CHRISTMAS MEMORIES

Funny, isn’t it, what we do with memories. 

We bring them to mind, toss them around, snip a little here and there, polish up the bits that need brightening then present them to ourselves and others as genuine revelations. Or, then again, perhaps it’s just me that does that.

                Not only do I do this with my memories but it seems I also do it with the memories of others.  Take this blog for example.  So many of the things that I write about come from the recollections of someone else.  A notable memory prodder for me has been LS.  She seems to have been completely involved in the life and lives of our Covey.  Whereas, I, seem to have either been absent or have made amnesiac snips of entire memories.  Take the one she mentioned recently about her Christmas wish for a satchel. I have no recall whatsoever of these events. 

As much as she wanted this prized item, she knew that the likelihood of Santa, the Tooth Fairy or any other mystical being bringing this to her was extremely remote.  Despite her prayers, her straight forward requests and outright begging, she knew, in no uncertain terms that there was no money for such a useless item.  Better forget it and get on with living.

                And living is what it’s all about.  Christmas was very close so there were lots of preparations, even for a poor family.  Mum had things to do and places to go, so she got on her bicycle with the plan that any shopping could be carried home by LS who accompanied her by running beside.  That’s when destiny intervened.  Mum nearly fell off her bike!  There in the window of the local Sweet Shop was a large notice: “WE HAVE CHOCOLATE” it exclaimed in large letters.  Amazing, fantastic, wonderful!  It had been years since anyone had seen chocolate for sale and here was a sign proclaiming, they had it!

                That was it, Mum bought three small Cadbury bars and gave them to LS with the instructions to quickly get them to the boys (LB & LLB) who were waiting at home. In the meantime, she would continue with her errands.

                The chocolate excitement having now been transmitted to LS, she grasps her precious cargo and runs as fast as her legs will pump towards home.  That is, she runs until she can’t run any further because she tripped and smashed her head against a low coping wall. (For those who don’t know: Coping is a covering of stone, concrete, brick or terracotta, placed on exposed top of a wall, to prevent seepage of water.)

                Around this point in the story, LS’s memory gets a bit foggy, probably because she had passed out from a concussion.  A kindly neighbour picked her up and took her home and waited with her until Mum returned from her errands.  Mum being mum, doesn’t know what to do with a child that has a bump as large as an egg growing on her forehead, so she follows the old adage: “When in doubt, leave it out”.  There it was left until Dad took charge when he returned from work.

                He knew it was hospital time.  But, unlike here and now, there was no car for transportation, and ambulances were for life threatening accidents only.  That meant a steady walk up hill to the tram stop, then a tram ride to the hospital in Central London.  Eventually, they reach the hospital where LS was cared for.  Dad and she returned home.  Her head was bandaged and Christmas day came, just as it always does.  And it came with a special surprise:  A shiny new satchel for LS!

                Makes you want to believe in the miracle of Christmas, doesn’t it!

The Little Red Tricycle

From time to time I will recycle (pun intended) stories that I have used elsewhere.  The following is one that I presented at Toastmasters to fulfil a “Morals” story assignment. The listeners were given five “moral” choices to select from.  You’ll understand that it follows naturally from the “Run in with a car” event. 

•                     A Dad Will Do Anything for his Daughter

•                     Persistence Pays Off

•                     A Father’s promise is Golden

•                     All of the Above

•                     Other (Size doesn’t matter.)

My father was small of stature but large of heart.

Fellow Toastmasters - sit back- relax. I’m about to tell you a true story that took place long, long ago - before the earth cooled, when I was a young 6 year old child.

This story has a moral and I want you to look at the choices I’ve displayed and at the end I’ll ask you which one you think fits.

The previous summer I had been involve in a bad car accident and sustained serious injuries to my left foot. The summer of the story I had been given a beautiful red tricycle which became my therapy of choice. I rode it all the time. Unfortunately, as much as I loved my trike - I was only six years old and careless at looking after it. I left it outside the row house we lived in - and you guessed it - my favourite toy was stolen. I was devastated.

I still couldn’t walk too well - but I could ride that bike like the wind. Or so I thought.

That evening my father came home from work to a very depressed child and a very concerned mother.

Funny how a young child looks to a father to solve problems. I know I did.

He didn’t disappoint me.

He wiped my tears and assured me that he would find my tricycle and bring it back to me.

I believed him!

Of course I had no concept of the impossibility of the task he had set for himself. London, England was always a crowded and over populated place and the 1930's were no exception. My bike had been snatched at midday - by evening it could have been miles away.

Dad applied his logic. He reasoned that taking the bike was a theft of opportunity made by a person walking by, either going to or from his/her home. With this mind he borrowed a bicycle from a neighbour and rode off in an effort to become my hero.

For an entire week - after work he rode up and down the local streets - stretching his search in ever widening circles. All to no avail!

Then one evening - BINGO - he spotted a young boy riding a red tricycle. Could this be the one? He checked the rear axle. Yes it definitely was. He knew because he recognised the repair he had fixed himself.

This is the part of the story where I should describe my father to you.

As I told you in the beginning - he was small of stature - I think he was about 5ft 5in tall. Slight of build. A working man in working man’s clothing. Let’s put it this way - when you looked at him the last thing you thought of was a London policeman. Keep that in mind as I continue.

Very carefully he approached the boy.

“Hello sonny - that’s a nice bike you have there.” He spoke to the child - not wanting to alarm him. “Do you live near here?”

Child points to house close by.

“O.K.” said my Dad, “Let’s go see your house.”

With that he knocked on the door. A man came out. From what I’ve been told a he was a pretty substantial looking man.

Now comes the stroke of genius.

“Evening guv. C.I.D.” Dad says, flashing a piece of paper from his pocket. For those of you not aware the C.I.D. are the top detective unit of Scotland Yard.

So now I ask you to imagine; a very rough area of London and there’s my little Dad, all 5 foot 5 holding onto his borrowed bicycle, and pointing to the little red tricycle. “That’s stolen property my man.” The man of the house was probably ready to punch him out and tell him to “you know what off”  But just then a real six foot two inch London Bobby happened to cycle by on his bike. My Dad waved to him a cheery: “Evening Bill, see you back at the station.” That was the clincher.

My dad convinced the thief that he would not press charges, merely release the stolen property and he would forget it.

So I got my bike back - Just as I knew I would.