Another Unforgettable Experience   by A.

When we first moved to the house with the pond we needed to do a lot of work in the garden because the previous owners had allowed it to go to rack and ruin (get into a rundown condition). One of the jobs we had to do was to clear an area of old shrubs and trees which had become overgrown at the bottom of the garden.

We spent several days digging up self seeded bushes and saplings (young trees) which had planted themselves in all the wrong places. Then we cut back and pruned (a special way of cutting trees) everything else.

When we had finished the area looked much tidier but there was a lot of bare soil where we had uprooted the rogue plants (the ones in the wrong places). We decided that the best idea would be to put down grass seed and turn the bare soil into a new lawn.

After a few weeks the grass seed sprouted and began to grow. We watched carefully for the time when it would be long enough to cut. Eventually, the grass had thickened and grown and the moment of truth had arrived (we were ready to cut the grass). During this time the frogs had mated, the frogspawn (frog's eggs) had hatched into tadpoles and they had turned into tiny, tiny froglets. They were as small as my little finger nail.

We got the lawn mower out of the shed and started to mow the grass. Suddenly, my husband shouted "Quick Meiann, come here! " so, I ran to see what the problem was. There in the new grass were hundreds of tiny froglets (well, there looked to be hundreds!) all of them right in the path of the lawnmower blades. What were we going to do, we asked ourselves. The grass had to be cut or it would die but if we cut it, the froglets would die. We were on the horns of a dilemma (we didn't know how to decide what to do).

Finally we hit upon a plan. I would go in front of the mower and "shepherd" the froglets ahead of me like small green sheep! Then when we were sure that there were none left in that patch of grass my husband could mow the lawn behind me.

We must have made a strange sight that day, me on my hands and knees ushering the froglets along (moving them in front of me) and out of harms way, with a lawn mower following closely behind me as if I was the grass! but we didn't mind, at the end of the (very long and tiring) day, we had a newly mown lawn and all the froglets were safe.

written by A., England

A further unforgettable experience    by G.

 

When I was 18 year old I had a day off work. I was cleaning the house when I noticed the ceiling in the hall on the first floor of the house was a little dusty. I could have taken a duster, put it on the end of a broom and dusted the ceiling but no. 
In our house we had a flight of stairs, at the top of which was a corridor (hall) which had doors from it leading to the bedrooms and bathroom.
I got a ladder out so that I could reach the ceiling, but I am frightened of heights and I don't like ladders. Then I had a good idea.
I climbed onto the bannisters in the top landing (this is the name of the floor which makes up the hall and then the stairs are at the side and the drop is equivalent to two floors of the house. I was standing on the bannister trying to reach the ceiling. (The trick here is 'Don't look down!').
I cleaned the ceiling then thought.... if I lean forward I will be able to clean the opposite wall. So I leant forward. It was 4 o' clock. (16.00) My dad came home from work at 6 o'clock (18.00) and found me standing on the bannister with my hands on the opposite wall.  He came in through the front door of the house, looked up the stairs and said
'What are you doing?' I looked down and said
'I was cleaning the ceiling and now I'm stuck.' Daddy came up the stairs, looking very worried saying
'Don't move'. He very carefully came onto the hall landing and grabbed me. He said 'Don't ever do that again.' as he lowered me to the floor. 
Happy days!
written by G., England

Another unforgettable experience   by G.

 

I am a twin. Imagine that there are two of me!  My twin sister Lynne is a much more serious person than I am.

Have you read 'The Lion, The Witch and The wardrobe?' It's a great book. The story is about some children who climb into a wardrobe and then disappear into a magical kingdom, called Narnia and have adventures. It's a really good book. I have read it twice.

We were 7 years old. I had an idea. My parents had bought us a brand new, grown up wardrobe. It was really tall. It was really big. It had a door with a key. A very pretty key. I told my sister that we could get in the wardrobe and go to Narnia (The kingdom) in the book. My sister said, she was frightened, she didn't want to go.

‘I'll go' I said. So I climbed into the wardrobe but I couldn't find the magic door to Narnia.

