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Post by althea on Jul 16, 2020 13:57:21 GMT
It has been on my mind for a while, that I would like to write about my childhood.
Like most people I had happy and difficult times in my childhood.
I hope some of my blog will be interesting to others
and that maybe my memories will remind you of your childhood experiences. If you feel disposed to, add your memories to mine.
I suppose I should start at the very beginning.
I was born in the front parlour of my nan's house on a hot August Thursday, a few months after the end of World War 2.
The midwife who delivered me was Annie Williams, my nan's cousin.
The parlour was never used again in my lifetime.
Parlours were kept for special occasions in those days.
Only there was never an occasion special enough for nan to let us use the parlour.
Family life took place in the large over furnished kitchen which still had a huge black leaded grate.
Water was boiled on the fire in a huge copper kettle and most of the cooking was done in the oven by the fire.
We had a scullery with a new gas cooker, but nan liked the old oven in the grate and hardly ever used the new fangled cooker in the scullery.
Nan and granddad were my father's parents, and my mother was staying with them while my father was at sea.
I was completely bald until I was about nine months old, which prompted the family to give me the nickname, Curly.
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Post by althea on Jul 16, 2020 13:58:53 GMT
I hope readers won't mind if I write about things in the order I remember them ,rather than in chronological order.
I will try to explain how old I was at various times.
Well, I made my arrival, a little late, into my nan and granddad's red brick terraced house, which was near to the centre of town.
Just after the war it was very difficult to buy fabric for making clothes, or ready made clothes.
Ration books were still in use, and even with the right number of coupons, there was not much in the shops to buy.
Luckily my nan was a whizz with the old Singer treadle sewing machine.
Nan was great at "make do and mend" which the govt. urged everyone to do.
Everyone in the family had hand knitted socks. Every night nan would knit away while listening to the wireless.
Nan would cut down clothes to make pretty little outfits for me, even cutting up her silk
knickers to make ribbons for my hair.
She would take me to the market every Friday, where sometimes she would buy secondhand clothes to remake into clothes for me.
It wasn't a big market after the war. There were a few stalls on the waste ground near the railway line. I will always associate the smell of steam trains with the market.
One stall that was very popular belonged to a huge black woman who came from Liverpool.
She always had quality secondhand clothes for sale and they were in great demand.
The imposing woman was called "Nigger Mammy" by everyone and she was well known.
That name was not derogatory in any way, we didn't know better, I suppose.
Nigger Mammy was highly respected by one and all.
Looking back now, I can see she was quite a character, as she would banter all day long with her customers.
Nan would root through the pile of clothes and find a dress of good cotton and haggle over the price.
When both sides were satisfied the magic would begin.
We would take home our prize and nan would give it a thorough wash. When it was dry, nan would carefully unpick every seam and then iron all the pieces flat.
I never ceased to be amazed at how much fabric we had.
Then nan would plan how to get the best(and the most) out of the fabric.
Using one of my old dresses as a template she would cut out the pieces and pin them together. I had to stand on the table and have the pinned dress put on me and adjusted where necessary.
I usually got pricked several times, but nan always kissed it better.
That evening the sewing machine would be going late into the night, so that when I got up in the morning, my dress would be ready to wear.
It was so exciting, parading up and down for nan and granddad to admire the dress(and me of course.)
I had some lovely clothes, all sewn and knitted for me by my marvellous nan.
One dress in particular was still talked about until nan died.
MY red roses dress.
It was white with little red roses on it and nan made frills on it.
My word, I thought I was a princess in that dress.
How lucky I was to have my nan and granddad, as my mother was not domesticated in any way. She could not cook, sew or knit.
My mother had been the youngest child of a very wealthy family and had been spoiled.
She had everyone waiting on her hand and foot.
You can imagine what a shock it was for her, when she married a sailor and came to live with his working class parents.
My mother said that nan never liked her.
I think this was probably true ,as nan hated people with airs and graces.
If nan liked someone she would say they were "The salt of the earth.
