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Old Age, I decided, is a gift.
I am
now, probably for the first time in my life, the person I have always wanted to be. Oh, not my body!I sometime despair over
my body, the wrinkles, the baggy eyes, and the sagging butt. And often I am taken aback by that old person that lives in my
mirror (who looks like my mother!), but I don't agonize over those things for long.
I would never trade my
amazing friends, my wonderful life, my loving family for less gray hair or a flatter belly. As I've aged, I've become
more kind to myself, and I am less critical of myself. I've become my own friend.
I don't chide myself for
eating that extra cookie, or for not making my bed, or for buying that silly cement gecko that I didn't need, but looks
so avante garde on my patio. I am entitled to a treat, to be messy, to be extravagant.
I have seen too many
dear friends leave this world too soon; before they understood the great freedom that comes with aging.
Whose
business is it if I choose to read or play on the computer until 4 AM and sleep until noon?
I will dance with myself
to those wonderful tunes of the 60 & 70's, and if I, at the same time, wish to weep over a lost love ... I will.
I will walk the beach in a swim suit that is stretched over a bulging body, and will dive into the waves with abandon
if I choose to, despite the pitying glances from the jet set. They, too, will get old.
I know I am sometimes forgetful.
But there again, some of life is just as well forgotten. And I eventually remember the important things.
Sure,
over the years my heart has been broken. How can your heart not break when you lose a loved one, or when a child suffers,
or even when somebody's beloved pet gets hit by a car? But broken hearts are what give us strength and understanding
and compassion. A heart never broken is pristine and sterile and will never know the joy of being imperfect.
I am so
blessed to have lived long enough to have my hair turning grey, and to have my youthful laughs be forever etched into deep
grooves on my face. So many have never laughed, and so many have died before their hair could turn silver.
As you get older, it is easier to be positive. You care less about what other people think. I don't question myself
anymore. I've even earned the right to be wrong.
So, to answer your question, I like being old. It has set me
free. I like the person I have become. I am not going to live forever, but while I am still here, I will not waste time
lamenting what could have been, or worrying about what will be. And I shall eat dessert every single day. (If I feel like
it)
Sent in by Ruth
While cleaning out some old papers I came across
a letter that I had received from the OLD CODGERS ( remember them ) from the Daily Mirror some years ago in reply to a query.
To tell the story about this we go back nearly 27 years ago.
I was going every fortnight to London from the Midlands
to help keep my parents clean and fed. It was hard work trying to look after them and my own home apart from going to work
at that time.
In 1978 my sister and myself managed to get a British Legion flat for them about 15 minutes bus ride
away from me. As Dad was an old soldier from the first World War he was entitled to one.
I could not get my parents
here quick enough away from Peckham in London and I was just hoping that they would settle down in their new abode.
This
enabled me to get to see them at least four times a week and still be able to look after my own family.
My mother died
in 1980 just three days after my parents 59th wedding anniversary but I was happy in the fact that she had settled down in
the flat and had made some bingo friends.
My father was lost without her and used to watch his television quite a lot
even though sometimes he very often was not aware of what was on because he had started suffering with epilepsy later on in
life.
I never always got on with my mother and father like a good many more children with their parents but I had respect
for them.
My father was a strict disciplinarian who brought his sergeant major attitude home with him from the army.
This used to show by him running his fingers over the windowsills to see if they had been dusted or if anything was
out of place.
I used to get very angry about this and a story is in my book that is on my website of something that
happened one day when my father went too far.
Anyway to get back to the story.
It was just before Christmas
1981 when I had got my fathers groceries on the Saturday and was taking them to him for the weekend.
As I walked in
my father was cursing at the football match that was in progess on the TV.
I started putting things away when I heard
him say They play like a load of bloody fairies nowadays. If they had played years ago the ball would have weighed a ton coming
at them because it was all leather and we also had to wear big heavy boots to play in. Just look at that mardy git rubbing
his leg as though he has been bulldozed.
I pricked up my ears at the WE in his statement and I said Did you used to
play football then Dad?
He then told me that he played for Clapton Orient which later was renamed Leyton Orient as a
semi professional.
He started to reminisce and told me that Monty Garland- Wells the famous Surrey cricketer was the
manager of the club because M.G.W was also an amateur soccer international.
I was fascinated listening to this because
I had NO IDEA that my father had ever been connected in any way with football because he had walked with a limp ever since
I was first born. I just assumed that he had been injured during the war.
In fact whenever I saw John Thaw the brilliant
actor on the TV I always thought of my father because he too threw his leg out sideways as he walked.
Dad went on to
tell me that he was playing in a cup-tie against Everton and unfortunately he got into a tackle with Warney Cresswell and
Warney being the biggest bloke fell on top of my father who had his leg broken in two places which never healed properly.
That was the end of my fathers career as a footballer.
He did say that Warney was one of the most decent chaps he ever
met because he visited Dad in the hospital and took him some tobacco. He said he was genuinely sorry for what happened.
This was in the days when big payouts were not heard of or over the top settlements.
They used to get 8 guineas for
a cup match or equivalent to £8-40p in todays currency.
Dad said he got his 8 guinea cup tie fee for the match
but that was it.