'I know’ I said 'lock the lock and I'll have another look'. Lynne locked me in. I still couldn't find Narnia.

'I know' I said 'give me the key and I'll say a magic word ('Aslan') and then the magic door to Narnia will appear. Lynne climbed onto a chair and posted the key through an air hole in the top of the wardrobe which was really high. I picked up the key. I called out 'Aslan ' many times but I still couldn't find the magic door.

I said. 'No it's not here, this must be the wrong wardrobe'. 'Let me out'

'I can't' she said' the door is locked you'll have to give me the key. I tried to unlock the door from the inside, but it didn't work. so I said 'Open the door' but she couldn't it was locked. I tried throwing the key up in the air to see if it would fly back outside through the air hole but it didn't.

I searched for what seemed hours (about 2 minutes) and then our mother came upstairs and said

'Where's your sister this time?'

'She is in there, looking for Narnia.' answered Lynne, pointing at the wardrobe.

'Open the door ' our mother said. 'I can't.' replied Lynne.

'Glynis, Open the door. '

'I can't' I said.

Then it all went wrong. Someone had to call the police. The police came but they couldn't get the door open. The fire brigade came and eventually they managed to get the door open. They had to unscrew the door hinges on the outside of the wardrobe. I don't know why our mother hit us or why we were not allowed to have the key again.
                                     ..............................................

When I was 17 years old, I decided to clean behind my Dad's really big, heavy, oak wardrobe. I pulled the wardrobe out and remembered the incident from many years previously. I looked inside the wardrobe and laughed. Then I pushed and pulled until I moved the wardrobe away from the wall. I climbed behind it and tried to dust then I decided to come out but I couldn't. I was stuck. I spent 2 hours behind the wardrobe laughing and calling out

'Hello. Is there anybody?' One of my neighbours came home from work and he could hear me calling and laughing. Eventually he came into the house and called out,

'Glynis, where are you?' I shouted back. I'm behind the wardrobe in my Dad's room, looking for Narnia.'

He said ‘What?’

I replied 'I'm stuck behind the wardrobe'. He came upstairs and moved the wardrobe so that I could escape. He didn't think it was funny.

When my dad came home I told him and he didn't laugh either.

I have tears running down my face. I am laughing so much. I can't see.

written by G., England

Ein anderes unvergessenes Erlebnis   by G.

 

Ich bin ein Zwilling, stellt euch vor, dass es zwei von mir gibt. Meine Zwillingsschwester Lynne ist eine viel ernstere Person als ich.

Habt ihr das Buch „Der Löwe, die Hexe und der Kleiderschrank“ gelesen? Das ist ein großartiges Buch. Die Geschichte handelt über ein paar Kinder welche in einen Kleiderschrank klettern und in einem magischen Königreich, namens Narnia, in dem sie Abenteuer erleben verschwinden. Es ist ein wirklich gutes Buch, ich habe es zweimal gelesen.

Als wir 7 Jahre alt waren hatte ich eine Idee. Meine Eltern hatten uns einen brandneuen Kleiderschrank, schon für Erwachsene, gekauft. Er war richtig groß und hatte eine versperrbare Tür mit einem Schlüssel, einem sehr hübschen Schlüssel. Ich sagte zu meiner Schwester, dass wir in den Kleiderschrank steigen können und zu Narnia (dem Königreich) in dem Buch gehen können.

Meine Schwester war erschrocken, sie wollte nicht in den Schrank gehen.

„Ich will gehen“, sagte ich. Ich kletterte in den Kleiderschrank aber ich konnte das magische Tor nach Narnia nicht finden.

„Ich weiß“, sagte ich „verriegle das Schloss und ich werde es sehen“. Lynne sperrte mich ein, ich konnte Narnia noch immer nicht finden.

„Ich weiß“ sagte ich „gib mir den Schlüssel, ich werde das magische Wort „Aslan“ sagen und dann wird das magische Tor zu Narnia erscheinen. Lynne kletterte auf einen Sessel und zielte den Schlüssel durch ein Luftloch oben auf dem Kleiderschrank, der wirklich hoch war. Ich nahm den Schlüssel, ich rief mehrere Male „Aslan“ aber ich konnte das magische Tor noch immer nicht finden.

