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Time for a Cuppa!

The Magazine

For all the Family

When I was a lad
By
Mike Coatesworth

The sun was shining and the sky was blue, but there was a cold breeze that bit through my gloves. Even so, I was determined that today was going to be nostalgia day for me. The birds were singing merrily as I went up the street with my son Stephen. We were heading to see the house and area where I was brought up. It is only ten minutes from where I now live, so as I went along, I pointed out the places that I used to frequent as a youngster.

As we went along Upper Rushton Road, I pointed to the newly erected houses on our left. "There used to be a mansion house there with a large garden." Furthere along the road, I pointed out where all my friends used to live. To my surprise there was hardly any change at all, except for the doors that had been replaced, the old red brick houses were the same.

We visited the shopping area that I used to hang out with my friends, but as we got there we saw that the buildings were in the process of being demolished. I pointed out the old sweet shop "that was old Thorpey's place", I informed Stephen.

"You still remember his name?" he inquired

"Oh yes," I replied, "I used to be a paperboy there."

Just then, as I was sitting there reminiscing, a workman removed some of the timber from the front of the building to reveal the original facia and before my eyes were the sign written words, " F. Thorpe."

After a while, we turned around and went up Palin Ave towards the house where I used to live, all the while pointing out to Stephen where my friends, now moved away, used to live. We reached the top of the road, and arrived at Mond Ave, the place of many memories, where I lived as a child, where my aunt Chrissie looked after us as she brought me and my three brothers and one sister up, the best she could. This was the place where I had lots of laughter and sadness.

Slowly, and taking everything in, we headed down the avenue to number 6, my old house. As I finally turned to face the house after forty plus years, I was totally surprised at how little the house had changed. The garden was still the same, a small square of lawn at the front surrounded by a long large hedgerow, but my biggest surprise was in the back garden. It was as if I had gone back in time, and the garden was exactly as I remembered it, including the original shed! The shed where I hid from my brothers after firing paper pellets at them, the shed that I sometimes used as a castle and repelled all attempts by my brother Roy, to occupy it. This structure was my command post during games of war, this was the place where I hid after getting in trouble with my parents.

I couldn't believe that after forty years the shed was still there!

As I looked around the garden, I could hear children's laughter and I could see the old RAF rubber dinghy that my father had brought home for us and inflated in this garden. I could see my brothers and sister all playing and enjoying themselves in the water filled dinghy and I could see my father smiling as he sat on the grass watching them. I could see my brother Eddie as he ran over to the old oak tree and climbed on to the first branch. Everyone could see that he was going to jump into the dinghy, but I watched as my father got up quickly and ordered him down before he got hurt. Then my attention turned to the neighbour's garden where the three children looked on in envy, and I saw my father ushering them over to join the others in the water.

Looking to my left I could see my stepmother as she sat on a wooden chair, reading a newspaper. Every so often she would lift her eyes from the paper to watch the antics of the children.

To my right I watched as my dear aunt Chrissie carried a tray of freshly made lemonade and laid it on a small wooden table. She turned towards me and with a huge smile on her features, she waved to me, and looking around, I saw that everyone else in the garden were now facing me and waving.

Lifting my right arm high, I waved back.

"Who are you waving to?" asked Stephen as he arrived back at my side after looking around.

"I'm waving to my memories," I replied, "I'm waving to my memories."

Mike Coatesworth

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Note: No part of this story can be reproduced in any way without the author's written permission. All rights remain with the author.

My novels can be seen at

http://www.btinternet.com/~mikeco158/onetear1.htm

http://www.btinternet.com/~mikeco158/cuppa1.htm

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