OWLS.
I have been collecting owls since I was very little. Each week I would scrape up all the pocket money I could find, coins stuck to penny chews and a quid from down the back of the sofa and then I would go and buy whatever enamel covered little beauty I could find.
When we went on days out as a family my little palms would sweat as we got nearer the gift shop, my mind racing, wondering what kind of owls they would have. Curiously, around this time, most shops seemed to have some kind of owl-themed prize for me to collect.
If I didn’t have enough I used to barter and bribe my way into owning that feathered friend. I used to borrow a quid off my Dad with the promise of helping him do the garden or look at my Mum with stupid big eyes.
For a number of years my parents tried to resist this “phase” – saying I “could not possibly need another owl.” But after a while, when it became obvious that this was more of a life-time love they just let it be.
My Mammam was my most favourite and beloved person in the world. I could not have loved her anymore if I had tried. She was more than just my Grandma, she was my partner in crime for so many years. When she came to visit we used to walk around town going for tea and cake and she would buy me ‘little tiffies’ to help me on my way. She also loved owls. Her house in Yorkshire was like a little bejewled cave of amazing treasure for me to play with and admire.
When she died I inherited a lot of these things. And my owl collection became more important to me than ever before. My Dad bought me a little wooden cabinet to put them all in, where each of their big eyes stare out at me and remind me of her.
Over the last few years owl pharaphaneila is has become oh-so hip, again. Not that it ever went out of style, for me. It has been over 10-years since we lost her. Since I lost the little old lady who was unfalteringly kind, fiercely loyal and totally brilliant in every way. The lady who made me more excited about the world than anyone else ever had. And who I never got to tell that to.
Her house had a long, thin garden, sparse of much except a mysterious little shed lined with trinkets belonging to my Grandad Frank, all of which were a constant source of fascination to me because I never got to meet him. She used to tell me that pixes and frogs lived down at the bottom. I spent hours and hours down there looking for these mythical creatures – and I did see a frog once or twice.
And there was always a robin or two flitting about. She loved birds like that. Ever since she has been gone I see robins everywhere, throughout the entire year. I know she is still around me, I can still feel her about the place. And everytime I see something with an owl on it I think of her.
Everytime I stand on the top of the moors, breathe in the Yorkshire air and look to the sky, for anything in flight I feel at peace. I can feel her.
When I was small and first started this collection I would buy ANYTHING I came across that was remotely owl related. And so often this habit takes over and I just cannot stop myself, so my collection still continues to grow. Moving into t-shirts, jumpers, scarves, badges, necklaces, socks, bags, cards, wrapping paper, stickers, plant pots, mirrors…you name it.
I can’t possibly go a day without thinking about her, I have made sure of that. And the sadness, although it still remains, has been somewhat overshadowed by how happy I am just to sit and remember her.