Ich sagte“ Nein, es ist nicht hier, das muss der falsche Schrank sein. Lass mich raus.“

„Ich kann nicht“ sagte Lynne „die Tür ist verriegelt wie du es haben wolltest, gib mit den Schlüssel.“

Ich versuchte die Tür von innen zu entriegeln, aber es hat nicht funktioniert. So sagte ich: „Öffne die Tür“, aber sie konnte nicht , die Tür war verschlossen. Ich habe versucht den Schlüssel in die Luft zu werfen , um zu sehen wie er durch das Loch nach draußen fliegt, aber es ging nicht.

Ich versuchte es , mir schien es Stunden, zirka 2 Minuten, dann kam unsere Mutter nach oben und sagte: „Wo ist Deine Schwester jetzt?“ „Sie ist darin auf der Suche nach Narnia“ antwortet Lynne und zeigte auf den Schrank.

„Öffne die Tür“ sagte unsere Mutter „ich kann nicht“ antwortete Lynne. „Glynis, öffne die Tür“ „ich kann nicht“ sagte ich.

Dann ist alles schief gelaufen, jemand hat die Polizei angerufen. Die Polizei kam aber sie konnten

die Tür nicht öffnen. Die Feuerwehr kam und schließlich haben sie es geschafft , sie haben die Scharniere auf der Außenseite des Kleiderschankes abgeschraubt.

Ich weiß nicht warum unsere Mutter uns einen Schlag versetzt hat und warum sie nicht erlaubte, dass wir wieder einen Schlüssel haben durften!

                                                ------------------------------------

Als ich 17 Jahre alt war entschied ich mich den wirklich großen, schweren Eichenschrank meines Vaters bis ins letzte Eck zu reinigen. Ich machte den Schrank auf und erinnerte mich an den Vorfall von damals. Ich blickte in den Schrank und lachte. Dann schob und zog ich bis der Schrank sich von der Wand weg bewegte. Ich kletterte dahinter und habe abgestaubt, dann entschied ich mich wieder hervorzukommen, aber ich konnte nicht. Ich war steckengeblieben. Ich verbrachte 2 Stunden hinter dem Schrank, lachend und rufend.

„Hallo, ist da jemand?“ Einer meiner Nachbarn kam von der Arbeit nach Hause und er konnte mich lachen und rufen hören. Schließlich kam er in das Haus und rief: „Glynis, wo bist du?“ Ich rief zurück: „Ich bin hinter dem Schrank in dem Zimmer meines Vaters, ich suche nach Narnia.“

Er sagte: „Was?“ Ich antwortete: „Ich stecke fest hinter dem Schrank.“

Er kam nach oben und bewegte den Schrank so dass ich freikommen konnte. Er dachte nicht dass es lustig war.

Als mein ‚Vater nach Hause kam erzählte ich ihm was war und er konnte auch nicht lachen.

Tränen rannen über mein Gesicht, ich lachte so viel, ich konnte gar nichts mehr sehen.

written by G., England / translated by C., Austria

It teaches me be tougher     by Ca.

 

I'm back here sooner than I expected, because something happened to me yesterday and I couldn't stop thinking about how much it looked like the kind of story we tell people. It's really short, but still an unusual episode that I would like to share with you. :)

My father raises chickens, so our backyard is full of them. As the little chickens start becoming roosters and "getting interested" in the hens, it all becomes a mess: they start stalking them making the others desperate. Yesterday, it was happening. When I heard the noise of a fight, I went there to check on them, and I tried to separate the chicken from the young rooster, but it hid away, so I went back inside.

Some time later, the noise started again, but I thought it was the same thing happening and I believed the chicken would be able to escape by herself, so I took a little longer to go and check. When I got there, the chicken was tangled in the fence and her neck all squashy and fallen. So I thought; "Oh no, God, I got here too late! She’s dead!"

I started crying. I cried, and cried and cried so much that the neighbours must surely have heard me and I was so shocked that I couldn't loosen her body. So I yelled for my mother, still crying, asking her to help me because I couldn’t touch the hen, it was too dramatic for me, I felt sad, guilty and weak.

