Rimmer Shit (Childhood Memories)
Rimmer
Shit in Jan 2002; Sport, First Football Memories The Sound of Music, Earliest
Memory, Adverts, What’s on the Telly, Toys, Food, Cars, What I did on my
Holidays, Music, Pets, Pissing Contest, Mr Jones, First Day at School, The Play
Area, The Woods, Trespassers will be Prosecuted, The Pond, The River, The Pipe,
The Valley, Why Rimmer Shit?
Rimmer
Shit in Feb 2002: Games, Fancy Girls, Troy Tempest, Football Cards,
Stephen Taylor, Stupid Rules, Starting Sunday School, Monitors and Prefects,
Old Money, House Points, The Titanic Story, story!, Milk, Cubs and Scouts and
Crabs, Anthony, The Mystery House on the Hill, Valley Drive Community, Tony
Woolf’s Birthday, My Birthday, Throwing, Accidents will Happen, Au Pairs,
Claire Jones, The Cows of Valley Drive.
Rimmer Shit in
March 2002: Hymns,
Smells, Fear, Alexandra
Bastedo, Superheroes,
Blue Peter,
Ladybird
Books, Bubble Gum and Kicking your Chuddy,
Firearms, House Décor, Summer Time, The Onion Man,
Fashions
and Trends, Bike,
Trees, Haircuts, Dad, My Bedroom, Mum, St Ives.
Sunday 31st March 2002
It’s Easter
Sunday, so what are the hymns I remember?
Onward Christian Soldiers
All Things Bright and Beautiful
The Lord’s My Shepherd
There is a Green Hill Far Away
He Who Would Valiant Be
Feed Me Till I Want No More
Dear Lord and Father of Mankind
Hills of the North
For Those in Peril on the Sea
etc etc etc
There’s lots more
ringing around my brain. I can’t exactly
remember where I learnt them or sang them.
I must have
blanked out the trauma of it, but somehow remembered all the words and tunes!
Saturday 30th March 2002
They say that
smell is the most evocative sense in terms of memory.
So what are the
smells of my childhood?
Here are some of
them.
My Mum’s Nail
Varnish
Badedas Bubble
Bath. Always reminds me of being on
holiday in Spain.
Freshly cut
grass.
Baked Bread from
the Peter Head bakers.
Cow Pats
Bubble Gum
Typhoo Tea
Matey Bubble Bath
Lubrication Oil 3
in 1
Airfix Paint
Fried Fruit
The River Dean
(not pleasant)
Conkers and
Acorns
Juicy Fruit
Pear Drops
Cherry Lips
Liquorice
Soil and Mud
Disinfectant and
Izal Toilet Paper
Over cooked cabbage
Strawberry Mivi
Opal Fruits
Birthday Candles
Hair Spray
Marks and
Spencer’s
Butter Popcorn
Candy Floss
Swarfega and
Cutting Fluid (The smell of my dad coming home his Engineering Factory)
Matzos and Butter
Banana Milkshake
This is a
difficult exercise because it’s usually the smell that evokes the memory and
not the memory that evokes the smell.
Friday 29th March 2002
What are you
frightened of as a kid? These were some
of mine.
Being sent to
boarding school.
Failing your 11
plus and going to The Hough to have your head flushed down the toilet.
Finding out
you’re adopted.
Being bullied.
Something lurking
in my cupboard at night.
Falling off your
bike at high speed.
A dog biting you
or a cat scratching you.
Getting germs
from someone.
Spit washes.
Dead Legs.
Chinese Burns.
My Mum finding my
Love Letter from Jane Gunning.
Getting Lost in
Marks and Spencer.
That’s enough
fear for today.
Actually, I just
remembered one final one. Public
toilets.
But only in one
particular instance.
How can I put
this? Being heard in Public Toilets!!
I must have been
about 6 or 7, Wythenshawe Public
Swimming Pool.
I went to the
toilet, into one of the cubicles. I was
struggling. So I pushed quite hard.
Well the noise was
so loud in the echoey chamber that my farty noise reverberated so loudly it
must have broken the sound barrier, and a kid 4 or 5 cubicles down, burst out
into uncontrollable laughter. Now I
don’t mind farting in public (ask my wife!!) but uncontrollable laughter by a
stranger, put me off for life!!!!
