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

My Great Epic Chapter 1

My Great Epic Chapter 1

I took my reserved seat and started writing my great Epic just as the train pulled out of the station. My writing wavered left, right, up and down. I paused, to rub out the unintelligible scrawl, waiting for the train to hit a smooth stretch.

 I put pencil to paper again. The train went over the points and my pencil wavered left, right, up and down, so I went for coffee. I returned to find somebody had opened a window and an icy chill settled, as I sat down to start writing again.

 I set my coffee on the table, just as the train jerked violently, the hot coffee poured onto my journal and onto my pants. I went to the restroom to sponge my trousers, and returned to find my journal soaked through; the great Epic would have to wait for another day.

I am sitting in my favourite chair, at home, 'Eine Kleine Nachtmusik' by Mozart playing in the background.  The temperature is 18 degrees.  I have a glass of cool Pepsi in one hand, as I take up my pen with the other to write in my new journal:

The Great Epic ~ Chapter 1...

3rd September 1950

3rd September 1950

I lay on the riverbank gazing up at the sky.   Alternate waves of hot and cool air gently caress my skin, dashing hither and thither causing the long dry meadow grasses to hiss and sing of other memorable autumn days long past.  Life was much simpler back then in the 1950's.  The nightmare war in Europe was fast receding from our minds like a bad dream.  The King was on his throne, Dad was back home with us, and all was well with my world. 

  Earlier in the week, I'd followed Kenneth and his Dad to the river Rom, to watch them fly the model aircraft Kenneth had received as his birthday present.

.-...-.

" Dad said, ""Mr Davis is a private man, he can't abide noise."

Can't  stand children, I thought, or rather the noise we made?  We often played round at Kenneth's house; It was larger than mine and he had toys his dad owned when he was a child before the war.   Mecano, a Hornby Double-O train set, model cars, board games, a magic set, books and many other things all still in their original boxes, always handled with great care.  The contents of his bedroom were treasure trove to me.  

So when Mrs Davis said, "You will have to play in your room today Kenneth, Daddy is swotting."  I was delighted.

Mr Davis was studying to become a solicitor, his studies had been curtailed when he volunteered for the RAF at the start of the war, in 1939.

 Most of us post-war kids had to make do with cast-offs or what we could make for ourselves.  Imagination is a wonderful tool, so an old palling with a bent nail for a trigger was a rifle, a curved tree branch tensioned with parcel string served as a bow and strait pea sticks tipped with tar, from the road, made effective arrows.  I'm talking about a different world, 67 years ago.  We appreciated what we had, and for being reunited with our loved ones meant everything to us.

Mr Davis was invalided out early in 1944, he had a flying accident and lost a leg and had some hearing loss.  He was 28, his hair was thinning and prematurely grey.  He bore a thin pale scar on his left cheek from his ear lobe to his mouth, so he disguised his injuries by wearing a suit tie and a trilby hat when he went out even on the hottest days.

.-...-.

 I'd never seen a radio-controlled plane fly, so I followed them keeping a wary distance because Mr Davis only ever took Kenneth out on his own.  And I would not be welcome.  I watched as the model was filled with Aero Spirit and fired up, the loud whine sounded, to me, like a real aircraft.  Puffs of smoke blew from the exhaust as Kenneth held it tail fin as instructed. 

Mr Davis manipulated the controls, "let go, Now!" he yelled to Kenneth and it took to the air, looped the loop, did a role and looped into a tight circle.  The controls changed hands, and the small craft levelled out, heading for the old oak tree.  As if drawn by a magnet.  the controls changed hands again but the plane flew into the upper branches and the motor abruptly cut out, it was stuck!

They spent some time trying to shake the branches to get the plane down, without success.  Mr Davis tried to climb up the trunk, but only his good leg could gain purchase.  H gave up and tried to boost Kenneth into the lower branches, but he was unable to reach it.

"You'd better come down, and we'll get you something else for your birthday."

At that moment Kenneth froze, "I, I can't move!"  He began to cry.

Without thinking, I left my hiding place to help my friend.  The oak held no fear for me, I could climb like a monkey!

"Turn around and hang on," I yelled climbing into the lower branches.  I reached Kenneth in no time, Guided and coaxed him to a place where his Dad could reach him.

"You'd better come down too," said Mr Davis.

"What about your plane?" I asked.

"Leave it, it's far too high up," he said.

I laughed and scurried up retrieving it with ease.

.-...-.

I was invited to tea, Mrs Davis plied me with salmon sandwiches, fresh cream cakes, homemade jam scones and lemonade.  I almost burst with pride when Mr Davis regaled his wife with the rescue and my climbing prowess.

