While sharing lunch at a RNIB charitable event, I started a conversation with a gentleman opposite me, who had been sitting very quietly.

I started by asking if he would mind telling me his name. “Mine is Penny.” I began.

“I am Bill.” He replied.

“Hello Bill, may I ask you a personal question, please? He nodded his assent.

“Are you blind, partially sighted, or here as a carer for someone else?”

“I am partially sighted and colour blind.”

“Bill, may I ask you another personal question?”

“Yes!” His eyes and face showing an interest.

“What did you do before you retired?”

“I was an electrical construction engineer before I joined the army and took it up again afterwards on demob.

The army was a bit of a laugh when I received my papers. I never thought I would be called up because of my colour blindness.

However, I went for the medical fully expecting to be turned down. To my horror, I was assigned the job of a storeman. “Your colour problem won’t bother you there,” was a remark passed.

My heart sank, “How was I going to tolerate the boredom of a storeman after my exciting engineering career?”

After signing up and going through training, I was assigned to a squad of men working in stores.

One day I thought, “There has to be more to life than this and applied for promotion.” My mates said, “You will have another medical, how are you going to cope with that?”

“I am going to give it a go. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”

At the medical, I was asked all the usual medical questions till my sight was mentioned.”

“It says here you are colour blind, how bad is it? The officer shoved a book over to me and asked, “What colour is this book?”

To me, it was grey, but to others, it was maroon. I heard my mates say pass the maroon book, or look in the maroon book will you. I knew its size and shape, and it had the king’s head on it.

Confidently I replied maroon. He looked a bit surprised and asked “It is lighter or darker than a Post Office pillar box.”

I responded, “Darker, Sir.” I knew that as everyone talks about bright red pillar boxes.

On return to my mates, they asked how I got on. “I passed,” I pointed proudly to the two strips on my arm.

“Blimey, now what are you going to do? You are a leader now! Leading us up the bleeding garden path. How are you going to read the coloured signposts to all the army depots we have to deliver goods to?”

I laughed, “Easy, I will get my second-in-command to drive the lead lorry. I will be at the cows’ tail to repair any breakdowns, a piece of cake.”

So I carried on till the end of the war and my return to civvy street.

©️2026 Penny Wobbly of WobblingPen

Image by TheDigitalArtist from Pixabay

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THE EMPTY HOUSE

The front door was finally firmly closed, the key was given to the agent, and the house was put up for sale. It settled to cope with the silence and emptiness; a sad time.

Wind, rain, sun, and snow continued to batter its exterior as it awaited new owners. There were several false alarms as time dragged on. There is something very sad about an empty house.

Neighbours noticed the coming and going of potential buyers, escorted by the agents,

wondering who will buy, and will they fit into the neighbourhood?

The house wondered, too, as it knew this was a happy place to live.

It stood, waiting for the turn of the key and the joyous voices of a family bringing life back inside and calling it home.

2026 Penny Wobbly of WobblingPen

Image by wevfewv from Pixabay

TANGLE

During our circumnavigation of the world, making human contact, in friendship and battle.

Over time and with technology, it is hard to tell friend from foe.

We are so interdependent, no matter where we live, on food, fuel, finance, armaments, water, and weather.

In this tangle that we weave, those we class as friends sleep too with our enemies, out of necessity.

Seeking water, fuel, food, armaments, and finance through the back door.

How will all this unravel? The tangle of human hate, greed, and friendship? Hard to say.

As we watch humans, their homes, and whole communities pulverised.

Instinctively, it is to keep family, friends, communities, and self-sufficiency close.

Using truth, the law, barter, and our friendships strong, to keep the peace for all living

in this oh-so-tiny, fragile world.

2026 Penny Wobbly of WobblingPen

Image by Nesto_regularcat from Pixabay

A LITTLE LEAK

 

A little leak of which we dare not speak.

A cough, a giggle, releases at first very little.

As time goes by, it becomes more than a trickle.

It is an embarrassment when you are caught short.

Out away from home and familiar facilities.

So you cut out excursions unless you know the area and convenient loos to pop into.

In time, still trying to hide, you start incontinence padding.

At first, it works; then it hurts, if hygiene slips and bugs come a-calling.

Time to share this embarrassment with your doctor.

It can hit any age, or gender, with multiple causes.

He will explain you are certainly not on your own; no need to hide.

Check the statistics; they will reveal this hidden, silent scourge, your disorder.

Using his skills, a plan will be made to tackle your condition.

Urine samples, medication; occasionally, a surgical consultation might be sought.

To restore you back to order, a normal, functioning human being.

Able to wander anywhere you wish without agonising about embarrassing little leaks.

2026 © Penny Wobbly of WobblingPen

Photo by Reproductive Health Supplies Coalition on Unsplash

SHOE HUNTING

SHOE HUNTING

I cannot imagine I am the only woman whose feet extend to size 10.5 narrow or beyond.
What on earth happens to them? Just scrolling through the adverts is frustrating, infuriating, demoralising. 8.A and a few at 9.A. One or two at 10. Then you hit a dead end.

Trying to find the size you need, which is carefully hidden in most internet shoe advertising, without scrolling all the way through. The shoes you fancy are dangled before your eyes as you search and search: are they the right size?

Only to have hopes dashed as they stop at 8, two and a half sizes too early.
A thrill starts when advertised in half sizes, ’til they inexplicably stop at 9.5.
Oh, what do women do when they are tall and have long feet?

How I long for summer when I can flip-flop about in almost bare feet. Best of all not to have to ask someone to put on my shoes for me. The half size, too, becomes an irrelevance as your foot is not constricted by a heel. At times, you can pace around in flip-flops in men’s sizes, providing they are narrow enough.
How I long to wear the shoes so elegantly displayed in adverts; there are quite a few.
Only the size is the last thing to view, if it can be found on the internet advertising; infuriating.   
  
Yet again, they stop at 8, 9, 10. That elusive half size, 10.5, if found, they announce they have run out of stock.
What happens to women who, I know, are exhaustingly searching for size 11 or 12? What about the half sizes needed? Forget it?
Not everyone is able to meet the horrendous cost the longer sizes demand.
Even flip-flops or sandals with a bit of bling, when found, come with a painful financial sting.
The search goes on, and on, wearing one pair out trying to find another.

2026 © Penny Wobbly of WobblingPen

Image by imthan from Pixabay