Today is the day ~ 1970s…

Today is the day’ …was a collection of musings I wrote during the Peri menopause years. It’s spoken in the first person, and was based largely on my journal entries written around that time. Journalling is a wonderful way to express this, that and whatever else needs to be said whether aloud or silently…

Today is the day where I am thinking back to the 1970s. The 1970s were crazy and colourful! Chopper bikes, curly perms and clackers were all the rage. For those of you who were not around in the 1970s, clackers were a toy that was on trend, basically two small balls on the end of strings which made a sort of clacking noise. We certainly had some strange toys! Hem lengths were confused with the mini, the midi and the maxi all vying for top position. The hippies of Woodstock back in 1969 left us confused and unsure as to which way now, not that I went to Woodstock as I was only 7, although I bet it would have been fun! In 1969 I was just 7 years old, a little kid just starting out on the journey of life, no real life experience as yet, just the enthusiasm and innocence of childhood. Glam Rock, Punk, Rock ‘n’ Roll, pop…all taking the stage. The 60s may have been swinging but the 70s were electrifying! My idol was David Cassidy, brown eyes, husky voice and a smile to die for. Here just thinking about him makes me sigh like a teenager. It did n’t even matter that he was in the Partridge Family who to be honest were a bit square, and not in the least bit funky but David sang to my soul with Could it be forever and How can I be sure?  This guy, who was 12 years older than me, somehow knew how I felt, knew who I was, and somehow spoke to me in a way that no one else could. My relationship with David was deep and meaningful. Then years later Robbie Williams came along who incidentally is 12 years younger. I wonder, if like me they are Tigers in Chinese astrology which moves in 12 year cycles. Umm that’s an interesting thought. I’ll have to check that out. Robbie took me through my adulteens and dare I say it my adulthood. Oh yes, Robbie went through everything with me, through his music of course. I am probably dwelling on the 70s just now as this was the timeframe in which I was 16 and in all honesty my daughter is now 16 and I am feeling at a crossroads. It really does not seem that long ago that I was the same age and going through the same experiences that she is just now. I am sure that she would be horrified at the very thought that I may have been as she is now. I am sure to her it does not seem descent that a woman of my 48 years should have ever experienced the first flush of youth. To my daughter, all I can say is just you wait until you have a daughter or son of your own.

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Memoirs ~ Class 9, 2 Davids, Isle of Wight & a smack

Class nine, two Davids, Isle of Wight and a smack

In numerology nine is the number of completion and so it was I completed my primary school years in class nine. There were three classes at the top end of the school; classes nine, ten and eleven. I was in class nine taught by Mrs Shelbrook formerly Miss Marcham, my favourite teacher. Class ten was taught by Mr Orford who I think was a hippy or new ageist in the making or something that came close to either. He used to play guitar and sing, had longer hair than the other male teachers and a long shaggy beard, both brown. In my book that made him a hippy or at least it did in my eleven year old eyes. In reality he was probably just a man who enjoyed sporting a beard. As a child, I was always thinking about the whys and wherefores of things, and coming to my own conclusions as do we all but children see things in a different light to adults. The funny thing about Mr Orford was that his own children attended the free school further down the road in Kirkdale, towards Cobbs Corner. The free school looked like it might have been fun, at least that is how I perceived it. Every time you went past, there were children looking scruffy, carefree and happy, I mean really happy! You always heard laughter coming from the free school. Perhaps Mr Orford taught at Kelvin Grove to pay the bills. Finally, there was class eleven which was Mr Phenong’s class. Mr Phenong was scary, I mean really scary!. He was Chinese or appeared to be from that part of the world. He was tall and he took no nonsense. His was the quietest class in the school. You never heard any commotion from his class. I was glad I was not in his class. His class was at the top of the cast iron steps in the old Victorian building. I was always so happy that I never had to ascend those steps  into Mr Phenongs domain. Class nine and class ten were based in the new pre-fabricated huts that were built a little distance away from the main school building. When I think of the huts in my minds eye, I see the colour yellow. They were light and airy, a far cry from the old Victorian classes that I had been accustomed to. When I see those classrooms I see the colours red and brown, lots of glass, really high ceilings and dark corridors. 

