An English Rose

By Allyson R. Abbott

She's old-old school, has a backbone of steel a stiff upper lip and a heart of gold.

A poignant but humorous tale of a family reconnection.

Getting old is not easy, but it's more fun if you open your heart, mind and arms.

#1 International Bestselling Author
Pinnacle Award Winning Author
Finalist in OKRWA 'Contemporary Short' Book Awards
Readers' Favorite 5 star seal winner for six books

A compelling and humorous insight of past years and present dilemma's as Rose reflects on her usefulness in later life. Just as she acknowledges and accepts her sell-by-date is approaching, life suddenly becomes interesting again in more ways than one.

"I loved Rose's straightforward attitude and I especially enjoyed her blossoming friendship with Bill.
Terrific story, great characters and exceptional writing made this one of my favorite stories that I have read in a while. I will be looking into more by this author and I will definitely be recommending her to all my fellow readers." Lisa B

"This book was quite a thought provoking read. There were some really funny conversations and banter that brought a smile to my face. There were touching and emotional moments that made me connect to Rose and the story.
I admired Rose and her 'get on with it' attitude. She's old-old school, all about making do, saving pennies, waste-not want-not, thriftiness and needing to feel productive. A far cry from our modern, 'throw-away', fast food, instant gratification, consumer societies. She is sweet, loving and caring- but has a backbone of steel with a no-nonsense and 'proper' attitude. Rose reminded me of my Nan." Angela Hayes

"I love how this book ends with Rose having a purpose to live and a renewed vitality. This was a pick me up story and I would highly recommend this book to everyone" Sunday Barnaby.

Other short stories by Allyson R Abbott
Countdown to Love
Salsa or Die

• Language: English
• Publisher: Allyson R. Abbott
• Release date: Jun 5, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393869092

Allyson R. Abbott

I 'm very lucky to have the indulgence of time and space to enable me to write. I took a sabbatical from work to accompany my partner on his bucket list travels and adventures, and never went back. I really thought I would struggle with all the free time, so decided to write to keep myself occupied. Now writing has consumed my time and I am never sure where we will be or when, hence my novels could be classed 'international' as they may have been written across a few countries. We are still travelling, although we do pop back to the UK for a few months every now and again. I love the fact that no matter what our age we can use new technology to connect to the rest of the world and enhance our lives. Back in the UK I have my friends and family and with emails, phones, Skype or face-time, we are never out of touch for long. Even my mother at eighty-six uses face-time to catch up with me. I have the world at my fingertips and only twenty-four hours away from anywhere. Being a 'mature aging gracefully' woman, I feel akin to the problems of aging and relationships. I spent many years on my own before finding my truly remarkable and very patient partner who I happily gave up my whole world for. My stories are about mature relationships with mature people. People who have character and humour, who have a history; people just like us. I like to call it Hen Lit, Not Chick Lit, but it is not just about falling in love. They are about real relationships. I hope you enjoy my stories. Please check my web page or social media pages if you would like to contact me. I love emails and try to answer every one as soon as possible.

Book preview

Chapter 1

I love the smell that rises up from the ironing board as I push and pull the iron across the clothes while little clouds of steam puff out with a hiss. Nothing smells or looks nicer than freshly laundered clothes, finished off with perfect creases in the correct place. That’s something you don’t see much of nowadays. Not that I see much of anything with my eyes any more, damn things are wearing out quicker than my joints.

I shift my weight to stop the slight ache in my back, feeling a little twinge as I move. The heat is making my forehead prickle and for a moment I consider stopping and doing the rest later. No, I’ll soldier on and get it done. Best to finish what you start!

How many hours over my eighty-five years have I spent at an ironing board? Mind you, these new steam irons are a lot better than the old cast irons I used as a child. I’d have to heat it up on the stove, spitting at it to make sure it was hot enough. My job was the hankies, socks and drying up cloths, the easy stuff that didn’t matter. I soon earned a clip around my ear though, if I singed something. Still, it was good training and I soon moved on to bigger and better items. How proud I was when I was allowed to iron my dad’s shirts. Each one took me ages; I was so scared I was going to burn it. Now, I think nothing of it, standing here ironing, lost in my own thoughts; it doesn’t take long.

Kids nowadays don’t iron, or at least they don’t seem to. Even my girls, in their 50s, appear to be proud of admitting to ‘not ironing’, as if it’s an achievement. They’re always asking me why I iron sheets and pillow cases, or even my underwear. I suppose I just don’t like creases or crinkles in my clothes. Debbie tells me she just smooths down the t-shirts, uses her hand like an iron apparently, while the clothes are still warm from the tumble dryer.

‘No need to iron, waste of valuable time’, according to Debbie. When did looking smart and respectable become a waste of time?

That may be so, but my clothes are not tumbled around in a machine. My clothes get hung on the line to make sure they are aired properly, and I am not standing in the garden smoothing out all the creases for all the neighbours to see. What will they think of me? They’ll think I am going crazy, that’s what. No, I’ll stick to my ironing, thank you very much. Clothes feel and smell much better. I smile as I realise the irony of not using a tumble dryer; the clothes get tumbled around in the washing machine anyway, but I would never go back to a washboard like my mam used. There are some good things about this new technology stuff.

What are you smiling at, Mum? Did you know you’re disintegrating?

I jumped out of my skin. I was so lost in thought; I’d quite forgotten Emma was there. Good job I had a firm grip on the iron.

What’s wrong with my grating? I asked, peering out of the conservatory patio doors into the garden. The sun was quite strong, causing me to squint. Has it come away again?

No, Mum, I said you’re disintegrating! Well, not you actually, your board. You’re snowing!

I’ve no idea what you’re going on about. I do wish you wouldn’t mumble so. I know I’m disintegrating, my eyes, ears, lungs and blood; in fact the whole damn lot is wearing out. What do you mean? I’m not bored. I’ve got lots of things to do. The breakfast things still need washing up. I have to run the vacuum over the carpet and get my lunch ready. I’m going as fast as I can. What do you mean slowing?

MUM, HAVE YOU GOT YOUR HEARING AID TURNED UP?

There’s no need to shout, Emma. I turned away and tried to twiddle the volume knob discreetly. I think it needs new batteries.

No it doesn’t. You just turn it down all the time to try and stop the batteries from wearing out. I’m not sure why Mum; they’re free. You don’t have to pay for them do you?

Waste not, want not! Anyway, what did you say?

It’s your ironing board cover, Mum. The foam on the bottom is disintegrating, it’s so old. Every time you move your arm across with the iron lots of bits of foam fall to the floor like snow.

Where, I can’t see them! I replied, peering at the tiled floor in vain.

I know. That’s why I mentioned it. You need a new cover.

Oh dear! More expense. I’ll get one next time I go to the market.

Why not get one at the local supermarket? It will save you having to go to town, or I could get one for you, if you want.

No thanks, my duck. They’re cheaper on the market.

"And so is