Thursday 28th March 2002
Of course, I now
realise who my number one woman was as a boy, Alexandra Bastedo!
And I also just
realised that the girl at school I most fancied as a kid, in my eyes bore an
uncanny resemblance to Alexandra Bastedo!!
Imagine the pain
and passion of being at school with Alexandra Bastedo every day!
Alexandra Bastedo
was Sharron Macready in The Champions.
Goodies fighting
The Baddies.
Goodies with
superpowers of hearing and strength, and yet set in an almost real life drama.
You know, looking
back, I think The Champions was my favourite TV show, at least of it’s genre.
There was
something so reassuring about the 3 of them.
William Gaunt so
British and upstanding
Richard Barrett
the handsome American.
And of course
Alexandra.
Even as a kid of
7, I fancied her like mad.
Cool, calm,
elegant, but of course with her superpowers you wouldn’t want to get in a fight
with her.
And of course
they met in Geneva in each episode, where my uncle lives, so there’s an added
attraction.
I don’t think my
uncle bumped into Sharron Macready though.
If he did, he
never told me.
Just one
thought. Why do all blonde very
attractive women in the acting world , end up with 5 cats, and running an
animal sanctuary?
Tuesday 26th March 2002
Ever wonder who’s
the best superhero.
Who’d win in a
scrap.
I must have often
wondered that as a kid.
I suppose when
you think about it there’s no contest.
Superman.
What about the
rest though?
Batman v
Spiderman.
It would have to
be Spiderman in that one.
Trying to think
of some others.
Dr Who v Captain
Kirk
Well Kirk’s got
the phaser but somehow I can’t help believing that The Doctor would come up
with some amazing trick like, “Look, behind you!” and run.
I reckon in real
life though, The Champions would kick anyone’s ass. Maybe that’s why I liked The Champions so
much.
Mr Spock was good
to have at your side, but when it comes to it could he really hold his own?
Very strong, he
could see some things coming, and you’d have to avoid his neck grabbing.
I reckon anyone
of The Champions could have done that, even Sharron Macready (Alexandra
Bastedo).
Just one thing
puzzling me though. If Captain Scarlet
is indestructible, and Superman kept whooping him, wouldn’t Superman give up
out of sheer boredom?
So maybe just
maybe Captain Scarlet is the King of the
Ring.
Monday 25th March 2002
Given that it’s
just after 5-00pm on a Monday it’s entirely appropriate I’m writing about Blue
Peter.
Probably the
highlight of the week, Blue Peter on Monday and Thursday evening, after school,
or even before we ever went to school.
I go back quite a
long way. Christopher Trace and Valerie
Singleton with Petra the Dog and Jason the Cat.
Bleep and Booster
comic strip.
Of course the golden
years were John Noakes, Peter Purves and Valerie Singleton and of course
Shep. I was there.
Loved the
interesting facts. I was crap at making
things. In fact I never made a single
thing from Blue Peter, and I never understood what sticky back plastic or
sticky tape was. And as for the Advent
Candle Holder made by nailing together 2 coat hangers. Forget it.
Nevertheless the
rest of the programme was just so addictive.
Blue Peter
appeals for Life Boats.
Summer
Assignment. Where were they going to go
this year?
The Pets.
John Noakes
always game for something, and Peter Purves slightly dull and a Spurs supporter
of sorts.
People are very
nostalgic for the big highlights of Blue Peter, like the shitting elephant, but
I think that’s modern day television playing tricks on us.
It was their
every day run of the mill week in week out consistency that was so good.
Nice intro, bit
of surprise, dull making something bit with things your mother never had in the
house.
The pets and
guests.
Music at the
beginning and end.
Time for tea and
The Magic Roundabout.
Working out the
dimensions of the studio and what the hell were the shelves and seating all
about?
And yes, I do
have the very first Blue Peter Annual.
In bad condition. I just had a
look at it. It’s a collectors item I
think, but it’s so dull that I never bought another Blue Peter Annual.
Want to know
what’s in it?
Front Cover in
yellow with a picture of Valerie Singleton, Christopher Trace and Petra.
Bengo and the
Bulldog
Petra growing up
from a puppy
Bleep and
Booster, etc etc.