Then he totally surprised me. "We're going fishing at the weekend Lenny, would you like to come along?"

We had a great day.  I learned to fish with a rod, reel, gut line, and propper hooks (not a stick, twine and a bent pin) it was a day I will never forget!

818 words

Out of Character

Out of Character

In the locker room of the eleventh precinct, Officer Clyde Kowalski badge #D6593 hung his uniform at the end of a long twelve-hour shift. He was unconsciously whistling a tune from his mothers favourite musical. 

Tough cop indeed he thought and he smiled self-consciously at his fellow officers, none of whom looked the least bit cheerful.

"Hey Kowalski, what's with the Mary Poppins, you goin soft on us?"

"Nah! It's Thursday night, and I gotta long-standing date."

"Well I hope she is worthy of dat cheery dispo-zishun."

"Oh she is Harv," he smiled again thinking of Martha Swan and her flower arranging classes. 

He could just turn up with a bunch of in-season blooms, some leaves, fern and a rock or tree bark and, with her help, create a beautiful arrangement for the local Hospice that had helped his mother through her final days.

Celby, Guardian of the Portal.

Celby, Guardian of the Portal.

I am Celby, I'm eight, but kinda small for my age. I have a yella comb on my head, bright and fluffy. Moma says that means I have a special talent. My little sister Souli is only five but is far ahead of me at writin an sums, that's her talent because she has a purple comb.  I am a mind speaka like Ganpa.  Moma is purple like Souli, Popa has a black comb his talent is for building stuff.  Ganpa now has a fuzzy white comb with no fur on it. Moma says that's because he's old and wise, and should always be heeded.

On my seventh birthday, I received my speaka's medal when Ganpa tested my talent.

Ganpa took me through the portal, "now young Celby, I want you to tell me what that snail is thinking."

"You mean the funny shellikie thing with horns?"

"That's the one."

"She's looking at the leaves on the wild lettuce, they looked so tasty, but the plant is so far away, and she moves so slowly.  She wishes she had legs like the field mouse or wings like a bird."

"And what is the field mouse thinking?"

"He wishes he had a fine shiny shell to live in, like the snail, then he wouldn't have to build a nest."

"Very good.  You have shown me you are a true mind speaka, now I would like you to plant an idea in the mind of miss snail."

I thought very hard, then told her there are lots of tasty leaves much closer if you just look for them. She stopped and sampled a daisy leaf. "Did I do good Ganpa?"

"Excellent!  There are two rules you must promise to obey before you will be allowed to stand guard on the Portal to our world.

One, never look into the eyes of a Slowgie, If you do you'll let them into our World, then all kindsa mischief will follow. 

Two, never venture beyond the walls on either side!  If you do you will be trapped in the Slogie world and may never be able to return.  Do you hear my words boy?" 
I nodded, "yes Ganpa."
"Heed my words!" He was real serious.

My life changed forever when I disobeyed one of those rules.

.-...-.

Emily was nine years old and went to St Winifred's Infants School. Each day Janice, her minder, took her along the same route to school: along the A13, passing under the viaduct between Stamford Hill and Tilberry. The A13 is a dual carriageway, the two concrete walls supporting the viaduct protected a hidden garden, unlike any existing outside. There were shrubs, grasses, flowering plants,  and ferns even in winter. Each day as they drove past, the wind would bounce off the walls, bringing a sweet-scented balmy perfume into the car, but they would whizz by so fast. They went past in a fraction of a second, so Emily always wound the window down before they reached the viaduct, just to enjoy it. Then, one day they were caught in traffic and crawled slowly past that tiny hidden place. Emily saw dragonflies, shrews, and a feral cat lounging on a rock by a small pool, it was waiting for small creatures and birds it could pounce on. She thought it was the most beautiful place she had ever seen. 

.-...-.

Ganpa was the guardian of the Portal.  It was his job to see that nothing disturbed the peace beyond the entry point.  I had been assisting him for a few weeks.  I went to call him at home one morning and found him still abed.

"Celby, I am feeling unwell, you will have to stand guard alone today."

"Of course Ganpa," I felt proud to be asked.  It is a ceremonial office but I was still looking forward to my first duty alone, as guardian of the portal between the Paece and the Slowgie worlds.  I had assisted Ganpa, as part of my training, but never before stood guard alone.  But, as I entered the Slowgie world I sensed something had changed, something was wrong.  I had been on duty for thirty minutes. Usually, the cars would pass from right to left in that time.  Cars are silly slow-moving boxes with Slowgies sitting like statues inside them. We can see them but, they are in another time slice, and we move too fast to register on their senses. They don't even know that we exist. But, today the cars were not moving at all. 'It can't harm' I thought, 'just a quick peek' so I looked into the open window of the nearest car.

