. The woman was simply horrible. Verbally, physically and mentally. Dare to listen to your home-room teacher and wash your face at lunch time, which you spend home for about an hour, and you'd be told off that you were a WHORE!


By the time 1973 arrived, multiple times this word would be thrown in the face of our wee girl. One thing our wee girl is satisfied of having experienced this strange woman -- was the make-up that was used daily. Gramps used to say that it was applied with a trowel -- this base rendered her face a ghostly white, then he would use this phrase for the rouge -- applied with spray-painter -- it was rouge (bright red) indeed... complemented with the same outrageous colour added to the lips which showed up as an inverted smiling line. And you wonder why our wee girl has a deep-seated hatred of both Clowns and Make-Up to this day.


Even though the abuse was relentless, our wee girl had pity for a woman who was addicted to Codeine. How many times did we discover empty bottles of 200 Aspirin with Codeine stashed around her bedroomWhen your average dosage was 1 to 2 tablets every four hours -- you do the Math??? A 200 pills bottle used up in four to eight hours...


The result of this unchecked addiction? An expected death in May which brings us to the third Funeral witnessed by our wee girl. Her world would be shaken up violently after 5 May 1973 rolled by and the Grand-Mother who hated her so much passed away.


The memory of the night in the car, seated in the front between her parents, just 13 years old and witnessing her beloved father driving with one hand and the other holding a bucket under her Grand-Mother's head as blood poured from all orifices. Dark, black and putrid.


Needless to say, it was horrific. The Grand-Mother went into a coma, machines were drawing every liquid out of her body with a sea of tubes. No wonder years later, our wee girl can watch horror films and not be affected. Her attitude is usually: "been there, saw that!"


One thing that both our wee girl and her father had a good time, yes, I know, kind of creepy, but read on... The eldest daughter would have been celebrating her birthday the day Grand-Mother decided to depart. For once in her life, our wee girl and her father were happy to see how badly the wee girl felt as everyone of her birthdays were ignored and being told: "Easter is more important than you!"


Papa never approved and always took care of making a few extra days happy before and after his wee girl's birthday... Gramps always helped as well... A few months later, things had quieted down, the abuse had completely gone from our wee girl's life and lo-and-behold September arrived.


The time in life when every wee girls become woman -- long-story short, a new abuse arrived, courtesy of her Mother. Youch! As women we know how wonderful it is, if we have been blessed with the luck of having a child, that the 9 months of gestation brings on an anticipation of celebrations on an impressive scale. No, she did not become pregnant, but a 9 month period from recovery to total breakdown.


Sadly, our wee girl, who had suffered enough already with dead cold bodies, dreams of a beautiful wedding someday dashed and looking forward to be a woman to experienced a wonderful life, would experience the ultimate heartbreaking end of seven horrible years.... Conclusion coming soon...

FOUR FUNERALS AND A WEDDING, PART 5... The mysterious 9 months that was introduced in Part 4... For the final (and worst) funeral, I would not even get a year to catch up and breathe again. These are May 73 to February 74. Even though the last one to pass on was despicable -- the tension at home had increased to trifold levels.


From May into June, kept busy with studies, cramming for finals. As I was the most proficient within the Speed Reading Class, I ended up spending 2 full weeks being the replacement teacher -- everyone had suffered the mid-spring flu.


Out come the school's vice-principal just after the bell had rung and we were all seated awaiting our teacher or the replacement. Minding my own business, as always, I was surprised when he tapped me on the shoulder and said: "Girl, come up at the desk, I need to speak to you..."


Gosh, geez, jelly knees and trembling from head to toe, "what was going on?" I thought... He planked both hands into fists and placed them on his hips... "Uh oh! I'm in for it... Goddess me, I failed now? How? Why?" Every thoughts of the worst possible situations went through my head -- I missed two weeks in May, did I miss that much to affect..."


"Good Lord Girl! Don't look so perturbed, it's not the end of the world... trust me... No, better yet, your teacher Miss Blanche has requested that if push-came-to-shove, that you were to be the one teaching the class... Yes! Don't look so worried, you're top of the class..."


I was speechless and confused and happy -- all at the same time -- apparently my face went through all emotions at once -- which got the girls laughing out loud and suddenly I felt betterLong-story short, the next 2 weeks were great -- thank be the Goddess, I was in the one class where no bullies were, so having the job of temporary teacher (without pay, but extra credits) went by so fast, I was floating on a cloud.


