The Shoe

9 fella's an' hur

The White Settlers


Christmas Poem



Wooly thoughts

Let's face the music and dance


Idle thoughts

About me!

I'm Edith Hornall, aged 59. I met and in twelve weeks married Roy, and we're still together 34 years later. We have a son, Robert, aged 30.
I trained as an actress at RSAMD and worked in Television and Theatre. When Robert was two, I returned to Television as a Stage Manager on Soaps, Chat Shows, Live Hogmanay Shows, etc.
I gave up my career to care for Mum (also a writer) when she developed dementia. She died in 2001 aged 91.
I had been diagnosed with Crohn's Disease when I was 40. In 2003 drug control was no longer sufficient, and on June 19th 2003 I was admitted to hospital for treatment of what developed into a life-threatening condition. Three operations later, three and a half weeks in a coma, fourteen and a half weeks in intensive care, in total nine months five days in hospital, I had walked in but came out in a wheel chair with MRSA in March of 2004. I beat MRSA and, after several false starts, am now walking; a bit wobbly, though I will improve enough to eventually dispense with my stick.
Writing is my way of challenging the brain and meeting non-medical people. Nice though they are, they were becoming my whole world. My family and close friends mean everything to me. They all pulled together and supported Roy when I was in another dimension, and they have stayed, now I'm back!

Stop Press. ©

I dedicate this poem to my son Robert, and my daughter in law Sharon, who have made us so happy, love from Edith &Roy. October 2005.

That Fella from Stratford talked of the Seven ages of Man,
About women, he didn't seem to have a plan,
I, humble woman, wish to balance the books,
And no matter how this may really look,
I will try my best
My time to invest, and explain my version,
Of the female point of view.
I fully realise that this is something I may well come to rue,
But, nonetheless I know it is something I really have to do.
I started my life as a child, a girl,
Ready to give the world a damn good whirl,
As a young woman full of angst,
I gave many young men, cause to say thanks,
As a wife I really am the trouble and strife,
I don't think that will change for the rest of my life!
As a mother I thought the picture complete,
But now I've had news that knocks me off my feet,
Yes, I'm going to be a granny,
The bloodline will run through,
To create another person,
A branch of a tree if you like, a Yew.
This will take forward the family voice,
And give cause to loudly and happily rejoice.
I'm going to be a granny, but wait,
I'm not ready for that, yet,
Wrinkles, and dentures, and wearing a god-awful hat!
Poor child whoever you will be,
you won't get this granny to fit into that category.
I'm me, I love, Frank Sinatra, The Rat Pack, Trad Jazz,
Cliff Richard, The Rolling Stones, get my drift,
Through all that confusion, you'll have to sift.
Whoever you are, whoever you will be,
I'll always love you, and I pray you'll love me,
I still have stages yet to go through in life,
With you in my corner, I'll be strong for the rest of my life.



The Shoe

Over the last fifteen years I must have walked my dog Kyle, over the same territory many, many times, and after a while, the charm of watching your dog root around in the grass to select a suitable spot for his frequent deposits, loses something in the repetition. Anything to distract and avoid boredom comes as a blessed relief. On one such trip my eye lit upon a shoe - a gent's shoe, lying in the gutter. I would have called it a 'posh casual' type of shoe - mid brown, suede, lacing, not too well worn, just one gent's shoe. I looked around for its neighbour or, possibly its owner lying drunk or worse, on the wet grass, but to my relief, neither was there. Just one gent's shoe!

How does a man become separated from one shoe that does not seem damaged in any way? Did he have a sudden urge to paddle one foot in the puddles? Was he fleeing a scene of crime, running from a would- be attacker? Was he bundled into a car by ruthless kidnappers and became separated from his shoe in the scuffle? There seemed to be more sinister and unpleasant explanations than pleasant ones. The shoe was not damaged in any way, nor was the lace snapped. It was just one gent's shoe, lying in the gutter, defying me, taunting me to supply an explanation as to its presence.
I remembered an occasion several years ago when I met a fellow dog walker and we paused briefly as our dogs snuffled around each other, as dogs do, and my friend said, "That's the sign of a good Saturday night". I looked towards where he was pointing, and there, lying on the grass, was a ladies sling - backed shoe that would sling no more. The heel was snapped backwards so that scenario explained itself very satisfactorily. Obviously given up as a bad job the woman had kicked it off, hopped onto a bus or taxi, and gone home. Simple, end of story, though how my friend reckoned on this being the sign of a 'good' Saturday night seemed not the right question to ask.
But one gent's shoe, in good condition, did not fit easily into a straight - forward situation. Over the next few days, I walked the same route without variation and looked for clues. I needed a resolution! All I saw was one gent's shoe, which gradually worked its way, unseen by me, from the gutter to the pavement,and from the pavement to the grass, where it settled.
By now it was beginning to look the worse for wear, out in all weather mainly rain, and apparently abandoned by its owner. It looked pretty bad by now, and, as far as it is possible to feel sorry for an inanimate object, I felt sorry for this shoe.

Over time, the puzzle faded from my thoughts, until, one evening at dusk, when heading for Kyle's happy hunting ground, known locally as piddle patch. I stopped short and stared.There, in the gutter was a shoe, the OTHER shoe, in pristine condition.

