FROM THE PERSPECTIVE OF A CHILD

I have been doing a lot of thinking about childhood, obviously many, many memories of childhood have come flooding back to me with all this sorting I am doing. It got me thinking about how strange a child's perspective of events and even their visual images of events can be.
Three memories in particular made me start to consider this. [Explanations of the photographs are given directly underneath them in different colour and font.]

A very disgruntled and fat faced me with her ever faithful Jacko the monkey [ I still have the sad remains of him, motheaten hands filling missing out of arms bare patches] sitting in her pram in the park.

I have said before about my first memories and how I can just remember being in a carriage built pram, I have now found a photo of me in this pram, but a memory I didn't mention was one that even now I cannot get a true perspective on what I was doing, and the images from the child's eyes do not really help. I know I was in my Grandfather's garden, right down at the bottom of it. beyond the lawn and flowerbeds, past the vegetable patch, the raspberry canes and the blackcurrant and gooseberry bushes, into the the wild part where the compost was made and spare pieces of wood and out of use glass cloches were kept. The grass was very very high [so it was probably about knee height on an adult]. I am wearing blue play dungarees, these were cotton dungarees that children who were toddlers wore over their day clothes to play out in, the idea being it would keep their clothes clean. I am walking about but not steadily, slightly drunkenly, and in front of me is a vast machine, I search the ground for tiny little stones which I gather and push down a sort of spout or funnel on the side of the machine, then I wait until I hear a really satisfying plop noise, and start the process all over again. There seems to be a lot of grass and wood around me. and I have a feeling a slightly older child was with me.

In the front garden, when I was about eighteen months old. I hope you like my terrible twinkie curl, you know you could buy a preparation to make the hair stand up like that, very punk.

I have often asked about what there was there, in that part of the garden and have been told again and again there was an old zinc or tin boiler, the sort that is kept in a outdoor washhouse, and my Grandfather used it for steeping various plants and leaves in to make liquid fertiliser. What I see in my mind's eye bears no relation to this, but I think I must have been pushing stones into a part of it that let them fall into the liquid inside, hence the 'plop'. The glass and wood was apparently part of a dismantled greenhouse that was secured to the fence. Apparently, there was an older girl of about four that lived next door that used to play with me. This explanation never satisfies me as I always see the much more wonderous picture of a magical world with strange glass houses and machines.

It's old one eye closed again on a donkey when on holiday at Scarborough. Was this the one that ran off with me on it?


The second memory is a rather whimsical one, I must be about five or six years old and am besotted with fairy tales. My favourite fairy tale is The Twelve Dancing Princesses and I am convinced that I am one and must search for my eleven missing sisters. The time is the summer and when I am put to bed with the curtains drawn and the night still light outside, I wait a while and creep out of bed on to the ottoman beneath my window and stick my head through the curtains. In front of me are the front gardens, the road, the front gardens of the houses on the other side of the road, then behind them two more rows of houses, but if I look up into the distance over the three green fields, I can see the late evening sun shining on tiny little men in brilliant whites playing cricket. Behind the men are many trees and poking out through the trees are two round towers like in a fairy tale, and there seems to be a large brick building between them. I am convinced that this is my castle. I often dream there is a door in the wall of our living room that will take me to the castle, the door is invisible you have to know where to find it. The best time to find it is when the morning sun shines in the room, and you can see a faint oblong outline on the wall, that is when to run your hands over the wall whispering magic words. No, the door never opened for me, but I was told off for dirty handprints on the wall. The outline was a reflection from the sun of one of the living room windows, oh, and the magic castle across the fields, I wasn't much older when I found out it actually was, as they were called in those unlightened days the local mental hospital and lunatic asylum. I am still looking for my eleven sisters though so we can wear our shoes out dancing all night, are you there anywhere?