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Post by jimmy2020 on Jul 16, 2020 14:18:35 GMT
Was your Nan your mothers mother? I remember anything woollen being unpicked and reknitted into something else. My mother was not especially domesticated, hopeless cook and sewer but she was a good knitter and crocheter - especially baby clothes She never developed such skills thanks to her mother, my evil grandmother, who had seven sons and three daughters and in her world the women were put on this earth to look after the men, scrubbing floors and laundry etc We pretty well ate what we grew in the garden or eggs from the chickens or rabbit meat which was plentiful during the strict rationing I so enjoy the film Goodnight Mr Tom which brings back so many memories
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Post by althea on Jul 16, 2020 14:25:04 GMT
My nan was my father's mother. She also believed women existed to look after their men. In those days men earned the money for the family, so you had to look after them well. I loved Goodnight Mr. Tom too.
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Post by jimmy2020 on Jul 16, 2020 14:54:42 GMT
My nan was my father's mother. She also believed women existed to look after their men. In those days men earned the money for the family, so you had to look after them well. I loved Goodnight Mr. Tom too. No woman good enough for her son ?
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Post by maywalk on Jul 16, 2020 20:50:37 GMT
Very interesting Althea.
I love true tales and I wrote a book 15 years ago about the first 20 years of my life that takes the reader through from 1930 until I got married in 1949. It takes in me being cruelly treated by so called Sisters -of -Mercy and being bombed out twice during the London Blitz and machine gunned twice before being evacuated. All proceeds from the book has gone to my local Children's Hospice.
I have had many folks contacting me from worldwide wanting to know what life was like from way back in the 1930s onwards and its been quite an interesting time since it was first published. Even th BBC contacted me for my story much to my surprise.
I am now getting asked for stories of my married life from when I first got married and its surprising how many folk love to read about days gone by.
Keep on with your life story because it is also history and I was told recently that my tales have taught folks far better as to how hard life was many moons ago than any history learnt at school. I am 90 yeas old now but still putting tales and poems up for those who ask me to.
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Post by althea on Jul 17, 2020 14:15:19 GMT
Well done May, for writing your stories for all to read. I have decided to just write about the good times in my life. I decided there was no point in revisiting difficult times. I will continue. I hope it reawakens memories for others too.
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Post by althea on Jul 17, 2020 15:05:26 GMT
I realise I haven't really mentioned my father yet.
He was in the merchant navy, but still saw a bit of action during the war.
Of course, the Royal Navy did all the fighting and they were heroes.
However, the merchant navy played a vital role in bringing food stuffs and other supplies into this country.
My father was at sea when I was born and I was three months old when he first came home and saw me.
He obviously came home on leave at regular intervals, but when I was very young I had no recollections of him being there.
When I got to the age of two, or thereabouts, I began to resent this man coming between me and my mother.
When he was on leave, I suppose I felt excluded, as I often slept with my mother and when he was home ,the bedroom door was firmly closed.
I do start remembering little bits from my life at around the age of two and a half.
I was that age when my father came home and brought me a wooden doll.
I don't particularly remember the doll myself, but have often been told how wonderful it was.
It was from the Netherlands and had jointed arms and legs and long blonde plaits.
My father took me up the town and I do remember sitting on his shoulders clutching the doll.
It was a hot sunny day. Sadly, I dropped this doll from a great height and it broke on the paving slabs.
I wasn't really aware of what a fuss this would cause. I can tell you now, that that blooming doll was mentioned for the rest of my life. Not very often, just often enough for me not to
forget.
We never got really close during my early years, father and me.
In later years things were more normal between us, but I often think we could never bridge that gap .
On the other hand, my granda was always there for me.
My granda had just retired from working in the Iron works when I came along.
He worked in the rolling mill, which was a very strenuous and dangerous job.
When most men were earning ten shillings a week in wages, my granda was getting thirty shillings a week.
He was very tall and he had silver hair and he always wore a three piece suit.
He smoked a pipe and used to knock it out on the hearth, much to nan's annoyance.
He had a silver, oval tobacco tin and as far as I could see there was no way to open it.
By golly, I did try.
I can picture him now sitting by the fire in his weskitt(waistcoat) with his silver watch and chain dangling into his pocket.
Many is the night Granda would sit with the toasting fork and make me a piece of toast.
I don't think toast from electric toasters tastes nearly as good as toast made by the fire.