I just realised,
there’s a few pages missing page 15, 16, 65, 66. I wasn’t a collector aged 4, books were there
to be written in and sometimes destroyed.
The best bit is
the studio layout on page 18, with The Hollies appearing on the left and
Valerie and Christopher stroking Petra on the right!!
It’s all numbered
to “help you pick out the various people.”.
Now that’s
hilarious! Why did they pick out the
things they picked out for numbering?
Also they don’t
explain what a “Boom” is which I always wondered as a kid.
Now I know.
Thanks Blue
Peter.
Sunday 24th March 2002
Some of my best
learning came from my Ladybird Books.
Smallish books
that somehow seemed to hook me.
Talking of hook,
there’s nothing I still don’t know about Captain Cook from my Ladybird book of Captain Cook.
Always had a
fascination with Captain Cook and his ‘discovery’ of Australia.
Strange that I’ve
ended up living in Australia.
The other
Ladybird book that was my favourite was Flags of The World.
There wasn’t a
flag or country I couldn’t name from reading that book.
The world has changed
though and I’m a bit out of date with my flags and country names.
Wednesday 13th March 2002
Bubble Gum
deserves a few lines of it’s own.
Bazooka Joe. That was the stuff. Pink block with Kit-Kat type line down the
middle.
Small plastic
comic strip inside which I never understood that well and weird American toys
you could order from the comic strip.
Then of course
the chewing. The taste lasted a few
minutes and then it was time to blow bubbles.
Fortunately I was
never a Premiership League bubble blower.
More lower reaches of Div 2.
Consequently I
had very few disasters with bubble gum in face or worse in your hair.
The old trick was
to compliment someone on how good their bubble gum blowing was and then pop the
bubble in their face.
There was also
the weaker version of bubble gum in football cards. That was just a side line, a thin slab.
There was of
course chewing gum, but I couldn’t really see the point. What did chewing gum do?
You couldn’t blow
bubbles with it. There were two
advantages though. A variety of
flavours, Juicy Fruit being the favourite, and of course the Georgie Best.
I still do
this to this day. Legend has it that depending on the way
Georgie Best kicked his chuddy (chewing gum) when he spat it out and kicked it
with the outside of his boot, would dictate how a good a game he was going to
have.
It’s Georgie
Best’s fault that on the rare occasion that I have chewing gum, I always “kick my chuddy” afterwards.
I was never one
for recalculating bubble or chewing gum by sticking it to something and using
it later.
And I never ever
stuck bubble or chewing gum to the bottom of desks or things like that.
What’s the point
when you can “Kick your Chuddy”
Tuesday 12th March 2002
Are boys bred to
like guns or do they learn it?
I keep hearing
how parents nowadays ban their kids, especially boys from toy guns.
That suggests
nurture.
I don’t know if
boys are natured to hunt and fire.
I certainly wanted
to shoot, throw, spear, fire, lasso, hit, anything that moved.
Was it my parents
or telly that gave me that bloodlust?
I was never
cruel. Never tortured animals or any
creature except my sister!!
So anything was
potentially a weapon.
Toy Gun especially
with caps
Catapult (but
they never worked), only in comics!
Spud Gun
Secret Sam
Rifle which fired
soft rubber darts
Several Bows and
Arrows
Water Pistols
(Many and varied)
Water Bombs made
out of plastic bags
Elastic Bands
(and my sisters hair elastics which had a small bobble on them. Lethal)
Squeezy Bottle
Pellet Gun
Paper Aeroplanes
(not very accurate)
Sticks and Stones
Magnifying Glass
(of course)
Strange, but
there were several killing instruments my mum would never let me have, can’t
imagine why?
Crossbow
Air Rifle
Dart Gun
Boomerang
6 Inch Hunting
Knife
“Oh Mum, please
can I have [insert lethal weapon], I promise I won’t use it near anyone…..etc
etc”
Mind you, it was
my Mum who told me about the most lethal weapon of all!!!
When she was a kid
and Vienna was invaded by the Nazis, she used to fire chicken wire tacks/pins
which her and her brother launched with elastic bands at the soldiers to annoy
them.
Blimey! Somehow I never did experiment with that
combination, thank God!
For some strange
reason I stuck to the Pellet Gun which was crap and expensive.
Monday 11th March 2002
Our house décor
looking back was a bit weird.