The third memory, is actually a sequence of memories. Every family has instances over the years that a veil is drawn over, and are never mentioned in public. I know every one of these family crisises in parts. Just a few months ago my Mother was telling me about my Father's brother and how his wife left him for a while in the 1950's. My Father's family lived in a large village that had a majority of Irish Catholic families and this would be a great scandal in those days. I told my Mother I knew about it, she told me I couldn't have, I was only four years old, I then went on to tell her where my Grandmother, Mother and Father were when they were talking about it. She was astounded that I was right, and I went on to repeat other small nuggets of information about the whole family I had collected in my childhood when adults thought I was otherwise occupied. I never had the whole story of these different incidents when I was small, but I am well aware of when different family crisis occured. I must have just had the knack of looking as though I wasn't listening, in fact, I would go as far to say that I wan't intentionally listening, I just absorbed it. I only remember once my other Grandmother saying 'careful ears are flapping' her signal that they were being listened too. Was anyone else as a child aware of undercurrents and crisis?

I always loved hats, gosh it's actually sunny in this photograph, Scarborough again.

I just want to finish off by talking about the naming of objects. Have you ever as a family given a familiar object a family name for it, so that if you mentioned it to anyone else they would have no idea what you meant. One of ours is 'you better go and fetch the boozy'. No, it is not an aged drunken relation, but a high kitchen stool. It was my son at four years old that named it boozy. Why boozy? who knows it is lost in the passage of time, it was a stool he loved sitting on at his Grandma's table, it gave him extra height when he was little. Then my daughter used boozy, and it finally ended up as a spare seat if there were too many at the table. It is never called the stool always just boozy and I am proud to say I have now taken charge of boozy and he shall reside in splendour in my cottage.

A Summer holiday in Scarborough, Mum, me, Grandma and Auntie, yes it is summer, even thought people seemed to be dressed for winter, and look how formally dressed everyone is, you think they were visiting the Queen not enjoying a holiday.

Well this has been a long rambling posting about memories and childhood but I am pleased to write them down so that I will always remember them and I look forward to knowing if anyone else has rather peculiar memories such as these or was I just a rather odd whimsical child. Also hope you have not been bored by this, but if you are you won't have read this far!

A CONTRADICTION IN TERMS

Yesterday late afternoon, I attended the funeral of my best friend's husband. It must have been one of the coldest days in the winter, and we all waited outside the crematorium for the hearse and family to ride up to the entrance. Thirty minutes in the freezing cold because we new it would be a busy funeral. Tony was an inspiring teacher, who often asked to be year tutor to the most awkward and naughty classes. He was a very strict teacher, but fun at the same time, by the end of the academic year these bolshie teenagers always came round to liking and admiring him. He could have invented tough love long before it became a buzzword. As a reward at the end of the year he always had a 'do' whether a meal or a barbecue for his then ex pupils. Obviously, many of them turned up for his funeral. He taught them to aim higher than they thought they could and started many on their paths to a good career. He believed in them and showed them how to believe in theirselves.

It was a wonderful, funny funeral with lots of laughter and a few tears, as I said a contradiction in terms. As we went in Carole King was singing I've got a friend, which I had to admit nearly broke me up as it is one of my favourite songs. Lots of funny stories were told about him and the crematorium rang with laughter. It was not a deep religious service just a celebration of his life really and the coffin disappeared as we sang Jerusalem he was a great sportsman, and Jerusalem was picked for the English Rugby Team and then there was the theme from Z Cars, an old 1960's police programme that his favourite football team, Everton, run out onto the pitch to.

When we were standing in the courtyard and it started to snow on us, people were laughing and saying it must Tony organising it, it was typical of his sense of humour, he would have been amused that the snow fell just as we came out. We followed on to the wake where again, there was a frame full of pictures of him with his family and a compilation tape constantly playing of his favourite music. I decided to send my friend a large shrub to grow in memory of her husband for her garden, instead of sending flowers on the day. I am so glad I did because the flowers will not have survivied lying out on the cold frozen concrete with snow falling on them.