Class nine probably made more of an impression on me than any other class at Kelvin Grove. I was growing up and everything was preparing us for secondary school. I had pretty much stuck with the same group through school. The group consisted of Ruth, Angela, Debbie, Ken who joined the school later than the rest of us but fitted in with us all, as if he had always been one of us, and then of course there was David. We all sat on one desk. The others in the group were Perry, Tina, Dawn, and Lillian who sat on other desks but were equally part of the group. 

At playtime the boys would chase the girls, the girls would squeal as young girls have a tendency to do if they were caught, and then they would run away again only to be chased and caught again. That’s just how the game went. It seemed the girls had the most fun, or maybe we were typically stereotypical for  that period of time with the boys being the hunters and the girls being chased. We were all in the first flush of youth approaching puberty but not quite there yet, and so were still enjoying the freedom associated with childhood. A couple of the girls had paired off with a couple of the boys, Ruth and David and Tina and Perry. The funny thing is that all the girls in the class had a crush on David . Whether he knew it or not is a mystery. I kept my feelings on that score to myself. It was a secret crush that had he have known I would have died of embarrassment. I remember wearing a David Cassidy t-shirt one day for PE and David  telling me that it really suited me. I am sure I blushed brilliantly but was thrilled, as him commenting meant that he had noticed me. I wasn’t invisible after all. That was as far as my relationship with David went. It was innocently sweet. 

These children were such an integral part of my junior school years,  and yet secondary school saw us all separated and going off in different directions on our next phase of life. All us girls went on to Sydenham County School for girls, and the boys went to Dacres Road, which was actually Forest Hill Boys School. Even though us girls were in the same school we were split into other groups, our new groups. That’s how life often goes with us going from one group to another as we travel through life on our journey with destination unknown. I only ever saw David (not Cassidy) once more in my life, and that was years later when I was working in the local record shop Treble Clef. Working at Treble Clef was my Saturday and holiday job. It was poorly paid at just £5 for the entire day but I loved it. I got to listen to music all day, and for the most part I got to choose the music. It did not seem like work at all. I never went home with any money as I spent it all on records. Anyway, it was here I last saw David. He was with who I presume was his girlfriend. Strangely she reminded me of me with her dark curly hair and bright eyes. David had not really changed much but I no longer had butterflies in my tummy when I saw him.  I never knew what became of him after that.

Class nine was a good class to be in apart from when we had Mr Hog (what a name! Is n’t hog another name for pig?). Mr Hog was a supply teacher who covered for Mrs Shelbrook when she was away. He had a red face and had straight oiled hair with a side parting that was slicked back and stuck flat to his head. I have a feeling he was Welsh but could be mistaken. His mouth was crooked as were his teeth that were stained dark yellow bordering on green.  It’s strange how we can see people so clearly, and in so much detail even though it was such a long time ago. If I were to annotate any colours to him it would be red because of his ruddiness, and green because of the various greens of his clothes which seemed to be muted together in a mass of coarse fabrics that sat awkwardly on his sturdy frame..  He wore thick glasses and had spiteful eyes. He was quite stocky, not fat but solid. He took a dislike to our class who were by this time quite well behaved as we had the greatest amount of respect for Mrs Shelbrook. One afternoon he was teaching, and said something that the class found funny. There were sniggers all around but the person who was more obvious, and louder than the others was David. He was just ten or eleven and had n’t done anything terrible but the teacher had other ideas, clearly felt belittled and wanted someone to pay. Mr Hog went up behind David and I am sure  if my memory serves me right, thumped him hard in his back. It must have hurt terribly, as well as feeling humiliated. David’s face reddened to a deep crimson. I am sure he reacted by running from the classroom as a way of escaping such a traumatic situation, although I am not altogether certain. We remember things to suit our own perception of events and situations. 

David  was n’t the only David in my life and he was n’t to be my last.  I secretly admired David, he was decent boy with a head of fabulous brown curls. I was also a fan of David Cassidy who had a string of chart hits in the 1970s including Could it be forever; How can I be sure and Breaking up is hard to do. Maureen, my older sister knew that I liked David Cassidy and that he was my favourite pop star but that did n’t stop her from going to his concert. Maureen was four years older than me and was allowed to go to concerts with her friends. While she was at the concert she even bought a David Cassidy pillow case and pendant. I ended up with a t-shirt, although I am sure she wore it a few times before letting me have it. Maureen was so lucky to be allowed to go to concerts. I was just too young at the time. 