My Mum’s taste
reflects a mix of cultures.
Born in Austria,
lived in England during the war, moved to Paris when re-united with her
parents.
Met my Dad and
moved back to England.
Her taste isn’t
bad or good, just weird.
Firstly
carpets. What is it about my parents’
generation that they can’t have plain carpets?
There always had
to be something going on. The carpets in
our house were so complex in pattern it is hard to describe them.
The hall and
stairs carpet was turquoise blue with black and blue circles on them. Very 60s.
The lounge carpet
was a mish mash of greens.
My parents
bedroom carpet was red with what looked like black banana fans.
My carpet
initially was yellow with what looked like a paint attack of other colours.
I had to hold out
for a single colour when it came to replace the carpet in my bedroom.
Most of the walls
started white but the hall ended up with pink wall paper and pink lamp shades.
The kitchen and
morning room had a very sixties blue pattern on white for the kitchen and
yellow pattern on white for the morning room.
The lounge
curtains were yellow and my curtains in the same material were orange.
I’m going a bit
all over the place with this description but then so was house. One thing you can never say was it was dull
or antiquey looking. My “favourite” was the
sofa and chairs, which started out as charcoal grey medium pile, and ended up
when recovered as smooth gold velvet.
Now if I had a choice of re-covering my sofa, smooth gold velvet would
not be my first choice.
I’d love to see
the house as it started out with it’s 60s look and feel. The actual design of the house and estate at
the time was very clean cut. It’s just
the parents over time doing what they do to them on the inside and then
gradually on the outside.
How many people
have yellow garage doors? We did.
How many people
have white leather dinning chairs? We
did.
Come to think of
it the 70s and 80s must have been a beige backlash to too much colour in the
60s. The clothes of the 70s were bright
it’s just the décor the got a bit brown.
So maybe the 60s weren’t so bad.
Actually I now love and adore 60s decor.
Maybe my Mum didn’t go far enough!
That was the problem, she didn’t go the whole way and really commit to
the 60s look. Now her clothes, that was
a different matter!
Sunday 10th March 2002
Looking back
through my rose tinted specs, it always seemed to be Summertime except when it
snowed.
Trying to think
what we did as kids when it was hot and sunny.
Paddling Pool in
the back garden.
Down to The River
to fall in The River.
Garden Hose. Like fire I had a fascination with the garden
hose!
Garden Sprinkler
Badminton
Tennis
Smell of grass
and mowing the lawn with Dad’s petrol engine mower. Deadly!
Smell of Cow Pats
Playing in the
Valley
Playing in the
Play Area
Playing on the
Street
French Cricket
Swimming at
Castle Mill outdoor pool
The Galleon
Outdoor pool
Watching Cricket
on the telly
Climbing Trees
Riding Bikes
Football on the
street
Putting and later
on pitch and putt
Going away for
summer holidays
Walk in The Woods
and along The Bumpy Road
That’s enough
Summer Time.
Saturday 9th March 2002
As a kid a series
of weird people would come calling at the door.
Cubs and Scouts
for Bob a Job
The Onion Man!!
The Onion Man
offering to sharpen knives!!
Rag and Bone Man
(actually not true, the rag and bone man just went by ringing his own bell)
Someone selling
Sponges and other cleaning things.
Corona Man
Actually when I
think about it there was only one really weird person that called at our door.
The Onion
French guy, I
think, looking French, is it just my childhood memory or did he really have a
moustache, beret, blue and white hoped T-Shirt?
He would sell
onions bunched together or his party trick was turning his bike upside down or
put it on stilts and sharpen knives.
Am I imagining
this or did this guy appear once a year offering this service?
How many onions
would you have to buy to keep stocked up until he returned.
And whilst I remember, I broke the window for the nth time and a glazier turned up to fix the
big plate glass window.
Was it just my
imagination or did he have a full body twitch.
I kid you not. His whole body
seemed to twitch violently once a minute.
This was fine,
but of all the jobs to have, working with glass seemed the least likely with a
full body twitch.
Maybe it’s just
my vague memories but I’m sure there was a once a year Onion Man and a Glazier
with a full body twitch!!
I was just talking
to a friend yesterday and we were discussing how quickly fashion moved today,
and there’s not a single trend
It made me think
about Fashions and Trends in my childhood.