Next important event on the horizon is my mother is finally moving into her new flat, next Thursday, so it is all systems into first gear now, what with me finishing sorting and packing, my husband organising the decorating of the flat, and my son coming up gather up a van and a friend to actually do the move. Then any volunteers to help unpack? Sweetpea? I shall take my time getting my own house reorganised, with its extra furniture and baggages after the move. I don't care if it takes me until Easter, because what I want to do most of all is get down to some of my projects and start firing things out in the post. Luckily the ideas are all there it is just the actual making to do. I will be posting on my site as and when I can, during this coming seven days, probably won't be making my way round the blogs much either, but don't worry I will be back properly after 1st February. I have already got my Crow Chunky Book Page just about worked out in my head, and my Frida ATC's.



I noticed Judie, was asking in my last comments section how do I find the time to do all these things. Well, first of all I don't sleep a lot, probably about five hours a night, and maybe on a quiet day I take a catnap in the afternoon [ especially on cold winter's days or hot sunny days in the garden]. Then some of my activities because I live in England are seasonal. Once I get to the end of October, I don't think about my garden again until March, only to browse plant catalogues. So that always gives me extra craft time. I don't go berserk with housework, as long as I am not ashamed to invite people inside I am a happy bunny. I don't dust and hoover as part of a daily ritual, only when I see it is beginning to need it, but my biggest time saver is, and I don't know if any other countries do this, I do my grocery shopping once a month, on line, and have it delivered to my door. I have done this for two years. That saves half a day every week, so it gives me two more free days a month. The first time you shop online and go through each department with all the pictures of the goods, it takes ages but after that you have a list of your favourites, takes no time and you can still use coupons. This just leaves me to pick up milk and fresh produce locally.

Things you find when sorting. I found two holiday photographs the other day, which follow on from my postings about childhood holidays, so I thought I would upload them here. I had forgotten that when I had my photo taken as a child and was looking to where the sun was I used to close one eye, it looks so funny now, when I see these photos. Looking at these photos of holidays, in the mid 1950's I am constantly surprised how formal people are on them, nearly all the men have sports jackets and shirts and ties on, the only casualness about them seems to be a pair of sandals. I can remember on the beach you didn't see people, such as parents in clothing such as is worn today. I seem to remember gatherings of women in cotton dresses and sandals and men dressed as my father is, although they did take their sports jackets off on the beach and roll up their shirt sleeves. There doesn't seem to have been a cult of beach clothes in England or perhaps the east coast was too windy and cold for them. I am wearing my favourite royal blue dress with white spots on and a white plastic belt in one photo amd a lemon nylon dress and beige cardigan in the other. I seem to have shoes on here, but I do remember as a child being bought new t-bar sandals at the start of every summer. usually in red, and the first time I wore them was always told '.....and don't scuff your new sandals....' and by the end of every summer, copious amounts of cherry red polish were being brushed onto the scuff marks on the toes. Oh and note on one the photographs I am feeling very grown up as I am carrying the binoculars in their case!



I had a lovely surprise in the post this morning, a package from Pretty Lady, with some beautiful fairy cards in it. I have posted an example of one of them above. This unexpected package got my day off to a good start, it was so kind of her to remember how much I love faery things. Thank you Pretty Lady.

OH I DO LIKE TO BE BESIDE THE SEASIDE

After finding that vintage postcard of Scarborough, uploading to my site and mentioning the many happy childhood holidays we had there, plus the fact that Mis Robyn has just returned from a seaside break, I decided to take some metime to remember those holidays and then post about them.

Apparently, though I only have cloudy memories of them, my first two holidays in the first two years of my life were taken in Southport with just my Mum and Dad. Thereafter, we went to Scarborough, the three of us, and my Aunt and my Mum's parents. Every year for one week at the height of summer, July, you would find us there, except for one year, when inexplicably, just my Mum, Dad and I went to Morecambe. It can't have suited for we never went back again, and every year after that Scarborough in Yorkshire was where you would find us.



Oh how I wanted to live there all year round, the sea, the sand, the stalls selling cups of wonderful seafood such as fresh prawns and shrimps to eat as you wandered round the harbour and what in the world tastes better than salty crisply coated fish and chips eaten straight out of the greaseproof and newspaper wrapping in the salty air, ah the kiss of salt on your lips. Of course, during the late 1950's my Mother thought it was 'not quite nice' to be seen gorging on food outside the home or a cafe, and so we were led down the backlanes, byways and snicks of Scarborough to eat them, but what a way to learn the true historic Scarborough.

