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Original Writing- Snowdrops

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Original Writing- Snowdrops I will never forget the day when Miss Webster was going to show us the snowdrops growing in the little three- cornered garden outside the school keeper's house, where we weren't allowed to go. All through that winter, I remember Miss Webster saying, that the snowdrops had been asleep under the ground, but then they were up, and growing in the garden. I remember a frank speaking with Garath. He was telling me how he had imagined the snowdrops, but all he could imagine was one flake of the falling snow, bitterly frail and white, and nothing like a flower. I recall that morning being very cold. I remember leaning against the kitchen table, I remember because I had put my brother, Geraint, who was three at the time, in the armchair in front of the fireplace. That morning my mum realised the time and began to shout, "Hurry up or you'll never get to school." God rest her soul, she only past away a year ago. I remember I replied "Miss Webster is going to show is the snowdrops today!" I was so excited. My mum just looked at me and smiled, the rest is a bit fuzzy. But I do remember my mother wondering where my father was, and suddenly he entered the room. My father was a big man; every time he entered the room he filled the room with bigness. ...read more.


It was a good story, but something always seemed to happen before I got to the end of it. Sometimes I began it at night in bed, only to fall asleep long before the really exciting part. Now my mother was talking to me. "Was Miss Webster in school this morning?" she asked me, "Yes, but she came late. She didn't arrive until playtime." "Poor girl," my mother said as she shook her head. I thought about this for a long time, and then recalled back to earlier that morning. I continued "She's got a bad hand," I said. "She caught her finger in the cupboard door and her hand was bleeding. She's got a bandage on it today, she'll never be able to bend her finger again, and that's what Edmund Jenkins said." I remember her looking at me and shaking her head while saying "Oh, you and Edmund Jenkins." As many of my memories, I only recall a few moments of me running back to school to see the snowdrops. However when I got back there was nobody about, except some girls skipping and giggling just inside the school yard, as I made my way inside the building. Everybody was sitting very quietly inside the classroom. We were allowed to go in early because it was very cold. Normally we would have stayed outside however wet and cold it was, but today it seemed that they all wanted to sit quietly with Miss Webster, close to the cast- iron shove that had the figure of the tortoise on top. ...read more.


I looked around for Miss Webster to explain these simple flowers to me, but she had gone down to the gate and was staring through, looking up the road. Her back was as hard as stone. I turned again to the snowdrops, concentrating, willing them to turn marvellous in front of my eyes. They hung down their four petalled heads in front of me, the white tinged with a minute green, the little green ball sturdily holding the petals, the greyish leaves standing up like miniature spears. I began to see their fragility. I saw them blow in a sudden gust of the cold March wind, shake, and straighten gallantly. I imagined them standing all night in the dark garden, holding bravely to their specks of whiteness. I put out a finger to touch the nearest flower, knowing now what snowdrops were. I lifted my face to tell Miss Webster, but she was standing right at the gate, holding the iron bars with her hands. I could see her shoulders shaking, at that time I didn't realise that Miss Webster wasn't shaking because of the cold, she was shaking because she was scared. *Mor ddedwydd yw y rhai trwy ffydd s'yn mynd o blith y byw...* Sang the men as they filed solemnly past the school. I knew it was welsh because of my grandmother, and it was sad and beautiful, at the same time. After a while we couldn't hear the singing anymore, but Miss Webster continued to cry aloud in the midst of the cold March wind. As in her own personal way, she said goodbye to her sweetheart. ...read more.

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