|
 | |  | |
I remember being small, the things that I liked and some things that impressed me, recalled Mike Cooper, referring to his early days at Erdington, Birmingham in the 1940's.
I well remember my Mother, smiling, hair tied up in something red, with white decoration. I remember smells, Six-in-One, Vim, Oxydol. When my Mother was doing housework, she was cheerful, smiling, talking to me.
We had a hide suite and a carved oak dining set, which, I think, had been given as a wedding present by Doctor MacDonald. Once, I 'helped' her by cleaning it with Vim. The house was small but not tiny.
Outside, we had a back garden, with planked fencing and a latched gate. Snowy the rabbit lived in the garden in his hutch. There was also a storage space, combined with a place to keep coal. You went into the kitchen directly from the garden and then into the hall, an area that gave to the lounge cum dining room on your right and the stair well on your left.
Straight ahead was a brown varnished door leading to the Pharmacy that my Father managed. The stair well was an interesting, comfortable place. Into it my Father would sometimes appear, either to say something brief and retreat, or to call 'Mary?' to locate Mother, for a longer word. The door was where Dad went to and came from.
During the war (getting closer to those very early memories now) I remember sitting with my Mother on the stairs in the darkness of the stair well as bombers flew over, trying, I remember it being said, to hit Fort Dunlop, a local tyre factory. Dad was not in the Forces but was a member of the Air Raid Patrol (ARP) and was often on duty.
I remember him, standing by the door that gave into the shop, about to go out. He was smiling, saying goodbye. On his large head was perched a helmet (it had ARP written in white letters on the front) which was not big enough for him but was the biggest they had. Mom said it looked like a pimple on a haystack.
The years after the war were austere but I remember them being happy. Shopping was an occasion. Mother had regular routes to and from the shops, depending on what was wanted. One of my favourites took us under a railway bridge, and on our way back I would sit in my pushchair, 'treat' in hand, (usually an egg custard, I'm still a sucker for egg custards) listening and feeling intently while the echoing bridge amplified my youthful 'Aaaaaaa ... ' as I was pushed over a stretch of cobbles.
Another favourite was a visit to Mr. Tranter, the Butcher. His shop was white and airy and very clean. There wasn't much meat on display and what there was had to be purchased with 'points' from a Ministry of Food Ration Book. Mr. Tranter would talk to Mom, whilst he prepared whatever it was he had to sell that day and would sit me on his great wooden chopping block (it had steel edging along its sides, held in by screws) and cut me two (always two) wafer thin slices of Corned Beef, which I sucked and chewed with great enjoyment. I liked Mr. Tranter.
I suppose 1947 marked the end of this phase of my life. Late that year my sister was born and I was beginning to be prepared for going to school. My world was about to expand.
| |  | |  |
To add a comment you must first login or join for free, up in the top left corner.
|
|
