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!

Evacuation to Wiltshire – the Manservant

Much of the action in these tales takes place during the period of WWII. 

When war was initially declared there was much panic and concern regarding the children of London.  It didn’t take long for the powers that be to decide that the men will tote the guns and the women will run the factories and the children will be sent out of harm’s way.  Called Operation Pied Piper, millions of people, most of them children, were shipped to rural areas in Britain as well as overseas to Canada, South Africa, Australia, New Zealand, and the United States. 

You’ll notice the underlined words in the above paragraph.  Yes, most of them were children, but some were like my Mum who had come very close to losing part of her brood and under no circumstances was she about to do so again. She insisted on being part of the evacuation process.

I would have been about 7 years of age and LS a small toddler when we made our first foray into wartime evacuation. Oh yes, we did it many times, after all “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again”!

There must have been preparations but I don’t remember them but I do recall the noise of the train station, the pushing and the shoving, the crowds of children and people.  The uncomfortable cardboard box strung with string around my body added to the confusion and fright.

I can’t honestly say whether it was on this train trip or another of our evacuation flights, with hindsight it probably occurred later after a long period of “sweets and candies” deprivation. Nevertheless, the memory stands out very clearly: when I, along with other children, was given a chocolate bar wrapped in purple paper, I could not believe it was all for me – the whole bar just for me. It must have made a tremendous impression, because to this day I still love “Cadburys”!

But I digress.  We arrived in the area of Wiltshire know as Castle Combe.  If you’re thinking “Eh I know that name from somewhere”, you’re right. The movie Doctor Doolittle was filmed there in the 1960’s.

From my very young and rickety memory I gather we were billeted in a large Manor house said to belong to the Wills Tobacco Company. It must have been very large because I’ve always thought of it as a Castle!  I think it might have been what is now The Manor House Hotel shown in this picture:

It was not a hotel at that time, it was a one family dwelling.  As you can see from the image this is a very imposing structure, especially to a young mum who was used to living in a one bedroom flat, ground floor, no grass just a stone area at the back called “the yard”.  

I’m not going to pretend that I remember everything about our stay but I do recall at least one meal.  We were seated at a long, long table which to my young eyes looked to be about the size of our “backyard”.  It was highly polished and shiny and we three, Mum, LS and I, were the only occupants sitting at one end.  This was our first introduction to what I now think must have been a footman (I’ve watched Downton Abbey).  We were served our meals by this very stately figure.  

Wow, you may be thinking, how terrific!  Not so.  To my very cockney, very impressionable and totally overwhelmed mother it was scary.  More scary than the bombs back home, you say?  I guess so.  Fortunately, the trains ran both ways and before you could say: “Maybe it’s because I’m a Londoner” we were home.