Small Memories as They Come to Me

One of the things that caused us merriment, my Dad would come home drunk and go to sleep. He would sit in his armchair and very gradually he would slide down until at last he would finish on the floor, still sitting up. It never woke him and he always acted surprised when he finally recovered. I always cleaned his shoes for him as he always said I did them better than anyone else.

In my early teenage years two young lads lived across the road from us. My Dad always called one "That Ginger-haired Bugger" and the other one "That Cheeky Sod". The ginger one later became my husband. The other was his cousin, Billy. They, at that time, were in cahoots with a few other terrors: Pat Windybank, Hookey Walker, Stanley Standeven to name a few. They got up to mischief, but never any criminal intent.

We (boys and girls) usually made our own toys. The boys had scooters which were very roughly put together. They usually had two wheels, one at front one at the back. The wheels were quite small and had ball bearings in them. They were very basic, something like this:

We also had whips and tops. We used to decorate the tops with coloured chalk or drawing pins. The whips were usually made from a piece of wood with string attached to make the whips. We also had lampposts in those days that had an arm from which we would suspend a loop of rope to make a swing:

We also used to play Hopscotch. We would draw the pattern on the pavement, number the squares and use a small stone to score with, the object being to jump to the squares in turns until one reached the end. We started at 10 and finished at 1, the tricky part being one had to hop to recover the stone without touching any lines.

Another old game, which any number of children could play, was one child would stand one side of the road facing the wall, and the rest of the children would stand in a line on the other side of the road. Someone would call "can we cross the river. The one facing the wall would answer "yes", then when the children started moving he or she would swing around and anyone caught moving would be out. The last one left would be the winner, or of course if anyone managed to reach the caller he would win and be the caller for the next game.

We also played the usual naughty games, "knock down Ginger" being one of the favourites. Hated by adults, because it involved knocking on doors and running away. Mind you, in those days we always looked for the "coppers". They would deal with any miscreants on the spot. A clip round the ear was usually all it would take to make us behave ourselves. We were always brought up to respect aged people. Which, I suppose, makes the treatment which some old people receive these days at the hands of the young seem all the more unbelievably horrific.

I remember my Dad’s favourite programmes on the radio. They were Fu-Man-Chu, an action mystery story; also Dick Barton, Special Agent. Our Wireless was an accumulator set. The accumulator had to be charged up periodically. It was our job as children to take the battery to the local cobbler called Lullington, to be exchanged for a full battery. They were quite heavy when full so one had to be very careful not to spill it or drop it. The local cobbler was a well-known figure; he soled and heeled shoes, as in those days a pair of shoes were built to last, and one could have new soles and heels put on several times (much cheaper than a new pair of shoes).

We also had a wind-up gramophone, my favourite records were Handel’s Largo and "None But the Lonely Heart". Both were hated by my Dad and Mum, so I only played them when they were both out. Needless to say, I only have to hear them on the tele and I am immediately transported back in time.

Of course, I had lots of boyfriends. Some experiences were shocking to me then, but now they are very laughable. My children and my grandchildren have enjoyed a few hearty chuckles when I have told them. One story which I feel isn’t too near the knuckle I will tell you about. I was being taken home by a young lad, and he marched me into a disused air-raid shelter. I protested that I was not that kind of girl. He walked away and left me, making the remark "I don’t care, anyway, you ain’t got very big tits" (shame and humiliation on my part).

About once a fortnight we would go to a big dance hall in Tottenham Court Road. The Yanks were fantastic dancers, and doing the Jive with them was a real experience. They were always very generous with their favours, but I never really succumbed to their sexy charms.

By now I was going steady with "that Ginger-haired bugger over the road". He had joined the Navy and he looked very handsome in his uniform. I fell for him hook, line and sinker. He was away a lot, he served on the Ark Royal and went right round the World. He was so clever. I think it’s about time I mentioned his name, Peter Alfred Edwardes.

One very funny happening occurred after we were wed. I had a habit of moving the furniture around the rooms. This particular day I decided to move the bedroom furniture to make room for the crib (I was expecting my first baby). I moved the bed from its position; consequently when it came to bedtime, the lights were out and the curtains drawn. It was quite dark. We had no heating in the flat except for the coal fire, so we were in the habit of getting undressed in front of the fire and then running across the landing to the bedroom. This particular night I went to bed first, and later Peter came running in and took a flying leap and landed on his bottom! I had forgotten to tell him I had moved the bed. He was very cross at the time, but now it causes great hilarity when I recount the story.

I have very unpleasant memories of the extremely thick London fogs. They were quite terrifying. They were literally so thick that one really couldn’t see more than a foot or two when walking forwards. The mist felt damp and dirty, and seemed to clog the lungs so it was quite difficult to breathe. One would wrap a scarf around one’s nose and mouth to make it easier to breathe. The Fog seemed to creep everywhere; if you left the door open you could see it curling in ghostly, creeping, dark, misty coils inside the house.

