Wanting to be

Perhaps one of the things I most regret about my childhood is the
fact that I never got to do all the things I dearly wanted to. This was
probably all through fault of my own but there is nothing to be done
about that now.

Take for instance Ballet. As I young child I read every book in sight
if it even hinted at Ballet. I got every guide out of the library and
painstakingly practised the steps over and over again. I even taught
myself to balance on the tips of my toes. I read the romantic stories
of young girls who realised their dreams by obtaining a scholarship for
Ballet school. I always hoped that it would magically happen to
me.

I desperately wanted to have ballet lessons but never dared to ask my
mum. I always felt that she would just laugh at me or think it was just
some silly craze I was going through. I always hoped she would work it
out herself and ask me if it interested me. I even hoped she would pick
up the hint when at a museum we stumbled across the children's activity
area. The theme was "When I Grow up I Want to Be..." I painted the most
perfect picture of a ballerina's tutu and wrote underneath the words
"When I grow up I want to be a Ballerina." But she never took up the
hint.

I had a friend who had ballet lessons and I got her to teach me some of
the moves. I remember standing at my cabin bed, holding onto the edge
and sticking my leg in the air into what could have been an elegant
arabesque with practice.

The thing that annoys me the most is the fact that I knew I could have
done it. To dance was in my blood, wherever it had come from, it was
there. I couldn't have got to the top but I know I could have danced
given the chance. That chance has passed me by now but I will never be
able to watch ballet without feeling both total awe at their immense
skill and total despair because it was what the child in me aspired to
be.

Another major regret, which has not yet passed me by, is horse riding.
I have always adored animals and once again reading huge piles of books
about girls (and boys) who had horses, rode horses, lived horses and
breathed horses. It made me wish it could be me, and once again I
lacked the courage to ask. The closest I ever got to riding a horse was
on a donkey called Pat on Blackpool Beach - not very!

Many Tuesdays I would go with my best friend Bridget and watch her
having her riding lessons. I would slip away, hide amongst the stables,
and talk to the horses. I fed them carrots from a bucket and stroked
them - whether or not I was allowed to I don't know, but I did. I can
only remember one name now. Rainbow was a huge horse with a coat that
never quite seemed to shine. He would refuse almost every jump and many
a time I saw him, stop suddenly and throw his rider but not himself
over the jump.

But horse riding is one thing I am determined will not pass just out of
my reach. I am adamant will learn to ride before the world of work
encompasses me in its grip and I cannot escape. I always stop and talk
to horses but at the moment I still don't have the courage to ask or
the time to do it in.

You may think from all my moaning that I didn't do anything as a child
but that is far from the truth. I did plenty and probably did lots of
things that many people would envy me for but there is one among many
others that I just can't miss out.

In my old village deep in the heart of Cheshire an annual Rose Fete was
held. The Hartford Rose Fete. This was a commonplace event as all the
surrounding villages had one every summer and best of all each one had
a Queen.

Ever since I was young enough to understand what was going on I wanted
to be that queen. The Rose Fete procession went past my front gate and
every year I would stand and watch it go by and then follow it as it
wound its way through the village to the local primary school. The
Queen and bouquet Bearer would sit on the back of an open top car and
wave serenely whilst sitting in a big meringue dress. I always thought
they looked so beautiful. Then Titania, the Fairy Queen would sit in
the back of a truck surrounded by elves. Looking back it all seems so
tacky and silly but whilst I was there it was magic. After them would
come a long line of local children of all ages, Flower Girls, Maids of
Honour and Train Bearers were the few I can remember. They had
different coloured dresses every year and one year I remember they were
a strange orange colour which in my memory looks like someone threw up
every were, but to me then it was perfect!

Sarah was a very good friend from primary school; year after year she
was in the procession as her mum helped to organise it. I watched her
as a Flower Girl in her disgusting orange dress and seethed with
amiable envy.

I got nearer to my goal of Queen when I started entering the Fancy
Dress competitions at the Rose Fete. I remember a year where I as an
Edwardian girl, my brother as a crusader, Bridget as a nurse and her
elder brother as a Cub Scout (which he already was) all entered
together and joined the procession just behind the Train Bearers. I
scooped second prize whilst my little brother waltzed away with a ?5
winner. Oooh the brat!!

A few years later when Sarah entered the Queen selection process I went
along as moral support to watch her speak to the judges and found
myself signing up to be a Train Bearer. Sarah won the place of Titania
the Fairy Queen and we both came away as pleased as two monkeys sat up
a tree! I was incredibly happy with my role and the highlights that
followed were almost as good as being Queen so I was happy to settle
for them. (This was mainly because I knew I was now too old to
enter.)

O n the day of the rose fete I put on my gorgeous purple dress (no
disgusting orange for me!) and set off for the beginning of the
procession. We walked to the school and then took part in the ceremony
we had been practising for weeks beforehand. I had the prestigious job
of putting the sash on Louise the Queen. After it was all done and the
mayor had made his boring long speech as they always do, we departed to
join in all the raffles and games that followed. I avoided the bouncy
castle and the squabbling boys like the plague for fear that they might
ruin my dress!

The best part occurred a few weeks after the Rose Fete itself. Sarah
was invited to go and attend Plumley Rose Fete as a visiting queen and
I was selected as her attendant. As the day dawned we found ourselves
crouched down in her father's red open top Alfa Romeo hurtling down the
dual carriageway towards Destination Plumley! When we got there we sat
up on the back in our beautiful dresses, with windswept hair and waved
at everything in sight as we were treated like royalty.

Afterwards we were taken to the church hall and fed with gorgeous cakes
and tiny round biscuits. That indeed was the highlight of my year!