Now that we were in our final year at Primary School it meant that we could go on the annual school journey to the Isle of Wight. The school journey was to be both educational and fun, and like the other children I couldn’t wait to go. We were only to be away from home and school for a week, which before we went did n’t seem that long a time but when we were actually there it seemed an eternity and I was horribly home sick.. The teachers that were to accompany us on school journey were Mrs Tuppenden and Mrs Shelbrook who were both teachers, and Mrs Atkins who was actually a lunchtime supervisor who kept an eye on us at dinnertime, and made sure that we ate our school dinner. If there were any other teachers on the trip I don’t recall. I remember much of that journey, not the actual travelling which was by coach and ferry but the actual trip itself. We stayed in chalets in San-down, four to a chalet on bunk beds I think, although I don’t remember if I took the top bunk or the bottom bunk. At night time on that first day we were to bathe and clean ourselves. I soon realised that mummy and daddy had forgotten to pack a flannel. I told the teacher and was given a J-cloth as a substitute. An adult would simply see that as improvisation. That would have been fine but a couple of girls in class eleven had overheard my dilemma, and for the rest of the holiday repeatedly sang the song from the J-cloth advert. I tried to laugh it off but it seriously got on my nerves in the end. They just didn’t know when enough was enough. So that was the first thing on the trip that got me down. 

Being homesick I wished that I was back at home but there was nothing I could do. I would just have to hope that the days went by quickly. Being on the Isle of Wight we made various trips to the beach. Allum Bay was one place where we went because of the variety of coloured sand. As children we were encouraged to play and run around to work off our excess energy. I remember Mrs Tuppenden and Mrs Atkins lifting me by my hands and feet and mockingly acting as though they would hurl me into the sea. I struggled, screamed and cried, and got quite aggressive, threatening that I would tell my dad and that they’d be sorry. They were just playing but I didn’t like that game, and felt scared. I did tell my dad when I got home but he could see that no harm was intended, and said that I was far too sensitive and should n’t take everything to heart. 

On the trip we would all eat our breakfast together. My favourite breakfast was Kellogg’s cornflakes with a rather large sprinkling of sugar. After breakfast we were told what we would be doing and where we would be visiting that day. One particular excursion that I remember only too well was a daytrip to Carisbrook Castle. Now, either on the estate or maybe on route to the estate we went to visit a windmill. Before entering we were told not to touch anything as it was very old. I obviously either did n’t hear that point or maybe switched off and chose to ignore it. It does n’t matter as the result would have been the same. I touched when I should n’t have touched. What it was I touched I could n’t even now say, some sort of cog I think. What I remember is how much my leg stung as Mrs Shelbrook’s hand came hard across the back of my leg. There was no warning, it just happened spontaneously. Suddenly, my favourite teacher was no longer my favourite teacher, and I was no longer the good girl I had always strived to be. Not only did the smack sting but my pride was in pieces. I never saw Mrs Shelbrook in the same light after that, and I never touched anything that said don’t touch again. With that in mind, it’s true how they say history repeats itself, and that each person can only learn from their own mistakes. Two years later on the same school trip, while on the same excursion my younger sister got smacked by the same teacher for doing the same thing, in exactly the same spot. 

One of my friends on the trip was Linda. Linda was only in my life briefly, and for a short time we were good friends. Linda was an only child, and lived on the Hillcrest Estate, known to us also as the flats at the back because they were situated down beyond the Orange Moon at the rear of our houses in Hillcrest Road. Linda had dark brown hair and sky blue eyes, and was confident and self-assured. I wanted to be like Linda. Linda lived with her mum and her dad when he came home on leave. Linda’s dad was a soldier. Linda’s   mum drove a bight red convertible MG Spitfire. Linda’s mum wore her shoulder length blond hair in a flick. Linda’s mum was young and fashionable and did n’t look like a mum at all at least not in my eyes. 