When Mom finally got there and started untying the chicken, it started moving.

I guess needless to say the chicken wasn't dead after all. However, if it was, I'm sure it came back to life just to teach me be tougher! 

written by Ca., Brazil  / corrected by A., England

An unforgettable few days.    by G.

Tuesday the 5^th of June was just the beginning.

I ordered a new bed, because it was really cheap.

I ordered it on the Internet. The form I had to complete online, said 

'5 day delivery. Tick the box for delivery.'

I ticked  the 16th of June.

I was so proud of myself. I have never ordered something online like that before. I have ordered ebooks for my kindle which are delivered, via whispernet, (No, I don't understand that either!) as if by magic which just appear on my kindle.

Early Saturday the 9th of June. I took the old bed to the dump (recycling centre) having cut myself quite badly when I took it apart.  I came home and waited for my new bed to arrive. I cleaned the room in preparation for my brand new bedstead, (a bed frame on which you put your own mattress).

On Saturday 9th June the bed did not arrive.

On Sunday the 10th of June, I phoned to complain and as I complained bitterly about the shoddy service I had received from the company, the girl on the phone said.   

'It was the 9th of June yesterday. The 16th of June is next week.'' (she said it TWICE!!)

''I know'', I said.'' Can I come and live with you?'

I felt so stupid.

I had no bed! One of my dogs loved it. He had a great big dog basket in the bedroom for days. Another of my dogs was not amused. He thought someone has stolen the bed. I had to sleep on the mattress on the floor .It was like being a student again. Except, when I was a student, I had a bed. I never had to sleep on the floor.

On the 14th of June, the online shop phoned. They said that there was a problem with the delivery and they wouldn't be able deliver until the 21st June.

And NO, I couldn't go and live with them.

On the 15th of June I went into the bathroom and the floor was floating! There had been a water leak under the floor.

I phoned a plumber. He said he would come in the early morning of the 16th June. At 10pm (22.00) that night he phoned to say he couldn't come as his Central Heating boiler had exploded.

I had no bed, a flooded bathroom, water still leaking from the main water supply and no one who could fix anything.

On the 16th of June a friend came and repaired the leak for me.

On the 21st of June my new bed arrived.

On the 30th of June I had a gas leak. I had to wait for an emergency official from the gas supplier to come and fit a new gas meter, and then he said my gas cooker (hob) is dangerous.

I am never going to order anything on the Internet again. That action has caused me a lot of problems and great expense!

written by G., England

Camping indoors     by Ca.

Not many years ago I had a “club” with three of my neighbours, which we called C.D.F.T (C for Camila, D for Daniela, F for Flávia and T for Thalita). We had great times together and we even composed a jingle! Some days we used to sleepover, and during one of those events, we came to my house to ”camp”. We borrowed a cabana from my uncle and set it up in the backyard, squeezed a mattress inside it and carried everything we could with us: from pillows to lights, books and snacks.

It was all going very well, we giggled as never before, told jokes, sang and we were ready to sleep when it suddenly started raining. “It’s ok, we thought, who would make a cabana that isn’t resistant to water?” I guess we were wrong…

Minutes later, we started feeling cold, and when we touched the walls, we felt it: the water was coming in our shelter! We got so desperate, that we took the entire cabana off the ground, and somehow pushed it thought a very thin gate to get to a safe place. We were thrilled; it felt like an adventure for us.

It took us a while, but eventually we fell asleep. Unlike any other camping we could have gone to; we would have a delicious breakfast waiting for us on the outside as soon as we woke up.

written by Ca., Brazil / corrected by G., England

Camping im Haus     von Ca.

Vor nicht allzu langer Zeit hatte ich einen „Club“ mit drei meiner Nachbarn, welcher sich C.D.F.T nannte (C für Camila, D für Daniela, F für Flávia und T für Thalita). Wir hatten großartige Zeiten zusammen und wir hatten sogar einen Song komponiert. Eines Tages hatten wir wie üblich eine Pyjama-Party und während einem dieser Ereignisse gingen wir zu meinem Haus zum „Campen“. Wir borgten uns eine Holzhütte von meinem Onkel und stellten sie auf unserem Hof auf, quetschten eine Matratze hinein, und trugen alles hinein: von Kissen bis zu Lichtern, Büchern und Snacks.