Click Claks
Roller Skates
Fruit of the Loom
T-Shirts
Flairs
Tie Dye T-Shirts
Cards and Pegs on
bike spokes
Jeans
Not Jeans
Hot Pants
Mini Midi Maxi
Skirts
Pop Socks
Actually, it’s
more difficult than I thought to think of fashions and trends. It wasn’t so important then as now.
Kids are
introduced to pop music much earlier now, and the associated fashion
accessories.
I largely didn’t
care what I wore as long as it wasn’t another one of my Mum’s poncy attempts to
“dress” me.
I was an observer
to the fashion and trends of the 60s and early 70s.
Except, long
trousers were a definite no-no at my first junior school, but I sometimes got
cold and wore long trousers.
Shorts were only
permitted at my next school and I dreamt of the day of long trousers.
And then the
nightmare happened, short trousers in my senior school and a school cap.
Was F.W. Scott
mad?
Thursday 7th March 2002
The key form of
transport in childhood is of course not by foot, but the bike.
Like the cars we
have as adults, our bike is an extension of our selves. It’s says who we are.
The first bike I can
remember was my small tricycle, red and blue, pedals locked to the front wheel.
My second bike
was a large tricycle, mainly yellow with a bin for things at the back I think.
It was on this
that I performed my wheelies up on two wheels with my co-performer Claire
Jones.
One day the bike
disappeared. Rumour has it that it ended
up at the bottom of the estate Guy Fawkes night bonfire!
Funnily enough I
don’t remember my next bike that well, or learning to ride a 2 wheel back.
We didn’t learn
with stabilisers, just trial and error.
My next bike a I
remember well, big seat, big bike but a bit conventional.
It was bought
before the Raleigh Chopper came out so I
missed out on one of the most coveted items of childhood the Raleigh Chopper.
Jamie Marsden had
and orange Chopper, long black seat, gear knob, big handle bars.
Mind you the bike
wasn’t that fast and rumours spread that you could go flying through the
handlebars. So that was some comfort.
I just carried on
trundling on my medium size average bike.
I seemed to have that bike for years.
Took me everywhere.
And then of
course for my 13th birthday things changed. Finally a racing bike, and at the time there
was only one choice.
In fact I think
this is the only time I’ve been influenced by corporate sponsorship.
Sporting
Superstars, Kevin Keegan and co all rode Raleigh Europa racing bikes for the
contest, so that was it for me.
A Raleigh Europa
racer in Red.
Just did a Google
search for “Raleigh Europa” and found no pictures except of course my own
previous Rimmer Shit piece which included Raleigh Europa.
I’m beginning to
refer back to myself! Also, I got the
bike in 1973 and Sporting Superstars doesn’t seem to have started until
1976. What’s happening to time. I know
when I got my bike! Maybe I bought my
bike before they started using it in Sporting Superstars?
Wednesday 6th March 2002
Trees have a
great attraction to kids, especially boys.
I never noticed the
beauty of trees until I was a much older adult.
Trees were
primarily for climbing.
Dreaming of the
perfect Tree House.
Skinning bark
from.
Swinging from.
Trees were there
to throw big sticks at to get conkers and acorns.
Trees were robust
and were there to attempt to destroy.
Rip leaves off,
Rip branches off, Sycamore Helicopters.
But they
recovered and stayed there.
Trees to hide in
and spy.
Could that tree
be climbed I used to think as I walked past every tree in my childhood.
I did once hang a
wigwam in a tree which was my nearest attempt at a dream tree house!
Tuesday 5th March 2002
Haircuts as a kid
are the most dreaded thing of all.
At what age do we
learn to like haircuts. There must be
graph of time versus liking haircuts.
Maybe it’s being
a child of the 60s and 70s that was the problem, when it was cool to have long
hair, so any trip to the barbers was a threat to your very strength. Your hairstyle.
I can’t remember
the early years of hairdressing but boy oh boy to I remember it later on.
We had the local
barber, we had the Wilmslow hairdressers at Figaro of Wilmslow, and various
stops on the way before I settled for Nigel at
Razor’s Edge I think it was called.
And once in a blue
moon my mum would go mad and insist on a haircut for me from some posh place
like Vidal Sassoons or Barnard or Georgie Best’s hairdresser!