Once during that brief time that Linda was a part of my life, I was invited to stay over at Linda’s for the night. I had never slept away from home before, and I am sure my parents had reservations as sleepovers were not the done thing back then but I managed to persuade them that I would be fine, reminding them that I really was n’t going very far. I had to sleep with Linda in her bed. The only recollection I have of that sleepover was her mum asking what drink we’d like to have on the bedside in case we should become thirsty in the night. Linda chose orange juice and I chose milk; milk was a bad choice as it curdled over night. To this day I have never left milk out overnight. You learn all sorts of things from the people you meet in life; sometimes we learn simple things and at other times not so simple things. 

Linda went out of my life as quickly as she had come into it. Where she went I don’t know. I never saw her or heard from her again. Linda was just one of many people I befriended or who befriended me during my life, and who made a lasting impression on me. They say that people come into your life for all manner of reasons so that we can learn something from them or vice versa. Sometimes we see the lesson immediately, and sometimes we don’t see it at all. Perhaps it was Linda’s parents who were learning something from me being with Linda. Perhaps they went on to have another child so that Linda would have a playmate and companion. Of course this is just conjecture but it is a possibility.

Memoirs ~ Hillcrest Road

Hillcrest Road

Having recently watched the series The Haunting of Hill House on Netflix I was taken back to where my life began in Hillcrest Road. We all have Ghosts and memories from the past. Some  good, some bad and some mad as a hatter…

home is where the heart is

Mrs Haynes was as I recall a large old lady. How old I cannot say but at the age of five or six she appeared to me to be the oldest person in the world. She must have been of a great age as she remembered a time when the land surrounding Hillcrest Road had been farms and pasture land; green and grassy as opposed to the granite grey and concrete that it later became. There had been no flats at the back then. Hillcrest Estate, as the flats at the back were affectionately called came to be built many years later. The estate was constructed when all but a few of the large Victorian homes still remained. 

Mrs Haynes used to wear her silvery blue hair parted straight along the middle and pulled really tight and flat revealing the pale pink skin of her scalp which somehow seemed to contrast well with the shimmering hue of her hair. She always wore her hair in two plaits wound round and round, one each side of her head worn close behind her ears. I am sure that should she ever have let her hair hang loose then it would have fallen in long tendrils down to somewhere below her bottom, possibly even reaching as far as her knees; a real life, though aged Rapunzel. I use to wonder if she ever let it down or if she had ever had it cut. Mrs Haynes complexion was ruddy with a rawness about it that reminded me many years later of well worn creased leather. Her steel blue eyes appeared incredibly small in relation to the size of her face and yet they sparkled much like tiny stars, shining and shimmering as a show of diamonds flashing in a crimson sky. There was a hardness of face, in a rather rugged, not masculine sort of way that hinted at a life that had perhaps seen troubled times but then she had lived through two world wars, and the Great Depression, having been born some time during the late 1800s. Her voice was dry and crackly and seemed to scratch the air in breathy tones. She used to call us ‘ducks’ as a term of endearment; nobody apart from her ever called me ducks and I’ve never heard the term used since. Seemingly pretty rough around the edges with her angular jaw line protruding in a proud, yet unpretentious manner, a long narrow nose and wide thin lipped mouth she was as I recall a kindly old soul, more than happy to share memories of Hillcrest Road as it was when she was a young woman newly married to the late Mr Haynes who must have died before I was born as I don’t remember ever seeing him.

    Perhaps he had died a hero fighting in World War II against Hitler and the Nazis helping to bring the Third Reich to its knees or maybe even in the First World War as not much more than a boy, a war in which many boys left home, only to die unceremoniously in the stinking stench of the trenches, never to return as grown men. 

     Thinking of this I was reminded why I buy a poppy each November. An unwelcome image of blood spilt spreading needlessly, carpeting miles and miles of sodden trenches flashed through my conscious mind. My imagination was fully engaged and working overtime. Mr Haynes could just as easily have died of some horrible illness or perhaps had just passed away peacefully in his sleep; perhaps and maybes? Who knows? I never thought to ask so now will never know.

