As a child I hid in a chicken coop to write stories.

When I was  teenager my poems were published in school journals and when I was 15  I won a national poetry competition. Later  my poems were published in a collection of women poets.

In 1981 my husband and I emigrated to New Zealand with our youngest daughter who was 16. Our eldest daughter stayed overseas, now with her own family. A  busy life as  librarian, sculptor/painter and tutor in adult education classes, wife, mother and  grandmother, gives enough inspiration to write.

I had exhibitions and commissions and as a member of the Papakura Art Group, I take part in their meetings and exhibitions.

I did a summer writing course with Judith White at the Continuing Education of the Auckland University and a writing workshop with Joan Rosier- Jones at Uxbridge Creative Centre. I took part in the  Writer in Manukau Libraries Programme(WIML) in 2006.
For 7 years I was a member of a writer’s group in Howick.

When we left Holland I was paid to write 20 articles about emigration for one of the Dutch daily newspapers, which were published in weekly installments.

Publications in literary magazines,
Poems   in ‘Takahe’,  ‘Kokako’, ‘Tongue in your ear’, ‘Southern Edge’
                    ‘Cauldron’.

Travel- and other stories in local publications.
Winner of a story competition by the Auckland Memorial Museum 80 years celebration in 2009.

Christmas Present

      The first piece of rabbit made her gag.
She concentrated on the chatter around the table.
Her father-in-law ate with open mouth, cheeks red from drinking, his serviette tucked into his collar.
She managed to put the next piece of rabbit with a small potato on her fork and brought both to her mouth.
      Everybody looked up at the sound of the scraping chair.
Just in time she reached the bathroom.
While she rinsed her mouth, the child chose this moment to move.  Closing her eyes, she put her hands on her abdomen.
      She walked back into the room.
‘I am sorry. The taste of the wild rabbit was too much for me.’
The Christmas tree in the corner towered above her and seemed to sympathize.
      When she saw her husband and his mother exchange glances, she knew she had lost again.
She couldn’t compete with her excellent cooking, her cheerfulness and hospitality. She had had 6 children. Two boys had died during infancy.

      An hour ago everyone had opened their presents. A red envelope was addressed to them. In it was a card on which her mother-in-law had written a message in her spidery handwriting. She offered them to live in the attic of their house. She knew that the woman where they rented a room since they had been married, didn’t want a baby in her house. They hadn’t found any other accommodation yet.
     Her husband had kissed his mother and shook hands with his father, while looking at her.
‘Thanks. This is the solution to our problem.’
She had swallowed and thanked her parents-in-law.

Her husband was arguing with one of his brothers.
Someone had put down clean plates.
It was time for the Christmas pudding.
The child didn’t move anymore.

Towards the end of the war
I wanted a perm.
Mamma  refused  to pay
But  I had pocket money.

I went to the hairdresser
And  when she was finished,
I couldn’t believe what I saw,
A perm in the shape of a rooster.

I was delighted.

When I sat down for dinner,
Mamma said, wow,
I hope your crowing
Won’t  wake us early tomorrow.

In the morning we woke
To the screaming sirens.
Mamma blamed my rooster
For the crashing bombs.

She sits on the edge of the couch,
bony  fingers turn a strand of hair
round- a- round- a- round,
eyes fixed on the grazing sheep.

There is emptiness over the hills.

Her head turns slowly, flower on
a shriveling stalk seeking the sun.
She shuffles to her room on
bare  feet with yellow toenails.

On the wallpaper next to her bed
is  a playground of numbers,
drawn  with soft pencil. She dials.
When he answers she wails,

come and get me lover,
she is poisoning me again.