There were always highlights to look forward to every year, a variety show with comedians and glamourous kickline dancers, the delights of Peasholm Park, the esplanade and the prom, the donkey rides and of course, the best, the Punch and Judy shows on the beach. There was one attraction that I was taken to once and never wanted to go again, although I was excited when I first heard I was going - Treasure Island.

This is how Treasure Island worked, just outside Scarborough there was a mere [small lake], near to Oliver's Mount and some enterprising concern had set up a trip by boat around the mere based onthe book, Treasure Island. The idea was everyone boarded this boat, I am sure it had masts and sails, like a true tall ship, The Hispaniola, naturally enough Captained by a man pretending to be Long John Silver. We were taken around the mere, now I am not quite sure whether there was an island in the middle of the mere or we were just dumped at the other end of the mere and there all the kids had to set to in the sand to dig up gold doubloons, in the middle of all this Ben Gunn appeared and there were more amateur dramatics. Some lucky children went back with a 'gold' doubloon, but every one received a tattoo [ink stamp] and a certificate stating we had all sailed on The Hispaniola with Long John Silver.

Don't you just think what a wonderful idea and adventure that was? Well everyone did apart from me, I was such an imaginative child I thought it was all for real and sobbed the whole of the trip. I have been told since, and this makes it worse, that the man playing Long John Silver, a real onelegged ex sailor, was really sorry for me and tried to help me find a doubloon, but that made me scream more because I thought he was kidnapping me. I still feel embarrassed about the way I carried on now all these years later. I often wonder if it was as colourful and as realistic as I thought it was or is that the mind of a child. I have never met anyone else who has taken a trip on The Hispaniola.



A highlight I loved every year was Peasholm Park[photo above], where on the lake every Sunday there was a mock battle of ships. The ships were just large enough to have a man hidden inside them them and every Sunday afternoon, there was a naval war with plenty of smoke, large bangs and flashes of fire. On other afternoons, you could row round the lake in a boat. But, the best part of Peasholm Park was that there was a large island, well it seemed large to me, in the middle, connected to the shore by two quasi japanese style bridges, there were trees on the island and a walk through them. In the evening the walk was lit by pretty coloured lights and hidden amongst the tree were models illuminated within of animals such as squirrels in the branches, rabbits, between the trunks, and fairies in the boughs. I just adored it and thought I was in Fairy Land, and the most exciting thing to me was if you walked around the lake before paying to do the island walk you could just see hints of the delights in store amongst the trees on the island. It seemed such an enormous magical island, I often wonder just how large it really was! At the same time in a chinese pagoda type structure that was floated out into the middle of the lake their would be musicians playing and concerts would be performed.



We stayed in the same boarding house every year, and the owners became family friends. The owner was the best cook I have ever known and I can still remember her strawberry pies, fresh lobster or crab salad and amazing full works roast beef and yorkshire pudding Sunday dinner. It was on a road, I think, called Castle Road and just about three doors away was an amazing, to me, toyshop, whilst the grown-ups were getting ready to go to the beach, I used to be allowed to go and look in the window of it. There was also down one of the twisty back streets, an amazing Chinese shop that sold Chinese rag dolls, made by Chinese refugees. It was run by a little old bent Chinese man [very Harry Potter] who wore a little hat on his head. I used to buy a small cotton doll every year, until I had a family of them. Unfortunately, I lost them a few years ago when we moved, and I have never seen anything similar elsewhere.



Well, I could go on and on, but I'll leave you with the memories above and maybe another time I will sit down and dredge up some more childhood holiday stories.




Just before I go, the last two evenings I have had trouble leaving comments on a few blogs, in fact some just told me I was forbidden to view site! and others said there was a blogger error! I will be getting round the blogs as often as I can in this very busy month, so don't think I have forgotten you if you don't hear from me as much as usual and don't forget me, I'll be visiting as much as possible.