     At any rate Mrs Haynes was left a widow, living alone with Billy.  She use to give my three sisters and I, each a sixpence which we spent on sweets in Adams in Wells Park Road, round the corner from Taylor’s Lane and not too far from Kirkdale. Adams was an Aladdin’s cave for the serious sweet eater. Rows and rows of large screw top jars with coloured plastic lids filled to the brim with a rainbow of sugary delights stood on shelves inviting every sweet toothed kid, which pretty much meant everyone to come and try out the deliciously tasty treasures on display in this cabin of confectionary comfort. An assortment of pear drops, cola cubes, sherbet pips and sweet peanuts, toffee crunch, bonbons, Murray mints and lots of chocolate and so on and  much more besides. There was something for everyone. There were penny sweets, flying saucers made from sugar paper in an array of pastel lemons, pinks, blues and greens, sherbet dips, white mice, brown mice and pink bazooka bubble gums with a joke and fortune included which were always popular, laid out to entice. There were gob stoppers, aniseed balls and lollipops in all shapes and sizes all set out to tease the taste buds and decay the teeth. 

     That dear old lady would press the sixpence into the centre of our eagerly opened palms pushing it down firmly with her thumb then close our small chubby fingers tightly round the shiny coin until we made a fist and then she would squeeze our hands ever so tightly within her own. She pressed the coin so hard into our hands that it would leave a circular imprint embedded into the flesh. It caused no pain though and by performing this ritual it seemed as though she were wishing us well and casting a ring of protection around us. As children we have a gift to see the magic in the world around us. At least we do until we are taught not to.

     Mrs Haynes always wore a wrap-over floral pinafore over her dress tied securely at the waist on one side. In my mind’s eye it was tied to the left but it may have been the right. I particularly remember small pink flowers and tiny green leaves on a white background and a dark blue though not navy trim or was it a navy background with tiny pink roses. What we remember and what actually was can get confused as the years go by. I can almost touch the crispness of well laundered cotton and smell that outdoors freshness that only clings to laundry that has been allowed to dry outside on the washing line on what can only be described as a good drying day. Of course I may be mistaken, after all children see things so differently, and I was just a very small child starting out on the journey of life. Mrs Haynes’ large frame accommodated her drooping breasts which never ceased to amaze me as to how they had grown that long. At the time I wondered if all ladies had bosoms stretching down towards their knees when they got very old. I hoped that this was not the case. At the time I remember thinking that if this happened to all women when they reached a certain age, then “Please God, don’t let me get them “. I wondered too if others, my sisters included ever pondered over the same sort of things as I did or whether maybe I was odd. Again, I never thought to ask. Maybe I could ask them now. 

     The rest of her attire usually consisted of extra double thick flesh coloured tights or stockings or maybe they were pop socks, and black very sensible looking leather lace up brogues that looked as though they were cleaned and polished daily with regimental fervour or maybe it was just a natural sense of pride in looking after something that had been gained from hard work; a way of showing gratitude. It’s strange the things we notice as children. We seem to see so much more than we do as adults.  Our senses seem to leave imprints on our memories of sights, sounds, smells and tastes that linger long into the future, at least of things that make an impression on us whether or not they are for good or bad.  Sometimes what we see as children is not what it was like at all as things look different through the eyes of an infant or maybe it’s through the eyes of an adult that everything changes.  

     Mrs Haynes lived in the house next door to us in Hillcrest Road. Unlike us who only occupied the ground floor at number five, she and Billy were the sole occupants in number seven. Theirs had a powder blue front door whilst ours was a deep leaf green. Both doors had two glass panels placed in the top half of the door though what they were like is hard to recall. They may have been stained glass or leaded glass. Perhaps my sisters may remember. Mrs Haynes and Billy must, I decided, be very rich. Two people living in such a large house and having it all to themselves was unheard of in the rest of the street. The other homes were occupied by two or more often three entire families. At the time I believed that it was the norm for more than one family to occupy a house that size.  I was convinced that only very wealthy people could afford such a luxury as an entire house to themselves. I had no idea that once upon a time all the houses in Hillcrest Road would have each been occupied by just a single family and maybe even a few servants. 

As already told, Mrs Haynes lived with her son Billy. He too appeared to me to be old. He too had silver hair but only around the sides being totally bald on top; the top of his head looked really smooth and shiny. He was most probably not that old at all but this was my perception back then; the perception of a child. Even fairly youngish or middle aged adults appear old to small children even to older children. Billy too was kind. One of my sisters was unwell with asthma so Billy bought her a beautiful white and navy blue Wedgewood pendant set in a solid silver setting. Gestures such as this may seem strange in a world where we now teach our children to mistrust from an early age but it was merely a kind gesture with no hidden agenda from a well meaning neighbour. She was just one of the little girls from next door who had been very poorly for a time. Her poor health had clearly tugged at his heart strings, perhaps stirring an unsatisfied paternal yearning.