This wasn’t the
bad bit. The bad bit was turning up at
school the following day with anything other than a replica of your hair before
you went to the barber. It was an all
day piss take, especially if you had a poncy one from one of them posh barbers.
And how bad did
it get. Well one time I missed thumping
a friend’s arm for taking the piss out of me and broke my finger on the wall
behind him! Yes, I broke my finger
missing Mark Fitton’s arm and all for some utterance about my latest poncy
haircut. I think the term “Goodson’s got
a Poodle Perm” was used before I attempted to hit him.
Of course we
haven’t got on to hairstyles yet.
Well it all
depends on your hair doesn’t it.
As a very young
kid my hair was curly. Very cute for
parents but I detested the photos of me with curly hair in my sailor suit.
Fortunately after
aged 3 my hair went dead straight, thick dark, and grew longer as the 60s
decade grew. It also thickened out into
more a Georgie Best than a Beatles mop.
Side parting of course.
And then my hair
disasters of the 70s struck. My hair
stayed the same, it’s just that fashion changed and my Georgie Best type hair
was out.
I think my hair
realised this and started to go thin in texture and more curly in anticipation
of the 70s.
The only problem
was the cool hairstyles of the early to mid 70s was Rod Stewart centre parting
and Davie Bowie spike. No way would my
hair centre part or spike. Disaster.
My hair them
pulled one final trick in the mid to late 70s.
It allowed me to have a big curly perm at will. In other words I could put it into a big
curl perm just by wetting shaking it and letting it dry. At least I didn’t have to face the
embarrassment of a permanent
hairdressers perm.
I led two
lives. Straight hair at school, or as
straight as it would go and curly big curl perm for parties when it was just
about cool.
I still wanted
dead straight hair though and at one time insisted on keeping it in a Man Utd
bobble hat until it straightened. I
refused to wash it so that by the time I took my hair to the hairdressers, he
refused to cut until I agreed to wash it.
And for me in
order to keep hair straight when I wanted meant hairdryers. Yes a man with a hairdryer. Nothing quite so vain.
I really can’t
think of a greater dread in life than time for haircut. And it was like going to the doctors. Suddenly your hair got better just before you
were due to go to the hairdresser. And
the sitting there waiting. Hair on the
floor, old magazines, the guy before you with a cool Rod Stewart that you can
never have.
And the one thing
they always used to say to me when I requested a style,
“Sorry mate you’ve
got a low hair line, can’t be done.” what the hell did that mean.
And my mum asking
me to ask them to “layer” it. What the
hell did that mean. I couldn’t tell the
difference.
I realise I could
write a whole novel just on hair, hairdressers, hair products, hairstyles and
the consequences of it all.
And let’s just
forget about Punk. That passed most of
us by, fortunately.
Monday 4th March 2002
My Dad hasn’t
featured as much in my life as my Mum has.
He died when I
was 16, which did have a profound effect on my life.
Or should I say
laissez-faire effect on my life.
It made my love
life in all its guises not just to have a driving ambition to succeed but also
to enjoy every precious minute.
So I don’t work
and attempt to succeed for the memory of my Dad. I enjoy and appreciate life for the sake of
my Dad.
Dad was the
silent go to work early and come home late, read the newspaper, not much to
say, type of Dad.
Quiet, Silent,
Well Meaning, Irritated by what my Mum let the kids do, type of Dad.
He didn’t join in
too much. He couldn’t really, he had
Ankylosing Spondylitis.
A type of
arthritis which made it difficult for him to move.
He always felt he
was there though, silently in the background.
Not playing with
us but always there.
Having said that
he taught me to play chess and I played the game with him until he died.
My regret is that
he died before I really knew him but had he lived I would probably have never
asked about his life.
He’d had many
adventures which he never talked about.
The War, Flying
in Bombers, Being Shot Down, Prisoner of War, Stalagluft 3 (The Great Escape!),
Coming Home, Setting Up businesses, Driving, Flying, His first wife dying after
3 weeks of marriage, the 1950s, his thoughts and views.
So much packed
into his 56 years but no talk of it to us.
As a kid I was
always a bit afraid of him. His silent
temper. He never lost his temper but
seemed to brood silently. One look could
say it all.
Or his “Ach” and
walking away.
He was very proud
of me. My maths, my chess, my sport.
