Memories of the early 1960’s – the last long summer of freedom

1964

As winter 1964 drew to a close leaving me with memories of Dad lifting me up to snap icicles off the arch of the porch and sucking them like ice lollies (obviously no one had heard of acid rain and pollution in those days) I knew my days at home were numbered. Spring brought my fourth birthday and, in September, I would be going to school. Pappy was preparing me by teaching me to sing the alphabet, to tell the time on the arched wooden clock on the mantelpiece and to write my name.

It wasn’t fear that gripped me as I sat on the granite step at the back of the house kicking my legs in the early spring and thought of school but a kind of wistfulness. The doors and windows were open and I could hear Mother in the kitchen, the clatter of dishes being washed and dried. This would be my last long summer of freedom to do what I wanted when I wanted. Time was passing and this was my first realisation of it. Now I could see the minutes and hours moving on the face of the clock and I knew they were a countdown to a big change in my life.

Everything felt as if it might be the last of something. The last time I stood in the kitchen with Mother, the smell of caramel filling the air as she boiled up sugar and water to make toffee apples as a treat. The last time I lay on the cool grass looking up at the sky with nothing to occupy my mind but the patterns of the clouds. The last time I lounged in the blue paddling pool in the garden, stood on the steps blowing bubbles with the bubble wand Pappy made me or lay on my stomach and watched the ants dashing around on the concrete path.

It must have been around this time that I first noticed the blue black letters on Pappy’s left forearm. Maybe I’d seen them before but my newfound knowledge of letters and numbers made me realise they must mean something so I asked him about them.
“They’ve been there since I was a boy,” he told me. “I wrote them with Indian ink and a pin but my mother caught me before I’d finished and gave me a good hiding for being so stupid.”
Then he helped me trace out the letters T H O running between the freckles, veins and age spots along his arm. The first three letters of his name, Thomas. It seemed impossible that something written sixty or more years ago could still be there after all this time. My first lesson in permanence and the power of the written word.

Of course the thought of school wasn’t always on my mind. Most of the time I didn’t think about it at all and carried on as usual spending time in the greenhouse and shed with Pappy, helping Dad feed the baby birds, standing on a stool in the kitchen watching Mother bake and waiting for a sweet, sticky spoon to lick.  As a special treat I was occasionally allowed to help Mother polish her green glass dressing table set. This was one of my favourite things, the glass sparkled and inside all the little pots there were interesting things, rings, hair clips, cotton wool balls and strings of beads. It was mother’s pride and joy but I never did find out the story behind it.

It wasn’t all sunshine and fun of course. One very vivid memory is of the day the mantelpiece was painted. The wooden mantelpiece was where Mother’s collection of glass ornaments was usually displayed and it had been taken out and laid on the back steps for a spruce up. Rather than paint, some kind of dark varnish had been put on it and I was warned, with a wagging finger, not to go near it. Usually one of Mother’s warnings was enough to keep me well away but, for some reason, this time I didn’t. Why I chose to ignore her I can’t say but I foolishly tried to climb the steps and fell, right onto the newly varnished mantelpiece. There was no hiding the fact, apart from the clatter as I fell and tears for my scrased knees, my dress and white socks were permanently marked by the varnish. The telling off I got was something I will never forget.

Then there was bath time. In our bathroom, over the bath, we had a huge metal monstrosity called a geyser that heated the water. It ran on gas (coal gas in those days which was poisonous) and when you wanted hot water someone had to light it. That someone was usually mother and lighting it was a major performance, in fact I think she was half scared of it. It fightened the living day lights out of me, so much so I couldn’t even bring myself to look at it. Bath time was always a traumatic experience with Mother struggling to light the geyser and the thing popping and whooshing all the while. Then she’d hold me on her lap and wash my hair before holding my head under the running water coming out of the blasted thing. Mostly I kicked and cried and screamed. It may have scarred me for life!

Towards the end of the summer, Sandie Shaw was in the charts with Always Something There To Remind Me. I remember watching her on TV with her short dresses, long dark hair and trademark bare feet. One afternoon, when I was in the garden watching clouds, one of Dad’s friends came to visit. With him were his three teenaged daughters and all three were barefoot just like Sandie Shaw. Mother muttered something about splinters in their feet but I was entranced with the idea and, when she wasn’t watching, took off my own shoes and felt the tickle of soft, warm grass under my bare feet. Much to Mother’s annoyance, walking around bare foot became one of my favourite things to do. It still is.

The one thing about school I was really looking forward to was learning to read. Each night at bedtime Mother would read to me. She’d read a chapter of a book, Winnie The Pooh being one of my favourites, and when she’d finished I’d always beg for “just one more chapter.” Sometimes, if I was very lucky and she had time, she’d read another. On Sunday mornings I’d climb into bed between Mother and Dad and he would read a chapter or two of a book. One I remember vividly, although I hardly remember the story now, was Children Of The New Forest by Frederick Marryat. The thought of being able to read for myself for as long as I wanted was very appealing. It almost made giving up my lazy days in the garden with Pappy worthwhile. Almost…