When I returned home, it was heartbreaking conversations -- the Last Will and Testament had been read -- which date and time was delayed after I spoke to my parents of my temporary dutiesThe large bulk of the Estate had gone missing and no one knew where it was -- the promised fully-paid mortgage -- the second one by the way, was a full blown devastation to my parents.


Adding to their woes, was the fact that the planned 1969 get-away-from-it-all two weeks vacation had not taken place -- the house promised to Mother in Gramps' Testament had gone off in smoke and third time unlucky -- now the money mentioned for a full-mortgage was strangely missing...


Two people who would never tell what happened, taking the secret to their own graves, were spending as there was no tomorrow... As the wee girl in the saga so far, I was old enough to have seen things going on and privy to snippets of conversations before being shout at circa April 1973 to: "Get out of the house and don't come back until I call you from the balcony!" Charming woman she was... However, you know the sayings: "A child telling the truth is never believed by the adults" Which for me, translated as: "No bad-mouthing your elders..."


"Aye chihuahua... was a load of tosh." Never-you-mind, nothing was worth uttering what had happened, you've to remember I was the unwanted child and it would have been speaking up about her own Mother. Yes! Let's not go there... July arrived in a blaze of sunshine and hot days and after the celebrations of the First, I found myself alone the next morning with a note between the kettle and the coffee percolator.


"Dear, we've left for a couple of weeks -- things are bad, we need a break, fridge and freezer full -- tv dinners for at least two weeks -- don't burn the place down and call these numbers below if there's an emergency -- your sister is with us, so is your brother-in-law, no loud parties (as if I ever had them). Finally, Papa insisted on leaving you a 20 in case you fancy some Chinese or Italian takeaway... Bye!"


Thirteen years old, first year of Secondary under my belt -- not a friend to my name -- one ray of sunshine in these dark cloudy times of abandonment -- a full summer membership in the (across the street) Estate's swimming pool. The months from then on were a huge blur... Lost of baby fat a few years ago, was now replaced by muscle gain with a daily swimming regime and wall tennis and going everywhere on my trusty bike.


At the time, this last item in my amusement's arsenal was a mustang, high handles and seat shiny crimson red bike -- no speed gears on this puppy... My own leg power. I exhausted myself daily in order to sleep at night. September arrived, second year of Secondary and the school year that is missing to 5/8 out of my memory -- friends at school said that my body was there -- but I was an empty shell.


Christmas Holidays arrived and the one memory recalled was, the dreaded blessing that Mother insisted Father performed every New Year's Eve. What I remember? Telling Papa with tears streaming down my cheeks -- please Papa we have to stop doing these, I'm scared out of my wits that it'll be the last Holiday we'll be together!!!


How true it turned out to be -- sort of Prophetic -- I shiver just thinking about it now... January came, Papa's birthday was celebrated on the 12th itself, quietly and soberlyWithout the usual aplomb applied to his birthday. This time, unbeknownst to me, he had visited the Doctor and news were apparently not good. Medication to disperse cholesterol were given. Something that Father disliked, having grown up with an extremely bad diet and (again something unknown) two heart attacks under his belt and a third one looming on the horizon...


From September, someone else was missing in the picture -- sister and brother-in-law had moved to another city quite a distance away and we had been invited to the new house they had moved in for the weekend following Valentine's DayThursday night, the 14th itself, we went shopping for provisions for our return and extras such as chocolates, wines and all. We never made it... at 9:15 pm, Father had suffered the dreaded heart-attack -- a Coronary Thrombosis which split his heart in two...


Not 14 years of age yet, and I had seen death 4 times, the ultimate -- my Father -- where I found out how badly the future would be -- the family plot was excluded to me and whatever descendants I might acquire -- no inheritance -- what's that? I've no idea -- none ever came my way...


From the age of 18, adulthood where she hailed from, she would keep her promises to her beloved Father -- keep her French; continue to perfect her English; carry on with Latin; keep to herself her Indian languages; add two more languages and complete them from the notes Papa had left her. With a stack of books to help the learning. She was very much alone, everyone had abandoned her, she was on auto-pilot...


In conclusion our wee girl had turned her life around and done by leaps and bound, a huge amount of growing up in a very short time -- just seven short years. From that year, 1974, it would take an entire decade until one man would come into her life and save her from despair.