Alles verlief sehr gut, wir kicherten wie nie zuvor, erzählten Witze, sangen und waren fertig zum Schlafen, als es plötzlich zu regnen begann. „Es ist OK“ dachten wir, und meinten, wir hätten eine Hütte, die widerstandsfähig gegen Wasser ist. Aber wir hatten nicht recht…

Minuten später begannen wir uns kalt zu fühlen, und als wir die Wände berührten, fühlten wir es: Das Wasser kam in unseren Unterschlupf. Wir waren so verzweifelt, dass wir vollständig alles vom Boden der Hütte mitnahmen und irgendwie durch eine sehr kleine Öffnung drückten, um einen sicheren Platz aufzusuchen. Wir waren sehr erregt; es fühlte sich wie ein Abenteuer für uns an.

Es dauerte eine Weile, aber schließlich schliefen wir ein. Entgegen irgendeinem anderen Camping, zu dem wir hätten gehen können, wartete draußen ein köstliches Frühstück auf uns, nachdem wir aufgewacht waren.

written by Ca., Brazil / translated by M., Germany

An Unforgettable Experience     by A.

For many of us the idea of an unforgettable experience is of something spectacular but sometimes it is the little things which are unforgettable. This is the story of one of those "little things".

The story I am about to tell you did not happen to me but to my Grandmother. When she was a small child in Yorkshire, around 1910 or maybe a little earlier, her Mother took her into a hardware shop ( a shop selling all kinds of useful and practical items for use in or around the home and garden )

The shop was owned by a middle aged man and his wife. The wife's Mother, an old lady in her nineties, always sat in a rocking chair in the corner of the shop.

When my Grandmother and Great Grandmother entered the shop there was a tall blond man already at the counter, trying to explain what he wanted to buy. Unfortunately, he was a Norwegian sailor who spoke no English and the shopkeeper spoke no Norwegian ... impasse! (a block with no way forward)

The two men were trying everything they could think of to break down the communication barrier. The shopkeeper kept getting things off shelves or, out of drawers and showing them to the sailor, who kept shaking his head, making signs and repeating the same word over and over but they were getting nowhere.

After the pantomime of pointing, signing and guessing had continued for some time, the old lady looked up from her chair in the corner and said "Show him a rope ladder." .......The shopkeeper looked at her as if she had grown a tail  ... "don't be silly!" he said "Why would he want a rope ladder?" ......

.......To which the old lady replied "It doesn't matter why he would want it. Just try it and see."  ......

.......so, muttering under his breath about old ladies in general and his Mother-in-law in particular, he got a rope ladder and showed it to the sailor.

The Norwegian's face lit up (he looked very happy) and he kept nodding and smiling. This was what he wanted after all.

After the man had paid for his purchase and left the shop, the shopkeeper turned to his Mother-in-law and apologised "I'm sorry, I called you silly" he said "but what on earth made you think of suggesting a rope ladder?"

"Well!" replied the old lady "He kept saying that one word, time and time again and  it sounded like the Yorkshire (dialect) word for a rope ladder, so, I thought it was worth trying."

You see, around a thousand years ago, the North of England and particularly that part of Yorkshire was invaded by the Danes and other Norsemen, who brought their languages with them. The Yorkshire dialect was a variation on Old Norse but it was close enough to modern Norwegian to still have words in common.

Sadly, these days any Norwegian who spoke no English would struggle to be understood, because there are no longer any dialect speakers left. The Yorkshire dialect is now officially an extinct language (a dead language) and the old lady would have been among one of the last Yorkshirewomen to be able to speak it.

As I said at the beginning, this is not my story, nor is it spectacular but my Grandmother told it to me when I too was a young child and I have never forgotten it. so, I think it qualifies as unforgettable !!

written by A., England

Ein unvergessliches Erlebnis     von A.