It was dark inside, and it took a while for my eyes to adjust. Then I saw them.  A pair of bright blue eyes. 'No,' I thought and looked away. But it was too late! Our eyes met and our minds synched. Her memories and experiences flooded into my mind... 

.-...-.

"Oh my goodness," said Emily seeing a shock of stark yellow hair. The tawny eyes gazing back at hers held a look of foreboding. The small creature looked like an elf from one of her school books. 

"I'm not an elf, I'm Celby, guardian of the portal." I backed away from the door as she opened it and stepped out.  She was real tall, about four feet, twice my height, and her hands head and body were all larger than mine.

"My name is Emily." 

"Yes, I know you, Emily Rushmore." 

"You know?" she said.  "How do you know, and how can you talk without moving your lips?  What are you?" 

"I'm a Paece, and you're a Slowgie!"

"No, I am not!  I'm human." 

"We call you Slowgies..." 

"Why?  That sounds rather rude." 

"Look!" I pointed to the statue-like figure in the front seat of her car. 

Emily opened the passenger door expecting Janice to turn and scold her for getting out on the dual carriageway. But, she sat silent and stiff. Emily reached out to touch her face, it was cold and hard. "Janice, are you ok?" 

"See!" I said in triumph. "She's okay but time goes slower for her, and would have for you if I hadn't broke Ganpa's first rule. I'm sure gonna get it for that!" 

"Don't tell him about it, how would he know anyway?" 

"Oh! he will know, he always does, he was once a yella like me." 

"It's so nice here, would you show me around your garden Celby, please?" 

She took my hand in hers and squeezed it gently, "then I'll return to the car, and drive off to school.  What harm would it do?" She walked over to the pool, made to stroke the cat, it didn't move, it felt like stone. Then she turned to the tiny shrew and picked it up, it was like a plastic model, she looked into its eyes, they were glazed, she placed it back where the grass still bore its imprint.  Then seeing the cat, ready to spring, she moved it to safety.

"Were not supposed to interfere like that," I said. 

"It's only one meal, and that tiny shrew may have a family to feed."

"The cars are moving again," I said. 

"Does that mean I'll have to go back to the car?" 

I nodded, "our time doesn't extend beyond that wall, if you let the car go you may never get back inside." 

"Will I be able to visit you again?" 

"If you leave your window open, and I am the guardian on that day, I could let you back in." 

"Do we still have a little time?" 

I nodded, "we have about ten minutes." 

She gazed at the dark patch in the centre of the glade and moved towards it. "Is this the portal to your world?"

"You can't go there!" I said. 

"Why not?" she asked, moving closer. "It seems to be a pale misty space, then it changes into a tunnel of light, but I can't see through it."

"Please!" I threw my arms up in front of her pushing on her waist. "They will know I broke the rules if you enter. I'll talk with Ganpa and maybe on another visit..." 

"When I leave here it will seem like a dream. How will I know your world truly exists?" 

I took my Speaka's medallion from around my neck and slid it onto her wrist, it was a perfect fit. "Look upon this and you will remember." 

Emily bent down and kissed me on the cheek, so I smiled and gave her a hug. A small tear formed in her eye. "It's been so nice visiting Celby."

"We'll meet again Emily, I promise." I helped her into the car, and closed the door.

"Don't forget your promise Celby." 

 "Just time for one more thing," I said opening the front passenger side door.  Right at the top of Janice's purse was a bright red lipstick. "I've done this before," I said, painting a bright red blob on the tip of Janice's nose.  I closed the car door, and smiled when I heard Emily's giggling in the rear, she'd seen my trick through the rearview mirror. 

I gazed deep into her eyes, blinked, and looked away.  The link was broken; she froze. 

But, I could see she was still a gigglin.  "heh heh!"

The Assist.

The Assist.

A quarrel of starlings fight noisily, over scraps, outside their window. Another microcosm of life; two worlds existing in parallel, yet neither is aware of the other exists.

“I’m dying,” he chokes, his body spasms.

I know, she thinks, tears welling in her eyes. Liquid emotions, puddling in her mind.

"What thoughts you harbour husband,” she smiles, disguising her anguish while hugging him close.

As one, the starlings take to the wing, at the instant of his passing; leaving behind an empty silent yard and an empty bittersweet heart.

She kisses his forehead, the taste is sour. Her cheeks moisten again as she pictures him smiling once more, in her mind's eye, no longer in pain.

She pictures their grave no flowers laid there, yet it’s easy to say goodbye. 

Placing the still smoking barrel beneath her chin she depresses the trigger a second time… 

The echoes die away, and for an instant there is silence. Then the starlings return.

Words 165