The year my first baby was born on January 2^nd 1951, the weather was very cold. There was deep snow and my husband (Peter) was kept really busy. I ran out of gas & air and he had to go and collect some more. I was a very long time in labour and it was very cold and icy. Poor Peter fell many times, as the cylinder was heavy and awkward to carry, especially when it was so slippery underfoot.

I finally gave birth to a girl. She only weighed 5½lbs, but nevertheless I had to have stitches, which the doctor came the next day to put them in. The midwife’s name was Sister Luha. She was a matriarch of the old school but she was very good at her job.

I had all my babies at home. Each confinement was different, but the pain never lessened. I had been told that each successive birth gets easier: baloney! But I am very happy to say that each child is their own person. They are all individual in their approach to life. They have their own characteristics and their own individual response to everything. We have, at times, experienced great explosions of temperament, but they can eventually agree to disagree. Happily they are all the kind of people who are capable of saying the word ‘sorry’ and can accept the maxim of being able to live and let live.

When we bought our first car, a little Austin Seven, we felt like kings. Peter and I were so proud and we used to wash and polish her so that she always shone. It made us feel as though we owned the world. It was just as exciting as the day we moved into our own house. That was a tremendous achievement, we were so proud. It was only a very small house but we really enjoyed it. We even had a front garden and a back garden, we felt that heaven had really smiled on us. Money was tight but we felt that we had been blessed, and that helped us enormously. Personally, I really appreciated having been given the gift of faith and the ability to have a love of living and the grace to say thank you to my God.

My life in the country taught me many things. What fun scrumping can be: the adventure and the stealth, and keeping an eye out; expecting to caught; and, if lucky, making a clean getaway. We also used to go peasing (quite back-breaking work) for which we were paid for each sackful; how much I don’t remember, but it can only have been a small amount. Nevertheless we always enjoyed it. We also used to go blackberrying (not always enjoyed). The larking about and the picnics usually made up for any discomfort experienced when picking the berries.

We walked all the time we lived in the country. We always used Shanksy’s Pony – our feet – we walked everywhere. The miles we used to walk in a day (up to ten, never less than three) were all part of our daily lives. Obviously we at first thought "going for walks" unthinkably boring, but after a while we started to listen, to see, to smell. There was so much happening that our walks became walks of discovery. First our immediate surroundings, lanes instead of pavements, grass instead of concrete, fields of corn instead of rows of houses.

We were fascinated by the wild flowers: bluebells, primroses, dandelions, dog daisies, poppies. The world seemed to be so full of colour, all framed by the different shades of green (hedges). The most wonderful sight of all was obtained by laying down in a wood, looking up to the sky. The tracery of the tree boughs, and the whisper of the moving leaves, was a little glimpse into heaven. Trees fascinate me, even today I love to sit under them and listen to the whisper of the leaves. They seem to me to be talking over all the sights and wonders they have lived through. They stand regally clothed in beauty and I realised that only God can make a tree. We also were introduced to the world of animals and insects. We saw (some of us for the first time) frogs, slugs, snails, rabbits, sheep and cows to name but a few.

One day when I was lying flat on my back I saw (and vaguely heard) the sound of a few planes overhead. Then to my amazement I realised I was witnessing a dogfight. I was frightened and enthralled. There were three aeroplanes dodging and diving in the sky above me. Every so often a puff of smoke would appear until finally one plane seemed to explode in the air then started spiralling to the ground. I later learned it had hit the ground a few miles away (a German plane, of course).

I gained very much from my stay in the country, I think that is one of the reasons why I love my garden so very much. It has always been to me a haven of peace. It’s only a 30ft x 90ft plot, but I have a lovely tree in it, and a water feature. Also, the scents of the various flowers make it my heaven on earth.

When I was grown up and beginning to develop, my elder sister knitted me a swimming costume. I felt like the bees knees in it – then I went swimming. All was well until I started to come out of the water (it was a river we were swimming in). As I got to the bank everyone was laughing at me and I felt very uncomfortable. My swim suit had stretched down to my ankles, and my top half was completely exposed. I scrambled out of the water clutching my swimsuit as best I could, but I felt a complete dilly. I was unable to face anyone for the rest of the day.

When I was a child, one of the treats I remember was a ½ pennyworth of cracklings. They were obtained at the fish and chip shop. The Fryer would clean the surface of the fat fryer and the result would be all the little bits of batter. They were captured in his large basket that he used to get the fish out of the deep fat. They were delicious, we were allowed to add salt and vinegar – divine – and a halfpenny would purchase a whole bagful.