What a Clever Man was he

Memory focus on one

Today, rather than write about a broad range of memories involving many characters I’ve decided to focus my attention on just one person: my father.

He was a man of many talents, in my eyes he could "fix anything".  Without harping on how poor we were, a found broken alarm clock became a treasure after he had applied his magic.  New shoes for four children were a luxury that we could not afford, so when a hole appeared in the sole he was there with his repair leather and cast iron last anvil, to make the footwear usable again.

One like this repaired many, many shoes in our household.

Make a suitcase, mend a purse, polish a floor, cook a dinner he could do it all.

It was nothing unusual to see him down on his knees applying polish to the shiny cement floors in our apartment, or to see him in the kitchen making Sunday dinner.  My favourite was when he made Liver and Onions, he made the best gravy in the world.  He was a good cook, (perhaps he had learned from his mother).  He was a man with a modern attitude well before his time.   He was more than willing to do chores that at the time were considered woman's work and he never hesitated to teach me how to hold a hammer or use a handsaw.  Some of the many skills that I learned from him I have found to be very useful in my later life; one being how to keep a bunch of brad nails in my mouth without swallowing them. 

No doubt if you’ve been reading my outpourings you are aware that while there must have been times when money was available, there were times when we were as poor as church mice, nevertheless, we always had a piano in the house. Both parents could play without sheet music.  This was referred to as “playing by ear”. As a child it was a phrase I couldn’t understand as they both seemed to use their hands – not their ears. Dad’s favourite rendition was: "Let Me Call You Sweetheart", played with a lot of gusto, gestures and dramatic hand movements. The following YouTube By Max Bygraves is the closest I could find to his version.
v=ej4WwbmdX8M&list=PLrS5x6Peorjvo_XK2q0AbB1Ua6Y0JOi-iPLrS5x6Peorjvo_XK2q0AbB1Ua6Y0JOi-i

Mum’s style was more jazzy and fast.

When I think of a pianist hands I imagine long slender fingers. Not so with Dad.  His hands were stubby, large and callused with a clubbed feature that intrigued any doctor who saw them; his nails fully turned over to follow the tops of his fingers.

This being a time when record players were not fully utilized or popular or available meant that both parents were in great demand at parties for their musical skills.  Some of my earliest memories are of sitting on the floor at the side of a piano listening and learning all the words to the latest "sing-along" tune.  Then later that evening I’d fall asleep astride my father's shoulders as he carried me home.

At the start of World War II he was in the Territorial Army. 

Dad - trained and ready!

As far as I could discover the TAs were a part-time army that practiced "in case" of conflict, consequently, they were the first to be called-up when the war was declared.  After all that practicing it’s ironic that he left the army prior to the war's end due to damage to his hearing from working with the big guns in the Royal Artillery division.  Nevertheless, he always kept an interest in what was happening because when the enemy bombers made their nightly actions over London, he would be outside watching the English fighter planes involved in dogfights taking place above him.  The following link will give you a little idea of what these fights entailed:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mITx8SPNyhU

  

When we were young he would delight in telling us what he thought of as a funny poem but what we thought of as something that scared the living daylights out of us! Especially since he would usually recite this at bedtime in a voice made deep and throaty. I recently discovered an old Victorian picture depicting this poem

One night he awoke, a candle he lit,
he saw his revolver and soon loaded it.
No longer I'll stand it, he savagely said.
Then he blew out his candle and went back to bed,
Ha, Ha, he laughed, Ha, Ha, he cried.
What a clever man am I.

If any of this sounds as if he was an ideal parent with whom I had a wonderful relationship then I've given you the wrong idea completely.  In truth, we were similar in so many ways, that it led to constant clashes of temperament.  He was stubborn and he had many rules.  I was stubborn and I hated his rules.  I hated not being able to wear lipstick, I hated that he wanted to know too much: where I was going, what I was doing.  He made my life miserable!

He loved to have a few or more drinks at the local and consequently when he walked in the door full of liquid bravado his rules became loud enough for the neighbours to shudder,   Although he was very loud I can't truly remember him actually hitting any of us.  Perhaps I've blocked it out, but I doubt it.  I can still see him as he pulled off his leather trouser belt with a flourish -then make it into a loop that he would snap together with an enormous BANG!  This would scare us kids into a corner.  The belt never touched us! It would then be followed by a huge THUMP with his large fist onto whatever table or surface that was near.  These arguments only got worse during my teenage years when I knew everything.

Yes, he could do everything, fix anything,  but he couldn't beat the effects of too much smoking.  He died of cancer in 1960, the year that my son was born.  I wanted to travel to England to see him in the hospital or attend his funeral, but due to the problems with that pregnancy my doctor thought it would not be advisable.

The Name of The Game

PLAYING GAMES

Children have always played games and we were no different, we played games!  What we played might not be recognised by today’s children when compared to what seems to hold a child’s interest nowadays.  Today's parents are worried that their children spend so much time with electronic equipment they have to be told to go outside and get some fresh air!

