I'm a Wednesday child and always hated that rhyme!!
It's NOT true. Funny thing is My hubby is a Wednesday child too What I said was: I totally agree - there's nothing woeful about your household. I am a Wednesday's child and have been fighting the woeful feelings ever since :. I don't know what to say to that Blue Sky, except that we don't really believe the rhyme. I hope those woeful feeling are starting to feel unwelcome. Hugs xxx. GSussex A different take and fun to read! Thnaks GSussex - I'm not so clever to have thought it up, I really remember this being the case.
Tuesday, January 31, Wednesday's Child. Yes I know it's not yet Wednesday but this is the prompt for the word challenge this week. Just that - Wednesday. A good choice when you think about it.
We've got Sunday as the Sabbath Day or Saturday where I live , Monday starts the week, Thank God it's Friday, Tuesday used as a pretty girl's name is when you're just getting into your stride and by Thursday you're almost home and dry. But Wednesday?
Well precisely. Do pop over to Julia's to read more entries. Labels: my issues , The word challenge. Anna January 31, at PM. Midlife Singlemum January 31, at PM. Sally-Jayne January 31, at PM. Midlife Singlemum February 1, at AM. Midlife Singlemum February 3, at PM.
Writing from the Edge February 2, at PM. Nkeiru February 2, at PM. And did they abuse her? Then he thought of Gemma herself: that haunted face, those eyes that had seen much more and much worse than her young mind could comprehend, possibly lying dead out there right now in some ditch, or buried in a makeshift grave.
It is so interesting for me and beneficial to all people who read. One corner of the room had been converted into a mini-kitchen, complete with a fridge, microwave and coffee-maker. The church clock rang nine. But if you brought in the authorities every time a child had a bruise there'd be no time for anything else, would there? He looked down at the boarding pass and back up at her, the frown becoming even deeper. Jim choked back a laugh, turned it into a cough.
And he thought of what Gristhorpe had just said. He stubbed out his cigarette and reached for the telephone. No time for brooding. Time to get to work. A desolate, stunned air pervaded the East Side Estate that morning, Banks sensed, as he walked from the mobile unit to the school. Even the dogs seemed to be indoors, and those people he did see going on errands or pushing babies in prams had their heads bowed and seemed drawn in on themselves. He pa. Hardly anyone was out on the street. The school itself was a square red brick building with only a few small windows.
A high chain-link fence bordered the asphalt playground. Banks looked at his watch. Eleven o'clock. Gemma's teacher should be waiting for him in the staff-room.
He walked through the front doors, noting that one of the gla. As he walked along the corridor, he was struck by the brightness of the place, so much in contrast with its ugly exterior. Most of it, he thought, was due to the children's paintings tacked along the walls.
These weren't skilled, professional efforts, but the gaudy outbursts of untrained minds-yellow sunbursts with rays shooting in all directions, bright golden angels, red and green stick figures of mummy and daddy and cats and dogs. There was a funny smell about the place, too, that transported him back to his own infants' school, but it took him some moments to identify it. When he did, he smiled to himself, remembering for the first time in ages those blissful, carefree days before school became a matter of learning facts and studying for exams.
It was Plasticine, that coloured putty-like stuff he had tried in vain to mould into the shapes of hippos and crocodiles. He walked straight into the staff-room, and a woman, who looked hardly older than a schoolgirl herself, came forward to greet him. It was a big room with well-s.
A couple of other teachers, sitting over newspapers, glanced up at his entry, then looked down again. One corner of the room had been converted into a mini-kitchen, complete with a fridge, microwave and coffee-maker. Here and there on the rough, orange-painted walls hung more examples of untrammelled art. Sit down. Can I get you some coffee or something? She went to get it.
Peggy Graham, Banks noticed, was a small, bird-like woman, perhaps fresh out of teachers' training school. Her grey pleated skirt covered her knees, and a dark blue cardigan hung over her white cotton blouse. She wore her mousy hair in a pony tail, and large gla. Her eyes, behind them, were big, pale and milky blue, and they seemed charged with worry and sincerity. Her lips were thin and curved slightly downwards at the corners.
She wore no make-up. It came in a mug with a picture of Big Bird on it. Just dreadful. She spoke, he thought, as if she were talking to a cla. Banks nodded. Banks noticed the thin gold wedding band. In cases like this it helps to find out as much as you can about the child. What was Gemma like? Peggy Graham pursed her lips.
Editorial Reviews. About the Author. Linda Chaikin is an award-winning writer of more than 20 books, including the popular A Day to Remember series. Wednesday's Child (A Day to Remember Book 3) and millions of other books are available for Amazon Kindle. Learn more. Enter your mobile number or email.
Gemma's a very quiet child.