ALMOST two decades since her mother started a book, Nichola Dickinson talks to Gazette reporter, Liza-Jane Gillespie, about why finally publishing a collection of her mother's poems will put old
ghosts to rest.
It all started in 1967 when Joyce Kidman, aged 42, was waiting in a queue in Stoke Gifford when suddenly from nowhere a bus ploughed into her.
She was very lucky to survive but the incident left Mrs Kidman with a frozen shoulder, a slipped disc and a nervous breakdown.
After a year of barely setting foot out of her house Mrs Kidman decided to visit a healer, Harry Harrison, after reading an article about him in the local newspaper.
"My mother had tried the hospital but nothing was working and they said there wasn't much they could do for her," said Nichola Dickinson, daughter of Mrs Kidman, who lives in
It was at this meeting with Mr Harrison that Mrs Kidman, a medium herself, would realise her future project, which would eventually became a personal crusade for her daughter Nichola.
"Harry Harrison told her she would write a book about poetry," said Mrs Harrison.
For the next 20 years Mrs Kidman dedicated much of her time to writing poetry. She would pen more then 2,000 poems on a variety of topics including, people, trees, flowers, culture and the
different places she lived Hillesley, Wickwar and Yate.
"She would write at all times of the day. The lines would just come to her in the middle of the night or while she was shopping.
"One time when she was ill and couldn't write so I wrote the poems because the lines came to me," said Mrs Dickinson.
Mrs Kidman also wrote poems about famous people like the Queen, the Marquess of Bath, Princess Diana and Charlie Chester for the BBC.
"My mother was a very shy person so my dad would send of her poems to the people they were about and they usually wrote back," said Mrs Dickinson.
In 1990 Mrs Dickinson reminded her mother of the book she was once told she would write.
"It was strange because when she finally got down to writing the book she found the poems she had written correlated with her life."
Mrs Kidman died on New Year's eve 2002 in Southmead hospital and since losing her own son, Neil, to muscular dystrophy, Mrs Dickinson now wants to finish the book her mother started.
"My friend had a dream and my mother told her in this dream that Nichola had to finish what she had started.
"I had to continue the story from since she died because my mother thought she had finished it but there were bits missing.
"What I really want now is for someone to publish it for me so it really can be finished," said Mrs Dickinson.
Mrs Dickinson told the Gazette she does not want to make any money from this book she just wants other people to read and enjoy her mother's work.
"I don't believe in making money out of someone else's life "My mother was a lovely person. She never fell out with anyone. She believed that everyone should love one another and help one
If anyone can help Nichola Dickinson publish her mother's book of poetry please contact the Gazette on 01453 540217.
The Morning Chorus The early morning hush prevails No noisy crowds on nature trails.
The air so still, no wind disturbs The perfume of the woodland herbs.
And then the maestro's voice is heard The thrilling notes of a lone blackbird To welcome in the new great day And chase the fears of night away.
Like a violin with golden strings Each note so different as the blackbird sings.
The beautiful sound one cannot compare As with all nature its joy to share.
And then as if a sign intent A chorus on the air is rent A show just fit for a queen If only the artist's could be seen.
But just to hear is such a joy No colourful plumage your eyes to employ So that all its beauty you derive Of something small, yet so alive.
The stage it is a woodland glade No human form to spoil the parade As with one accord our feathered friends Upon the air their music send.
What little secret do you hold At this early hour to be so bold?
When most of the world is fast asleep Your daily ritual you do keep.
But what ever the reason, come what may Your singing is like a sunshine ray.
As I start the day with a song in my heart My thanks to you I do impart.
Joyce M Kidman