I find it strange that when you separate the words Playing Games and look up each meaning in a thesaurus.  Two different pictures emerge.

The word “Games” seems to be linked entirely with “Sports” and mostly organised sports, whereas the word “Play” is a much more lively word.  It has a long list of meanings ranging from recreation to fooling around, with a heavy dose of drama and having fun thrown in.  So from this I can presume that what we indulged in was “Playing”, because there was no way that what we did could be called “organised”.  Nobody organised our games – how could they?  We mostly made them up as they occurred.

I’ve mentioned in a previous post that my “Silver Cross” doll’s pram was used as a make believe tank, so I won’t go into further details about that, except maybe to mention that those who could not fit into the pram could always be accompanying aircraft as they ran alongside with outstretched arms dipping and swaying in time to the engine noises blasting from each mouth.

Mainly we had variety in our games.  Skipping was always popular with the girls; Double Dutch was played with two lengths of rope (by the way I don’t remember ever having handles – it was probably cut off from the end of a clothes line!) 

Seems to be in a school grounds.  Double ropes but no double skipper!

Whatever you do, do not compare what we called Double Dutch skipping with the marvelous organised examples that can be seen on YouTube videos.  If we could get two girls side by side for a couple of minutes inside two twirling ropes without one or both of us going arse over teakettle – then believe me this was success.

No one needed exercise classes; everyday was one long exercise class.  LS could easily have been the gym teacher – in fact she may well have played that part.  She could contort her body backwards then walk like a crab with her head facing up. 

Family photo of LS. in action

A lot of games involved balls and walls. One of which LS also excelled at was throwing three balls against the wall (so fast it seemed to be all at one time) and then speedily catching and returning them.  I’m not sure that there was any point to this pursuit other than a tremendous sense of satisfaction.

I remember playing a game which if it had a name I can’t recall it.  For this, four sticks of about 6 inches in length were required (if you could steal your mother’s clothes pins – they were ideal!) These were stood against a wall to resemble a cricket wicket; that is three sticks supporting one across the top.   

The “IT” person stands about 8 feet away armed with a ball which is tossed at the wicket; the wicket scatters and so does everyone else. The aim is for someone to rebuild the wicket without getting hit with the ball that is now held by “IT”.  Other than avoiding getting maliciously hit by the ball there didn’t seem to be much point to this game either.

A game mostly played by boys was: Conkers.  I’m sure I would have had the skills but I must have been too aware of the dangers to ever indulge in the conkers pastime.  Conkers being those large nuts that grow on horse chestnut trees throughout London. 

Horse Chestnut before it becomes a Conker!

Before they can be used they must first be baked!  This presumably hardens an already dangerous weapon into a lethal one.  Strung with string and held steadily in front of your face your opponent swings his conker wildly in an attempt to break your conker without knocking out your front teeth.

Internet picture of boy with a sharp eye and all his teeth.

A safer and more relaxing game was one that LB fancied.  Usually played on dusky evenings when the natural light was dim.  An area with no direct street lights was ideal.  At the time that this game was played very few people owned cars; there always seemed to be lots of pedestrians about, and for this game, pedestrians were essential!

Yes, they were so alike they could have been twins, as you can see from another image from the family album.

LB and a buddy, (often LLB his brother) would crouch facing each other on opposing sides of the pavement (sidewalk) with arms extended.  As a pedestrian approached they would implore the walker to “Please, step over the rope”.  As you will have gathered there was no rope and the payoff for this young pair was to laugh at the sight of people carefully lifting their legs to avoid an imaginary obstacle.

Leap Frog in action - note the typical London paving stones - hence we walk on the pavement!

There were so many more games we played – too many to detail here. From Leap-frog, to Hop Scotch, and five stones, and cricket with chalk drawn wall wicket, and at least once because none of us were angels, we all dared to knock on doors and run away.  All of them played outside in the healthy London smog.

But, we did have to come inside sometimes, so, we had to have inside games as well, after all it rains a lot in Britain.  A popular one in our home was Housey-Housey which is the same as BINGO but with the word HOUSE across the top. This was not a game that was bought in a store, but one that Dad had made, with enough cards for all of us to play.  Can’t remember what we used as counters, probably bits of paper. Dad was always the caller with all the standard fancy sayings such as “Under the H Legs Eleven, number eleven”.  If you filled your card you would have a “Full House”. And that was the aim of the game – nothing less was allowed.  No single lines, no diagonals, just everything or nothing.  No money, no prizes but a wonderful satisfaction of having beat your sibling!

But just beware if you ever said; “I’m bored Dad”.  Apart from being given the job of untangling string and rolling it into a ball, if I said I was bored he was more likely to produce a piece of paper (from where is a mystery) and a stub of pencil and I was told to draw. 

Perhaps that's why, like today’s children, the computer has become my piece of paper and my mouse takes over for the pencil stub as I play and play all day.  Soon they’ll be telling me to go outside and get some fresh air!