In Living Memory:

In Living Memory:

I recall when my mum died.  I suddenly realised that I didn't know anything about her formative years.  My kids aren't interested in my reminiscences either.  So as far as history is concerned we may as well never have existed.

So, I'm considering starting a blog, 'In Living Memory', to revisit the most vivid memories of our childhood. Does anybody want to take the challenge?

When I/we go, the only memories of our times will be in history books, concerned with the broader issues, devoid of colour and life.

I would like to start by contacting people worldwide, all ages, to capture and preserve their memories of childhood.  I would like us all to think on our formative years and note the differences between then and now.  To relate our amusing anecdotes for posterity.  To colour the past, and present its many different viewpoints.  All ages welcome, recent memories will age with the writer, to be treasured by those yet to come.  

I can be contacted at: 

hullbridgewriters@outlook.com

If you are interested in contributing to the blog.

Here are a few small examples that came to mind from my own life:

1948 a very Good Year.

  I have fond early memories of 1948 and my childhood, in Dagenham, Essex, England, just after the 'World War II'.  The production of munitions stopped and the production of cars resumed at Dagenham.  So after demobilisation Dad got a job in the River Plant at Briggs Bodies, soon to become a subsidiary of the Fords Motor Company.

 Rationing was still in force and shortages were the norm.  There were four hundred houses in Western Avenue where we lived, but there were only two cars.   One belonging to Doctor Smithers, the other to Bill Roach a neighbour.   Bill had been in the RAF, as aircrew, and lost both legs when his plane was shot down.  He drove a Ford Prefect that had been converted to operate with hand controls.   At that time the streets were still safe for children to play in, and that was where I first discovered I had a sense of humour.   In 1948 I was an ancient three and a half year old.

.-...-.

 It looked like a tea cosy but it was a hat.   Grass green inside, orange, red, green and blue outside, with a large blue pom-pom on the top.   Mum religiously planted it on my head whenever I went out to play.   But, as soon as she went in, I removed it and stuffed it up the drain pipe.   When I returned I would retrieve it and nobody was any the wiser.   One blustery day I returned but forgot to retrieve the hat.  When mum asked where it was I said the wind had blown it away. So she bought me a brown French Beret (see photo).

 That winter we had a series of heavy rainstorms and the gutters overflowed.   Dad decided to clean them out, but first, he checked the downpipes, where he discovered the remains of my hat.   He solemnly announced, to mum and me, that a small furry creature had got trapped in the pipe and died.   He made us turn our backs whilst he extricated it and buried it with full ceremony. 

“Heh heh heh!”

.-...-.

 In the spring of 48 Dad 'told me off' for calling our next-door neighbour Arry!

“You mustn’t call him Harry, that’s disrespectful.   Call him Mr Thomas!” he said.

Next morning, I was in the garden when out came Mr Thomas to do some gardening.

“Hello Lenny,” he said with a smile.

“Ello Arry.   Mustn’t call you Arry, aye Arry.   Mr Thomas aye Arry?”

Dad looked as if he would suffocate, attempting to stifle his laughter.  Harry had no such inhibitions.  

 Here I am, good job they didn't know what plots were hatching behind that 

cherubic face.

 

Len Morgan (69), Essex, England.

Ding dong, the frog is alive!

Ding dong, the frog is alive!

He was a Naval diver, 'a frogman', in his younger days.  His youthful good looks and boyish charm belied his nickname 'the frog'.  On leaving the service he expected he would leave it behind, but it followed him into civilian life.

Twenty five years on, his hair was thinning, he'd put on weight and his wife realised that 'the frog' was no longer performing up to spec.

So, after much soul searching, they decided to seek specialist help through their local Doctor.

.-...-.

"What would you like to know, Doc?"

"I take it the blue tablets didn't help?"

"I finished the whole course, taking one forty minutes before..."

"No go?"

"Huh hum, not a flicker. I always thought they were magic bullets. I, we were counting on them..."

"They only work in three out of five cases I'm afraid."

"So, what can I do, doc? Phylis, my wife..." He hung his head. "It's not who I am." His cheeks moistened. "I, love her but can't seem to show her. Do you understand?"

"I understand, Mr Armitage. I'm sending you to see a specialist. Both of you will need to attend. Would you mind going to the wait room for a while? I need to make a phone call.

.-...-.

The innocuous music in the waiting room was momentarily interrupted.

'MR ARMITAGE to ROOM 5, PLEASE. MR ARMITAGE to ROOM 5?'

"Come in, come in. I've setup an appointment with the specialist. Here is the address. I'm sorry it's short notice but, Dr. Haynes, can fit you both into her schedule later this afternoon. It's in the city, so you will need to stay overnight. I suggest you ring your wife and ask her to pack overnight bags."

"Thank you, doc, thank you." He shook hands vigorously. "If it works, I'll owe you a pint or two."

"Make that a double whiskey!"

"Heheh! You got it!"

.-...-.

"You will both need to stay overnight, because I have to fit a device. Oh, don't look so worried, Mrs Armitage, it's non invasive. Fits just like a wrist watch, but I will need to check readings tomorrow to ensure it's working properly. Unfortunately, we do not have facilities for an overnight stay, so I've booked you into a motel, fifteen minutes away. It's comfortable, clean and I'm told the food at the nearby restaurant is excellent. Would you come this way please?" In her consulting room she took the device from a locked cabinet.

"Are you sure it will work, Doctor?"

"I've used it many times with a 90% success rate, Mrs. Armitage. Would you lay on the bed and lower your pants please, Mr. Armitage, this will only take a few moments-- There!"

"You're right, it does look like a wrist watch," he said.

"Telemetry. It records responses to external stimuli. You can get dressed now, and I'll see you both tomorrow morning at 10am."

They booked into the motel and had an excellent meal.

"Just like our honeymoon, eh Frog?"

"Yea, except I had no worries then, and I didn't have this band around my genitals."

"Does it hurt?"

"No. Yea, but only my pride!" He smiled.

"Come on it's getting late, let's turn in."

He lay there thinking. Phylis was sleeping silently beside him. He heard giggles. He realised it was coming from the next room. Thin walls, he thought.

Then, he heard the couple making love. He felt like a voyeur. What can I do? There was a gentle tingling and the sound of a bell. "What the hell is that?"

"Ding dong, the frog is alive," said Phylis, taking hold of him. "Shame to waste this."

They made love as if time had rewound. They drowned out the sounds from next room, with sounds of their own...

"What a night!" he said, settling the bill at the checkout. He smiled then laughed aloud.

"What is it?" said Phylis.

"Were you in on this?" He asked pointing at the Motel sign, 'The Love~nest'.

"It was all in your mind sweetheart. You just needed the right stimuli."

"Yea. Ding dong, the frog is alive?" He closed the car door. "And kicking!" he said. He kissed her, they heard a bell ringing.

"It's nearly 10am sweetheart, let's go get that thing removed."

Ends