When I was little I was lucky – though I didn’t know it then. Lucky because I was loved and the daughter of wise ones who knew what love was and how to show it. Lucky because we were not rich, but nor was anyone around us. Factory workers dominated the town and council houses were the only kind. My godmother sewed and I had a clean dress for school every day, and Mam made elastic garters to try to keep my socks up to my knees – knees that were scraped from climbing trees and playing marbles in the street.
Racism was not a thing in our town then, but only because the lack of diversity meant there was no opportunity for it. I cannot imagine how it was for Bapinda and Inderjeet, the first Indian girls in our “comprehensive” school. Or for the refugees we called, with sympathy but no empathy, “the boat people” – the Vietnamese we welcomed into our church – but not really into our lives.
I was lucky because I was not them.
I was at times mocked and laughed at, but mostly for the things I said or did, and usually perhaps with some degree of affection – never because of who or what I am.
When I was little I was lucky and I was loved.
My parents worked hard at their jobs and I worked hard at school and I was rewarded. They gave us home-grown food and books. Toys to play with, bicycles and freedom to roam. We were read to, and then taught to read. Mam showed me how to form my letters, though mine are now nothing like the shape of hers. And they taught me card games and board games. We played whist and rummy and penny-on-the-king and cribbage. We played Scrabble and Kerplunk and Cluedo. We played chess and Monopoly. We were taught how to win, and how to lose.
There were holidays, where we camped and wore shorts all day, or maybe wellingtons and kagouls. We went fishing, and climbed castle walls. We swam in the sea and in swimming pools with slides and fountains. There were camp beds and torches and friendly voices in the dark.
When I was little we drove through the night in the old grey Mini that seemed so big to me, with my pillow against the window and my ability to sleep to the sound of the engine.
For Whit week and tatie-picking week and four weeks in the summer we would stay with Nanny and my aunt. My cousin not yet born. Bonzo the dog. There was a park over the road and the fair would come for a week. Toffee apples and candy floss. Bright lights and music. And a shilling or two to spend, but no more when it was gone.
We valued what we had because we were allowed to be frivolous with it.
No-one told us off for coming down the slide backwards, or head-first, or in a linking of legs to form a train. Being told off didn’t stop us climbing the spinning witch’s hat, eyes closed for Squeaky-piggy-squeak – and the tarmac beneath us. Nobody died.
Nobody died until we were old enough to know what death was – and we didn’t always cry.
When I was little there were colouring books and coloured pencils, and we learned that it took patience and slowness to stay inside the lines. We learned the richness of colour and shading, and the pleasure of completing something that we had started. When I was little Mam once let the kettle boil dry because she was finishing a picture for me after I had gone to bed. Dad bought her one that would scream when the water boiled. He was a boilerman; he knew how steam worked. And he knew about colouring-in before it became such "a thing".
When I was little my Dad bought us maps and told us about all the ships he been on. He told us about the captain of the tramp cargo vessel who secretly made dolls houses – and another one who wanted bread and dripping but was offered custard creams because he was the captain. On the big map, that was the size of our settee and had been pasted on hardboard, he showed us all theplaces he had been. And I was infected with wanderlust.
When I was little there would be fireworks and a bonfire in the garden. So many pillow-cases must have been burned in the form of a guy. There were Catherine Wheels fixed to the shed, and single small rockets launched into the sky. And we were innocent enough to be thrilled.
Dad showed me the Plough and Orion. He cited the names of stars that I never have learned, and promised that I would see Haley's Comet one day. He would also turn over the silver in his pocket if he caught sight of the full moon through glass.
When I was little I was comforted by the scent of Condor pipe tobacco – fresh flake in its strange little packet. And I was taught to play pinball by the truckers in the Robin Hood Transport Café, whilea pipeful of it was being smoked outside in the early hours of the morning. When I was little we travelled through the dark and along the old roads.
Becks were burns or brooks and water voles were rats. Once there was a hedgehog on the lawn and on one late evening we went fishing and there were bats above the trees. We followed the hunt once. The dogs frightened me, as did the lady who mocked me and sternly instructed me they were not dogs; they were hounds. As if that made a difference to the fox.
We had a rabbit at school, and a blackbird built a nest on the old tin bath that hung by the outhouse. The eggs were blue and hatched. I can't remember if they fledged. I was allowed to take the empty nest to place on our classroom nature table. When I was little our classroom had a nature table.
When I was little I had the biggest bedroom and chimney stack warmth and piles of blankets in the winter. Dressing gowns and hot water bottles and milk before bed.
There were red squirrels and cow sheds and once I heard an owl. There were trips to the library and swings in the garden. There was chicken pox and German measles. Raw veg was just something we ate because we liked the taste. There was an old military tent, heavy canvas with the smell of paraffin about it that we'd take to the beach. There were caves to play in and a primus stove for making tea.
There were neighbours that we called Aunty and others we called Mrs and I never did work out the difference. Notes for the butcher, and paying the bread man on a Saturday morning. Mr Foster delivered fish on Tuesdays and Fridays. Grays brought the coal and Greys the pop – or maybe it was the other way around.
When I was little, I was lucky and I was loved. And when I grew up… it stayed that way.
The world has changed in all the years since, but there are still many small joys that we will look back on with fondness when more years have passed. How would it be if we noticed them now, while they are here and real, and not just more memories?
