Our Mum paid a hefty price in her youth, for her at times uncontrolled cheerfulness, as that instant when she was frolicking around with her friends in her father’s shop. Sitting at the edge of the counter, in a carefree and jolly mood, she had slipped and felled to the floor cracking her lower spine, which landed her in hospital, flat on her back in plaster for ten long months.
It gave her much time to gather her thoughts and ponder her future. Later on, she spend hours collecting dozens and dozens of limericks and love songs in Dutch and the dialect of her region Twente, all penned down in black covered exercise books.
Declamations about’ poor fishermen’ and ‘the saddened recruit’, even the ‘police’ (In our fatherland, it’s a bit of a tradition that we abuse the police with a certain delight, we talk often about Diender, Klabak and Smeris…..) etc. A cheeky poem about the water closet drew some attention about its aromas and its users.
Marie tackled many subjects with a dissolute fervour.

Here are the Ten Commandments of the Hospital in the year of the Lord 1924 according to Marie Leferink.
1 Thou shall not whistle on your 'nieterkokertje'. (sorry I haven't a clue what she has in mind).
2 Thou shall not break a bottle or a thermometer.
3 Thou shall not show your nervousness, sadness, freak out with crying.
4 Thou shall be discharged on time.
5 Thou shall not disturb the sleeping nurse in the hour of rest, neither tickle the patients nearby or throw paper at them.
6 Thou shall not through boredom chew on your bedspread.
7 Thou shall be mindful of not getting out of bed to start running through the room or hall.
8 Thou shall remember that the washing facility is not intended for playing "patertje' at the side.(another mystery)
9 Thou shall not gallop in the garden, but walk nicely.
10 The ladies shall keep aloof from the gentlemen, no little notes or flowers to be accepted, thou shall not wave or smile, or talk to them while hanging over the balustrade.