This was a huge thing for him to do.
He was a big burly, macho man who (like other men in those days)did no housework.
My granda was a sergeant in the army and served in the Boer War.
When World War one started, granda enlisted again.
Nan was furious with him, because he didn't have to join up.
Then, instead of thirty shillings a week, she got a soldier's pay of seven shillings and six pence.
Luckily granda came through uninjured, but not unscathed.
I don't think anyone comes through a war without being affected by it.
He was a quiet man and didn't often stand up to nan. He let her run the house etc. and she did it well. Nan was five foot nothing, and six stone soaking wet. When they stood side by side, they looked rather comical. Him so big and her so small, no one would guess she ruled him with a rod of iron.
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Post by goodlookingone on Jul 17, 2020 15:44:13 GMT
You seem to have a more memorable infancy than me.
Suffice to say that During Wartime, the Hospitals in East London, had "suffered" a bit of Blitz Damage and/or, overloaded by the great Labour numbers needed in Docks, Shipping, railway connections, and incoming servicemen., so .... My birth had to outside of London ... the place of Birth on my Birth Cert refers to Castle Donnington --- No castle at of course, but just a BIG house (Lockington Hall) converted to a Maternity Home - My late Mother would tell of convoys of military Vehicles parked along the A5, especially Tanks on Transporters for what was eventually called D-Day, and also the Nearby Airfield (I believe it was Latterly East Midland Airfield) where disabled aircraft would "Land" without ruining more needed airfields in the East of England. Thereafter Mother, Her Sis, and I were removed to an Evacuation room in a private House in Devon - Until Eisenhower wanted all non-residents moved away, as the fatalaties in the the D-Day Rehersals were becoming known to the populace - So we were moved "Somewhere Safe..." In fact Southampton Dock was a prime target - in my case, Mum's Uncle's House, which He had as an employee of some sort of internal Postman between Cunard and their ships - although by that time, mostly working for a Bigger Shipping firm - Who was Uncle Sam, anyway?
And thence to my Grandfathers House - not far from where I live now in South Essex. Apparantly dodging low-flying Spitfires - Not certain if this was the landing/storage/dismantling of aircraft for delivery to Tilbury Docks and the "Far East". All this was before I was aware, but my Memories being in our East London House (formerly my Granparents dwelling).. but ... No idea how/when, at sometime in the war a second family were tennanted into the First Floor all the time that I was there, leaving us the Ground floor - Hence "The Best" room was a bedroom.
Memories... 1) Hackney Marshes - just over our garden wall, was a Allotment site for veg growing (not ours). (I have since found an old map from my Grandas days when it was Watercress productions)
2) Bombsites on odd street corners which us kids thought had been deliberately produced for us raggamuffins to play on. 3) Horses towing the Coal Barges down the Lee (and "The Cut") to the gas a electric prod in Lee Bridge Road. 4) The School being in our road, opposite the house (but we moved away in my first school year) 5) The Milkmans Horse had some sort of Injury (Broken glass perhaps) and Mum providing water and a cloth to the Milkman to bathe the Hoss. 6) The Coalman also had a Horse. But in our "Downstairs abode" coal was brought into the house to be stored under the stairs , and coal-scuffs on the wallpaper from front door to under-stair cupboard. 7) Oh, of course, Mum going tom all those Womanly shops - Spokes the Drapers (payment to Storestaff was put into an overhead Wire "Pinged" to the counting house on a raised dias, and tghe change and receipt pinged back), Woolworths (of Course), Marks and Spencer, and of course the Trolleybuses, where the Collecting current via a ling pole that came off the wire in the sharp curve (not far from where some Soap Problem on TV changed the Five Bells into The Queen Vick)
Oh hell, I've gone on too long. I'll save you from Copper boiler, Gas Mantles, Outdoor Loo (you wouldn't believe how unhealthy I thought when our next house had an indoor loo), and ... and......
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Post by jimmy2020 on Jul 17, 2020 17:09:26 GMT
"I wasn't really aware of what a fuss this would cause. I can tell you now, that that blooming doll was mentioned for the rest of my life. Not very often, just often enough for me not to forget."
