Freda Grieve

4 articles in category Freda Grieve / Subscribe

Pprimary 3 had been on a nature walk, to study flowers in the small park close by the school building. They were now back in class and now around a table busy painting colourful pictures to go up on the wall of the classroom.

Sarah was pleased with her yellow primrose and it was the first finished picture to be pinned up and admired. Roses painted by Jayne followed and added a deep red and soft pink tone to the wall. Derek stood up with his dull-green and jagged nettle. He had even put in nettle flowers: white ugly blobs at the top.
“I’ve finished mine too,” he grinned
“That ugly stinging nettle isn’t going up on our wall,” said Jayne and everyone at the table thought the same.

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Ddressed for an interview, Pearl was dismayed to find that the worn string threading the glass beads she had put on for good luck had broken scattering beads right on the steps of the building.

Picking them up would make her even later than she was already, due to a train delay. But pick them up she must, after all, they had sentimental value.
“Oh! Just knew something like this would happen. Today of all days when I’m late for what could have turned out to be my first job.”
“Let me help you. The beads are bright green and not hard to spot”
“Thanks I’d appreciate it. Never worn this necklace since I was left it when my gran died. I was always trying it on when visiting her as a child”

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Tthe parcel arrived on the day that Kim was coming to stay for a short holiday. A long, wide, flat shape marked ‘Fragile’ and addressed to Emma. Inside the parcel was a painting of an old house.

“Emma it is this house, before it was converted into our Guest House.”
Her mother had taken the picture and was gazing at it with interest.
“The old house painted many years ago. There is another wing in the picture and smooth lawns. A girl in a white dress intent on painting. She seems to be about my age”

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Ii sit here alone, with all the house lights blazing, and I am afraid. The lengthening shadows of evening will soon turn to the all-engulfing darkness of night.

The waving branches of trees, bent back and forth by the breeze, create a sinister picture beyond the windowpane. The Bramble, whose cruel grip I had destroyed, was like an enemy, banished but vengeful.

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