Mrs Haynes and Billy are just ghosts from early childhood but I can see them as clearly now as I did then. Mrs Haynes memories and knowledge of a past era have most probably long been laid to rest but her kindness will be remembered when I think of my sisters and I eagerly reaching out our outstretched hands to receive sixpence for a bag of sweets.

I have wonderfully happy memories of Hillcrest Road even though I only lived there until I was seven and seven months old. My earliest memory takes me back to when I could only have been about two or thereabouts as I am certain that I was still in a cot. I clearly remember Daddy coming in with a cup of tea. The cup was plastic and coloured blue with a lid much like today’s training beakers, in fact most likely the same or similar. Daddy always made us all a cup of tea every morning from when we could first drink tea until we left home. I shared the big bedroom in Hillcrest with my parents and my little sister , and later we shared with our big sisters when our parents moved into the smaller bedroom. It was a large room that had French doors that opened out onto a large laid to lawn back garden. In front of the windows I remember a very dark green dressing table that went the full length of the windows. It had bevelled glass mirrors on either end, then it sunk lower in the middle than at the sides. I remember sitting on top of the dressing table looking in the mirror trying to loosen my milk teeth with a magnetic letter (the magnetic letter was part of a set in an assortment of bright colours that came with an easel that had a magnetic board one side and a blackboard on the other). I wanted money from the tooth fairy, and I was also eager to have my two big second front teeth. Some of the things I did as a child horrify me these days. I remember brushing my hair over and over in front of these mirrors many times. I remember one time hiding behind the dressing table with my little sister waiting for Freddy who lived upstairs with his mum and stepdad, to appear at the end of the garden all set to show us his willy. Yes, I did say his willy. I was definitely an odd kid to say the least. Why we should wish to look at his or any other willy at the time is beyond my comprehension now, I can only hazard a guess that it was idle curiosity or just plain old meaness. This he had promised to do if we allowed him to have a go on our swings. What a terrible price to pay for a go on a swing. Freddy kept his word and showed us his willy from a distance as agreed which set us both howling with laughter.. How horrid of us! We on the other hand did not keep our promise to let him play on the swings, and to his dismay we went back on the deal.  To make matters worse we told our big sisters and all our friends so that they too could have a laugh at Freddy’s expense. Poor Freddy! I wonder if he ever got over the humiliation?    Although, if my memory serves me right it was more disappointment than anything else.  I genuinely believe he just accepted the situation and went about his business; most likely thinking that girls really were mean! I look back now that I am in my fifties and think what a wicked thing it was that we did although to be fair to my younger sister (I was the ring leader and it was my idea) and she  just went along with me. I am not even sure if this incident left her with any feelings of guilt as it did me when I became an adult; she was after all younger than me and by no means to blame. At the time though, we meant no real harm and certainly never gave any thought as to how it might have affected him either then or later in his life. The consequences of our actions couldn’t have been further from our thoughts. Even in our teens we laughed about it but now I look back and see how cruel this was on our part. Freddy, wherever you are I want you please to know that I am truly sorry and hope we did you no lasting harm.

Going back to home that was Hillcrest, my elder sisters shared the smaller of the two bedrooms; at least until they swapped over with our parents when it was considered a more appropriate arrangement. I don’t remember much about their room apart from the carpet which was coloured red with a dark blue, maybe black diamond pattern with white jagged edging around the diamond shapes. The red was not bright enough to be scarlet and not dark enough to be crimson but red it was. I believe that it had been a new carpet at the time but I remember nothing of it being laid down or who laid it down, although most likely it would have been Daddy as he was a dab hand at DIY and anything else he had a mind to do.  The carpet was flat, unlike the shag piles of today’s modern carpets.  In fact carpets are losing ground to hard wood and laminate flooring.