He wanted the
best for me, “Anthony, become and accountant and the world is you oyster!”
Not sure about
that one, especially nowadays.
I think he had
Integrity. The father I had and the reaction
of people when I say the name Sonny Goodson, don’t quite fit together.
Those that knew
him seem to light up at his name and yet this was not the quiet the father I
knew.
He seemed almost
to have no personality to me, a child, and yet there was another side to
him. A side I never knew.
A side that once
came out at a house party where for the first time he’d had a drink and too
much!
Smiling laughing
flirting with Mrs Wood. That wasn’t my
Dad!
I’d love him to
have been around for longer. To talk to,
to ask things of, to seek advice and support.
To check out the
things that happen to me, against his own experience.
And yet I took
him for granted when he was around.
Would I have
talked to him much had he lived longer?
He was Dad, there
in the background silently supporting us.
Sunday 3rd March 2002
My life emanated
from my bedroom.
It was my safe
haven. Initially my sister and I shared
a room, but I can only remember as far back as me having my own room.
I loved my
bedroom.
Firstly it had a
view over the whole Valley, The River and The Pipe.
Back Garden with
trees. Beautiful.
There were two
phases of decoration. The early years
which was white walls with colour mix carpet.
And then orange
painted wall one side and white wallpaper with carriages on, on the other side.
And a turquoise
carpet.
In between these
phases, I gained fitted cupboards and shelves for my Encyclopaedias and books
and my bed fitted into the unit as well.
Matching desk and
drawers. Cool.
Later on I made lots
of Airfix models and hung them from the ceiling.
I also in my
latter phases plastered the wall with women.
I had a storage
room which was for my toys and junk, and the usual boys bedroom things,
Dartboard, Targets, Antlers! Piggy Bank etc.
I really love my
room, playing in it, the privacy, the view, the books, the record player, the
darts, the bed, the shelves, the cupboards, the walls.
It really felt
like mine, and I was given lots of privacy.
Saturday 2nd March 2002
My Mum has been
the biggest influence on my life.
After all, I have
known her the longest.
Of course there’s
too much to say about her here.
The book I write
may even be about her and not me.
But let’s start
with the headings.
Born 18th
March 1933
Vienna, Nazis in
Vienna, Kinder Transport , Arriving in Manchester aged 6, The Tillis Family,
Settling In 1940, The War and Evacuation, Post War,
School, Work,
Reuniting with Parents, Paris 1950s, Meeting my Dad, Marriage, Didsbury, Having
me 1961, My Sister 1962, Valley Drive, Cars, Home, Work, Arnold Haigh,
Insurance, John, David, Ron, Fred, Israel, Arranging, Parties, Sayings, London,
Men, Holidays, Money, Love or Hate, Rescued, Shopping, Exhibitions, Yvonne,
Ernest, Fashion, The Famous.
That will do for
now.
Friday 1st March 2002
“As I was going
to St Ives I met a man with seven wives
Each wife had seven sacks,
Each sack had seven cats,
Each cat had seven kits.
Kits, cats, sacks, and wives,
How many were going to St. Ives?”
Our St Ives
holiday was one of the highlights of our childhood.
So much seemed to
happen on that one holiday.
Firstly, my Dad
didn’t come with, he had business to run and stayed at home with our attractive
Polish Au-Pair, Margaret.
This meant that I
was chief navigator and my Mum was driver, in our white Mini.
This was in the
mid sixties so most of the motorway network hadn’t been built yet.
The consequence
was an 11 hour drive down from Manchester to St Ives.
That was a long
way on very little motorway.
We had a great
time in St Ives. Old fashioned expensive
hotel.
On the beach when
it wasn’t raining.
Table Tennis and
Snooker when it was.
My great
achievement on the holiday was digging a 4-5ft deep hole in the sand.
Looking back now
that was very dangerous.
When asked what
it was for I said it was for my Mum!
I learnt one of
my all time favourite jokes from a cool waiter.
“How do you kill
a Purple Elephant?
With a Purple
Elephant Gun.”
“How do you kill
a White Elephant?
Tie a knot in
it’s trunk wait until it turns purple
then shoot it
with the Purple Elephant Gun!”
The holiday was
so expensive that after that we joined the rest of Britain on package holidays
to Spain.