Chapter 5

‘Some memories are unforgettable, remaining ever vivid and heart-warming.’ Joseph B. Wirthlin

I don’t remember much about my young childhood. What I do, I share with you here. Mum regularly dressed me and my younger sister, Carol in the same clothes, which was common at the time, and we used to have the same hairstyles.

In our house, Mum for the most part, was the breadwinner. She worked hard and had a few jobs. Mum always enjoyed playing bingo, so it was probably a dream when she got a job at a Bingo Hall in Leeds in 1991, working there until she retired in 2022 at the young age of 77. She’d worked there for 31 years. My mum is most definitely where I get my work ethic from.

Sunday school was something both me and my sister attended, at least for a while. That’s as far as my religious involvement got, other than getting married in 1985. I’m not religious and I certainly don’t go to church, but I find the peace and tranquility of churches cathartic, creating a sense of calm in my life I can’t find anywhere else. I also visit cemeteries and graveyards for the same reason. There are so many family stories buried under those gravestones, including those of my own, and we know so very few of them. In fact, Hunslet Cemetery has at least 17 of my family and former family members buried there. It reminds me we are a very long time dead, and life; no matter how bad it can be at times; is always worth living.

On the health scene, I do remember my hands and toes being covered in warts, (who could forget that) not very pleasant, and at about the age of nine I had them removed at the local hospital. I don’t know how they remove them today, but back then if I remember correctly, the nurses used to freeze burn them with carbon dioxide. Pretty gruesome and very painful. I remember being told to count to 10 when the nurse was burning them off. I counted very fast. Mum took me for the treatment on my hands, but on my last visit it was dad, probably because mum was working. After the last treatment my feet were so badly swollen and so well wrapped up, I could hardly walk and dad had to carry me home from the bus stop.

Mum and dad used to have a motorbike and sidecar when we were young and mum would ride pillion. One day dad took us all to Scarborough with grandma. When they were riding home they ran out of petrol, or so they thought. So, while dad walked to the petrol station in the pouring rain, some miles back down the road, mum, grandma and us two kids all crammed into the side car to shelter from the rain. Thankfully dad got a lift back.When he went to pour in the petrol, he realised there were two tanks, and one was still full. I can’t imagine what mum said at the time, but I’m sure the air might have been a distinct shade of blue.

There were no seat belts in side cars back then. At least I don’t think so. One day, mum told me, mum and dad were on the bike and saw someone frantically waving them down. They stopped, and on checking realised the door was open, and my sister was hanging on for dear life. She must have been about five at the time. Mum thinks she had probably moved seats and held onto the door handle whilst doing so, inadvertently causing it to open. I doubt very much she did that again!

Recently reading an excerpt from another memoir about not talking to strangers, it reminded me of the time when as a couple of teenagers, me and my sister were coming home on the bus about 10pm, probably from the cinema, when we decided to do something really kind and asked an old lady if she would like us to walk her home. She said yes. So, we did. It wasn’t the most salubrious of places, in fact, it was downright awful; just a depiction of how we treat our elderly, then and now. We made her a drink and something to eat. As you can imagine, by now it was heading towards midnight. Mum and dad must have been frantic. No mobile phones to let them know back then, or even landlines for most people.
Walking home, we met dad who had come out looking for us. Mum would have had our younger sister Catherine to look after. We didn’t get into trouble, but were told we should have gone and told them what we’d planned to do, and dad could have come with us.We have all done it, knowingly or otherwise, put our parents in a state of panic. And as adults with families of our own, I’m sure we all know what that feels like.

I also loved listening to music. Mum and dad bought me and my sister a second hand record player when I was about 11. We were also given a few records, so we could at least get started. I remember one was ‘I Like It’ by Gerry and the Pacemakers. Like I do now, I would have blasted the music out, and sang away to the lyrics rather loudly, with a hairbrush as a mic, of course. I can still vaguely remember the dulcet tones of my mum shouting ‘turn the bloody music down’. On reflection, only a parent could ever have put up with my singing, which probably sounds worse than anything you have ever heard. I know my husband can’t; he leaves the room every time I start to sing; puts ear plugs in, or simply tells me to shut-up. A sure proof way of getting rid of unwanted attention, or to test someone’s staying power was to sing. It most certainly separated the wheat from the chaff.

From a young age I enjoyed reading. I received the book Heidi written by Johanna Spyri as a Christmas present from an auntie and uncle, now long deceased. Heidi tells the story of a little girl growing up with her grandfather in the Swiss Alps and I simply adored it. Until now, I hadn’t realised it was based on a true story.

I also loved The Amazing Mr. Blunden. I was awarded this as a prize for my project on astronomy at school, which was a real interest of mine back then. I think I was about nine. This book has also been made into two films and tells the story of two children who move to an old house with their mum and baby brother and meet two ghosts; children who need other courageous children to go back in time to save them from a fire. It really is an amazing book, with tales of courage and friendship being brought to life through storytelling.