Of the sitting room I recall a washable vinyl wall paper, a floral print of large bright in your face pink flowers on a dark brown background. If I saw it in a shop today I am sure I would recognise it. There was an upright piano placed against one wall veneered in walnut. I recall that it was to be sold, although why I cannot even now say for sure. However, people generally sell things when money is short, so maybe that was the reason. To my parent’s horror I wrote on all the keys, the corresponding piano notes in blue felt pen, which was actually quite clever seeing as I wasn’t even learning the piano. I remember getting told off and Mummy having to use bleach to remove the pen before the people purchasing the piano arrived to take it away. Perhaps I didn’t want the piano to be sold. Also, in the sitting room was a radiogram. Now that’s an old fashioned word that you don’t hear anymore. We used to play records on the turntable and sing along loudly ,and mostly out of tune. Particular favourites were Winnie the Pooh, Mary Poppins, The Clancy Brothers, Guy Mithcell and Bill Hayley and his Comets. One other piece of furniture that I remember with great fondness was a table that Daddy had made. It had a square veneered table top. There was a dark plain painted moulding around the edge of the table top. The fours legs were bowed outwards and down to a small square shelf at the bottom of the table and there were four rounded bun like feet that had some indented pattern that sort of looked like thumb prints set into the wood. The reason I recall this table was that we used to turn the table onto its side and make believe it was a sailing ship. The legs served well to rock the imaginary vessel back and forth. As make believe seafarers we made many an imaginary journey sharing make believe adventures and laughter as children tend to do.

I vaguely remember the kitchen and the bathroom which led off from the kitchen in Hillcrest Road. We had quite a large table on which to dine and Sunday dinners were always lovely affairs with everyone sitting around the table to share a Sunday Roast or a lovely stew. The smells from our kitchen were warm and delicious as were the meals that were cooked there. Mummy always spent a lot of time in the kitchen. She was a fabulously talented cook though now arthritis prevents her from doing those things she did so well..  Daddy too was a dab hand in the kitchen and could make a sumptuous stew with a hint of curry spices (we used to call it worried chicken), something he must have inherited from Nan who spent several years in India as a young woman. There was always something wonderful cooking on the stove. If I inhale in my imagination, I can almost smell those stews and feel the heat of a bubbling pot.

As we lived on the ground floor we had the largest part of the garden. The Leavenses had the small plot and whether the Blands (they lived at the top of the house) had any garden at all, I am not too sure. Our garden was a lovely place to play and grow as small children. There was a rockery on either side of the steps that led into the garden proper. There was an old pear tree that stood on it’s own in the top end of the garden. In the bottom half of the garden, Daddy to our delight put up swings for us. We played many and varied games as small children and always played together. We were the Howatson girls and were as close then as sisters could be. That is not to say we never fought, of course we did but we were a happy foursome for most of the time.  Maureen used to be in charge and would make us play Tarzan which was one of her favourite TV characters or she would dress up as Batman, another firm favourite. Shivvi and I were always the girly girls in our games of ‘Let’s Pretend’ and would always need rescuing by Maureen aka Tarzan or Batman. This was in the days when Johnny Weismuller was playing Tarzan on our screens and Adam West was starring as Batman. My sister Sammy was at that particular point in time a little too young to be left without adult supervision, even though we were only in the garden. We always had clothes to dress up in. I mean what little girl doesn’t want to play dressing up or even what little boy for that matter. We were no exception, dressing up at every opportunity. I particularly recall a couple of dresses that our late Aunty Eva gave to us on one of her trips over from Ireland. One was a beautiful golden shiny satin dress and the other was a beautiful shimmering blue that I can only liken to an evening summer sky on a clear night. The blue one had tiny star like flowers finely embroidered into the fabric. Both must have been party dresses as they were the epitome of high fifties glamour, simply gorgeous! They were in the style of late 1950’s early 1960’s dresses with full circular skirts and tight bodices and loads of petticoats beneath. Women were a lot smaller than they are today. Having a twenty two inched waist was not considered that unusual. Mummy had a waist that small when she married Daddy.  In fact we would often dress up in her wedding dress, again in the 1950’s style.  To say we ruined the dress is an understatement. All the dresses would today have been a vintage enthusiast’s pot of gold. They were simply stunning and sensational. As for some of our dressing up shoes, they too were just exquisite. I remember a beautiful pair of silver glittery peep toes. I can see them in my mind’s eye as I think of them sparkling like brilliant diamonds. 

Hillcrest road holds a special place in my heart and of course my imagination!

© Liola Lee 2010