. .I felt threatened, challenged by some unseen person or force saying to me "Well, explain that if you dare!" Do you know what? I can't. Is there a shoe collector who tires of his shoes one at a time? Or a foot - fetishist, or, or...?


click here

see me suffer for my art at

Edinburgh Festival Fringe 2005

(754kb wmv file)


Idle Thoughts

This morning I read an article entitled, "The Shoe",
At the time it seemed exactly the right thing to do,
I had written it in frustration at the unsolved riddle
Of a discarded shoe observed whilst my dog took a piddle,
Imagine my amazement when some of the other writers
Gave their own interpretation,
And sympathised with said frustration,
it is reassuring to be told,
That my plight is not new, but old,
And that we all seemed to have problems with one unclaimed shoe




Erin. ©

Wrapped in a blanket surrounded with love
Our latest addition we look down to from above

As we seek some recognition
From this baby's perfect parts.

That's your nose, I do declare!
Don't give the poor child a terrible scare!
Mum's smile, Dad's nose, we all agree.
And decide to add Erin to the family tree.
Mum looks contented., we must let them rest,
This baby, this family, are simply the best.
To the joys of baby sitting,
I have now been introduced,

When handed over, Erin was placid and sedate,
She didn't start her grizzling till they shut the garden gate,
Figuring out a baby-grow, and where it should be fitting,
I'm terribly aware; in that domain I'm really very slow,
Its all very well saying “you’ve done it all before”
But most forget that was thirty years ago!
For an ending to this poem inspiration I don’t lack
The best part of being a grandparent
Is handing the wee bugger back!




The grass is green, the air is blue
Uncle Bob has lit the barbeque,
The sausages are burnt,
Ma stomach is turnt,
God I hate the summer!

Alas Alack, its Xmas time,
Auntie Alice has made some wine
It's very good for cleaning your pipes,
Or for bringing up your face in pink stripes,
After a few its not too bad,
Good God, how many have I had!




Woolly thoughts.

I've lost another sock
It's not like it's a frock,
It's only one sock
But... nonetheless...
I have a mountain of unpaired socks,
and it drives me insane.
when my husband hears this cry
from the house he finds reason to fly!
The cat dives to the nearest protection league,
begs immunity
from my community
I cannot blame them,
I am obsessed about these missing socks.
Machines eat them up,
Of this I am convinced.
This is my theory,
Others seem leery,
But I know I am right!
I have spent time on my knees, checking under machines
No sign, no clue,
Would you? Well, wouldn't you?
I am not paying homage to the god of sod,
I am trying to understand why, these socks
Between feet and machine do fly,
Perhaps I need to get out more,






My friend has given me this ring
She tells me the fashion is Bling,
It is a sparkly thing, this ring, called Bling,
I like to watch it twinkle as it catches the light,
Other people look mesmerised
Their faces quite a sight
I find their expressions quite funny,
As they wonder if I really might have hidden money,
Ah, no, my riches are not measured by money in the bank,
My wealth is in friendship,
Of the highest order I rank.
I have chosen this way my friend to acknowledge,
The jewel of friendship given openly, from her, to me





Let's face the music ©


Lets face the music and dance,
Let's watch Grandad be silly and prance.
Lets let life be free
Lets give peace a chance.
Did conscience catch you ?
Did you change your point of view?
Did you, will you, give peace a chance?


9 fellas and hur

(or) You had to be there.

We were telt by oor leader that we all had to go
To Edinburgh Fringe Festival, rain, hail or snow.
We were instructed to find an alcove in Edinburgh's Royal Mile
Admittedly for some of us it took quite a while,
But once there the atmosphere was terrific
Unfortunately the noise level was also horrific,
And the rain, ah well its Scotland, need I say more?
We coonted our blessings, it wisnae aw that cold
That at least was a bonus we didn't really expect,
And our performances we didn't neglect.
By the time it was my turn the volume was incredible
Had it been food I would have called it inedible!
But I battled on and as I did I glanced up and saw a circle of fellas, I now call my

August 2005. Edith Hornall

The White Settlers

The village is empty of weel kent faces,
Through the week it seems asleep with few scurrying traces,
The houses are changing out of all recognition
Conservatories, extensions, the White Settlers are here.

The primary school has one less pupil each year,
Less pupils, less teachers, less clutter to clear.
Less clutter, less litter, less public amenities,
Oh yes, the White Settlers are here.

Young couples clear out to the nearby towns,
The prices of houses here, seem like jokes from a clown,
The jobs here too are diminishing, there is very little about which to sing,
That's right, the White Settlers are here.

The weekend has a different story to tell,
The local store's buzzing, to judge by its bell,
The foreshore is covered with, life, laughter and boats,
It's the weekend White Settlers keeps the village afloat..




Christmas Poem ©

To all my friend I want to say

have a wonderful Christmas, in your own way

Try not to fall out with loved ones,

Or say things you will regret

instead, make it a magical time you won't want to forget


count your blessings and have fun

I wish you all good health

if you can make your close ones laugh

That is the greatest wealth


savour friendship at your table

and raise a glass with me

Let's toast each other, for it's no fable

I will hear you, believe you me!



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