Journey of My Life

Medley of Memories.

One of my early memories is of the Bomb shelter down the garden, with neighbourly concern because of Mum having to manage two small children, one handicapped. How did she cope with the trauma of the war, Dad on shifts in the Fire Brigade, and coming to terms with the fact that June had problems? My little sister, born 1n 1942, cried constantly when awake for her first 18 months, until it was discovered that her spine was twisted. Had her problems begun with birth? The information was that either just before, during or just after birth, something had caused her cerebral palsy, or her being spastic so called then.

Was the war a factor? Many children seemed to be affected in our age group, or was it just that as a family we had access to them, as, for example in the case of Ronnie whose mother was a school friend of Mum.

For my 5^th birthday I had a party. I  remember the excitement and how wonderful it felt to be the centre of attention. I was given a silver bracelet, which I wore proudly from breakfast time on, (and which has been passed on to my eldest grand daughter, Vilicia), The day wore on so slowly to the afternoon when neighbour’s children had been invited. In fact it seemed that all the children in the avenue where we lived came to the party. We had ice-cream. It came in a special can; a milk can, all shiny and polished, from Northern Dairies, and was a luxury that few of us had enjoyed during those war years. I wonder if ration coupons had been pooled to get it? Nothing could spoil that day, not Georgina from two doors away who cried most of the time and didn’t even want ice cream! Not the little boy from up the street who had a rather hacking cough! I can’t remember whether he had ice cream or not, but I think some of the children who had feasted on Mum’s home made iced fairy cakes would have gone home with tummy aches.

The problem was, a day or two later we heard that Georgina had the Measles, and what was more, the little boy up the street had Whooping cough. And we had all been exposed! If my mother thought she had problem children, it was confirmed over the next few week as both June and I were confined to bed getting over our sicknesses! Warm bread and milk, Arrowroot ‘jelly’ and poached egg with bread fingers, or ‘soldiers’ were the prescribed diet,

Another problem occurred in that famous five year, both June and I had to have our tonsils out! In those days it meant one day in hospital, and however many children were put on the assembly line, whisked through to theatre and then into the ward to recover. There were toys handed out, and again, ice cream! But June was inconsolable. Her cries set off the rest of the ward occupants, and big sister was called for to calm her down.  If it was difficult task for the nurses, how much more for me! What a relief when Mum and Dad came to fetch us, by which time I was worn out, and felt that I had missed out on the ice cream! In addition, what was more important, why did I not have a teddy bear to take home? Looking back to my 5-year-old mind, questions remain as to perceptions of those times. The war ended, Christmas came, and my uncle, Mum’s younger brother, was killed.

He was home just before Christmas and due to be demobbed in the January. Uncle Joe, or Laddie, as my grandfather called him, smoked, and I remember sitting on his knee and getting myself in the way of a cigarette.  I cried, but more because he was getting into trouble than for the pain. Perhaps he felt it more than I did for he comforted with cuddles, and became my hero. Then, just after Christmas, I woke to hear my mother crying and crept downstairs to find my Dad holding her and trying to comfort. What had happened? A motor cycle accident, I heard, later to discover that as a Dispatch Rider, on one of the last missions given him after the war ended, his life was ended not by a bullet but by an infernal machine. 

Whatever the case, by the time I was ready to start school at age 5 as was the custom, I was a nervous and shy little girl. I still remember the repetitive nightmare of being caught in the school toilets by a horde of balloon wielding goblins hitting out at me. My own cries would waken me as well as everyone else, so with a restless and troubled June on top of my problems, there would be little sleep for the rest of the family.  

Two school teachers stand out as factors in my development, and lessons to be learnt. The one, Miss Clark, was gentle and kind, and for her I would have done anything. She taught all those wonderful things associated with early school, - handicrafts, playing with chalks, beads, drawing, painting, cutting out, and getting to know and interact with other children. It was a memorable, learning curve year, but followed by a year under the auspices of another unmarried lady who perhaps would have been better suited to older children.   

 Miss Woodcock was impatient, shouted a lot, and wanted us to progress to learning as against playing and inter-action, without my understanding the system whereby one enquires until dawning breaks. Scared and daunted by her sharp tongue, I lost the inclination to draw attention to myself by asking question, and a trend was set that was never fully eradicated. One desire blossomed though, - the urge to read and be able to immerse myself in stories. Dad had started the habit of reading to me, and somehow as the stories he read became favourites, I learned to recognise letters and words and excelled in my reading abilities without much effort. Reading became a passion that has never left me, and through it I managed to keep my head above water in other school subjects where I could read until I could grasp what was being taught. 

Psalm 22:30

Our children too shall serve Him, for they shall hear from us about the wonders of the Lord.

In the first part of my life I was at the mercy of the waves, - afloat but without anchorage, and no land in sight.