I know exactly what you mean In 1951 my uncle took me and his two sons touring and camping in N Devon in his ancient Austin 7. One night he told me to round up his sons (they were younger than me" and they were running riot along the walls at the side of the field. Chasing them Robert fell off the wall and broke his arm At every future family gathering I was reminded of this, even up to very recently
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Post by goodlookingone on Jul 17, 2020 17:32:00 GMT
althea, You are reminding me of My Grandad. Very Distant Memories, as He Died when I was five, but Lived out here "in the Country", wheras I lived in London, so only rarely seen. and ... YES, even in retirement it was a suit and a fob watch - and a pencil in his top pcket - After all, He had been a Foreman! Until the Last Visit I saw Him - Incredibly ill, and as a Kid, I was dismissed and sent to the shops out of view ... actually, I was sent to buy icecream - for him, not me. I know that road now, VERY busy, and no one would send a five year old loose. I also remember that I was scared of a Tractor (we didn't get them in London) and I turned tail and went back - The anomoly is that The Tractor Factory is Visible from where His House was, and I'm trying to trace whether the No 100 bus actually runs over where his house was? His ailments was a result of working in the Gas production Industry - causing the sort of ailments that Miners had. No mention of Dad's Father of Course - Dad's Father Died before He was born... Some sort of altercation in 1915 in Europe.
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Post by jimmy2020 on Jul 17, 2020 20:00:43 GMT
I was reminded today whilst buying fertiliser for the tomatoes The lady were evacuated to had a festering water butt and if any passing horse did it's whoopsie it was out with a bucket and shovel to pick it up and throw it in the butt. The water content was then used for the tomatoes They were delicious
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Post by althea on Jul 18, 2020 9:39:43 GMT
It's lovely to hear your memories, GLO and jimmy.
It's surprising how things come back to your mind once you start thinking about your childhood.
When I was four, I was allowed to go to the Saturday morning cinema.
A couple of older girls who lived nearby used to take me.
I became fascinated with Hopalong Cassidy who had silver hair (the films were in black and white.)
My granda had silver hair and he used to let me comb it. I stood on a stool by his chair and combed and combed.
My mother later told me that his scalp would be almost red raw, but he never said a word.
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Post by jimmy2020 on Jul 18, 2020 9:48:00 GMT
A trip to the cinema in nearby town was a major event but we had this huge van, the size of a furniture removals van, used to turn up in our village open it's back doors to reveal a screen and show a film I remember being entranced by Red River and Sentimental Journey, standing in the street watching
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Post by goodlookingone on Jul 18, 2020 11:27:26 GMT
Me again - another thought (two thoughts in two days - I'd better have a rest?).
Two of my Uncles (Grandads two Sons) bought Grandad a House out here in the Country (1929?). Grandad's Health was said to Failing, possibly caused by the Miners disease from the coal, or possibly the coal-smoke produced from his own work, and the railway/shipping/cranes/factories/housefire smoke latterly called London Smog. Grandad had worked initially after walking to London (From Bradford) to work, but The London Souls thought that coming from Yorkshire, He would work at The Beckton Gas Works where the Coasters brought Coal in to London (I won't go "off topic", but the gasworks has a bit of History - Two tiers with a Railway on each level - one intaking coal, and one dealing with coke - needs investigating... twenty plus Loco on each deck, Early use of Electric Light railway signals to penetrate the Thames Fog, but a different colour to the River Shipping navigating lights to avoid confusing them ... Back to the plot...).
Where was I...? As Younger men went to war (Called "The Great War to end all wars" before there was a second one), He ended as a Foreman and (much later I think) a Manager. Thus... He got a Pension, but in "Them Days" a pension was very coveted, but not enough to live on, but merely a means to earn a Living. Thus his Garden - among the water Well and the Bucket privy (away from the the well???), the Garden included a number of Sheds - these were all for His Rabbits - taken to to Wickford on Market days - remember, in those post-war days, meat was rationed..... By this time his health was much worse than I saw. He had trouble holding his head up and would sink on to his chest - Mums big sister had to haul him upright into his chair. My Memory is Linement and Icecream
I recently visited Wickford History Group, and it seems that the more recent (and abandoned) market was not the original that He had used. The previous is now Lidl Carpark.
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