 

Für viele von uns ist ein unvergessliches Erlebnis etwas Spektakuläres, aber manchmal sind  es kleine Dinge, die unvergesslich bleiben. Dies ist die Geschichte einer "kleinen Begebenheit".

Die Geschichte, die ich euch erzählen will, ist nicht mir, sondern meiner Großmutter passiert Als sie als kleines Kind in Yorkshire lebte.  Ungefähr im Jahre 1910, vielleicht auch etwas früher, nahm ihre Mutter sie mit in ein Eisenwarengeschäft (ein Geschäft, das alle möglichen Artikel verkauft, die man rund um Haus und Garten benötigt)

Das Geschäft gehörte einem Mann im mittleren Alter und seiner Frau.  Die Mutter der Frau, eine ältere Dame in den Neunzigern, saß immer in einem Schaukelstuhl in einer Ecke des Geschäfts.

Als meine Großmutter und meine Urgroßmutter in das Geschäft kamen, stand dort bereits ein großer blonder Mann am Ladentisch. Er versuchte zu erklären, was er kaufen wollte. Er war Norweger und konnte leider kein Englisch, und unglücklicherweise sprach der Ladenbesitzer  kein Norwegisch.....Sackgasse!

Beide Männer versuchten alles Mögliche die Sprachbarriere zu durchbrechen. Der Ladenbesitzer holte immer wieder Dinge aus den Regalen und Schränken und zeigte sie dem Seemann, der daraufhin immer wieder den Kopf schüttelte, Er machte immer wieder Zeichen und wiederholte das gleiche Wort immer wieder, aber es klappte nicht.

Nach längerer Zeit mit Pantomimen, Raten und Resignation, schaute die ältere Dame im Schaukelstuhl auf und sagte: " Gebt ihm eine Strickleiter"...............

......Der Ladenbesitzer schaut sie an, als  wenn ihr ein Schwanz gewachsen wäre....
(mir fällt im Moment keine passende deutsche Redewendung ein) "Warum sollte er wohl eine Strickleiter brauchen?"

......dazu antwortete die ältere Dame: "Es ist egal wofür,  er will sie. Probiere es einfach...."

...über ältere Leute  vor sich hinmurmeln, und spezielle  über seine Schwiegermutter, holte er eine Strickleiter hervor und zeigte sie dem Seemann.

Das Gesicht des Norwegers erstrahlte und er nickte und lächelte. Das war es, was er wollte.

Als er bezahlt hatte verließ er das Geschäft.  Der Ladenbesitzer drehte sich zu seiner Schwiegermutter um und entschuldigte sich: "Es tut mir leid, dass ich das unsinnig fand", sagte er. "Wie zum Teufel  kamst du auf die Idee, dass es eine Strickleiter sein könnte?"

"Naja!" antwortete die alte Dame " Er sagte immer wieder das eine Wort, und es hörte sich an, wie das Wort Strickleiter in Yorkshire Dialekt. Also, dachte ich, dass es einen Versuch wert wäre."

Man kann sehen, dass vor ungefähr tausend Jahren, der Norden Englands und besonders die Gegend von Yorkshire von Norwegern und Dänen und anderen Skandinaviern besiedelt wurde, die ihre Sprachen mitbrachten. Der Yorkshire Dialekt war eine Variation aus altnordisch, aber es war der norwegischen Sprache ähnlich und hatte noch viele gemeinsame Wörter.

Leider, würde heutzutage jeder Norweger, der kein Englisch spricht scheitern. Niemand würde ihn verstehen, da es keine Leute mehr gibt, die diesen Dialekt sprechen. Der Yorkshire Dialekt ist jetzt offiziell eine Tote Sprache,  und die ältere Dame war wahrscheinlich eine der letzten Yorkshirefrauen , die sie sprechen konnte.

Wie ich am Anfang gesagt habe, war das nicht meine Geschichte, sie ist auch nicht spektakulär, aber meine Großmutter hat sie mir erzählt als ich noch klein war, und ich habe sie nicht vergessen. Sie gilt also als unvergessen. 

written by A., England / translated by V., Germany