He was finished as a footballer.
Funnily enough my father never held a grudge against Warney
Cresswell and as he said himself it was the luck of the draw.
I took a mental note of what he had told me so that I
could contact the OLD CODGERS to find out what they had to say about the team.
According to the;OLD CODGERS the fee
was £8 but I am going on what my father told me because he was there on the receiving end and he should know.
I
believe this happened about 1922-23. "Maywalker"
Blue
My father used
to be a stevedore and he came home one night in May of 1940 during WW2 with a beautiful blue persian kitten that he had found
abandoned in the hold of the ship.
My mother had an instant bond with that kitten and Blue as we named him was my mothers
shadow. He grew into a beautiful blue persian and was extremely proud of his tail and thick coat. He spent many hours cleaning
himself.
When the blitz started and well before the siren wailed out its warning he used to stand clawing at the side
of the door. It was his way of warning us that he could hear enemy war planes in the distance. Uncanny but perfectly true.
It gave us time to get our belongings together and get down the Anderson shelter.
Blue had been hit by shrapnel
about three times but my mother nursed him back to life each time and she always shared her food with him although we were
rationed.
As time went on we were evacuated to a town in the Midlands. Blue had to stay behind with my father and sister
until we got a place of our own in this new town that we had gone to live in for safety.
When we did finally get a house
my dad and sister brought Blue to live with us. It was then that my father told us that Blue had saved his and my sister's
life because a direct hit bombed what was left of the house and it buried my father and sister alive.
They were trapped
for 48 hours but Blue wriggled away from them and somehow found a way through all the bricks and mortar that lay on top of
the Anderson shelter and his continuous meowing and clawing at the debris finally brought the firemen to the spot where dad
and my sister were still trapped.
We never knew anything about this until Blue was in my mothers arms. We were SO proud
of him and he was over the moon to be back with his beloved mistress, my mother. His purring was so loud it sounded as though
he was singing to himself.
Our joy at Blue being with us once again lasted for two weeks because the neighbour
that we lived against was anti cat and he put poison down which tempted Blue.
My mother tried everything to help save
him but he died in agony in my mother's arms. It was just two weeks after surviving all the horrors of the blitz and
saving two lives. I can still see the devastation on my mothers face as she had her rosary in her hand saying a prayer for
Blue. The tears that were shed over our beloved Blue could have filled a lake. Unfortunately my mother could not prove who
had done this awful thing. I still weep about it now.
To think he had gone all through that to die the way he did.
I must add here that many animals were put to sleep when the war started. My mother would not let Blue be put to sleep.
Copyright © - Maisie Walker 2000 - All rights reserved
A Trip Down Memory Lane.
Just a tale that I found tucked away in my files that I thought might interest
some of the members here.
This is a true tale about a Halifax Bomber that had been on equite a few raids during WW2.
After the war these planes were put to service by helping to train glider pilots.
During 1947 the circular engined
Hailfax was sent to North Luffenham airfield where my hubby used to be a fitter on the engines.
The Halifax Bomber was
a replacement sent to teach Glider Pilots.
Before it was accepted it had to go on a test flight to make sure that it
was safe to tow the gliders.
On its first test flight it crashed through a fault in the control column.
It turned
right over on to its back and crashed in a ploughed field at the end of the drome.
There was one big cloud of dust that
scared the living daylights out of the ground crew.
My hubby said everyone was terrified of what they would find but
the pilot, engineer and the radio operator all climbed out dusting themselves down and getting the dust out of their eyes.
veryone was relieved and pleased to see all three climb out unhurt but to this day my hubby says he will never know
how they got out alive.
My hubby was NOT one of those that had serviced this aircraft but there was a big enquiry as
to what happened.
From what he could gather a bolt at the bottom of the control column had snapped.
Hubby said
out of the Halifax and the Lancaster he preferred the Halifax because you could walk down the middle of it but with the Lancaster
you had to crawl on your hands and knees to service them.
After his stint at North Luffenham my hubby was sent to Cottesmore
to work on Mosquitoes.
He also worked on the first Meteor.
Hubby said he enjoyed his time in the National Service
and only wished it was brought back again to straighten some of the yobs out of today.
Out of the wreck of the Halifax
my hubby had a piece of perspex that was from the windscreen and he made this brooch for me below. Its now nearly 60 years
since he first gave it to me. I very often wonder how many bombing missions that piece of perspex went on. Masie Walker
Born in 1941 I lived with my grandparents with whom I stayed with until
the early fifties. Although things were in short supply and life was not always easy, for most part it was a time of contentment
not found these days. Granddads suit went in the pawnshop every Monday and back out on a Friday for use over the weekend.
Mony was in short supply. One of my fondest memories is in the mid to late 40'S when my uncle was a projectionist with
a local cinema group. Although it was against the law for anyone under the age of 18 years old to enter the projection box,
back in those days things were a bit lax and I used to rewind the films and put on the records during the break. In them
days cinemas had three programmes a week, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday then Thursday, Friday, Saturday, then one on Sunday.
Then one could spend all day in the fleapit as some were known and no one seemed to bother. One song always bring them memories
flooding back: Steve Conway singing "Beware My
Foolish Heart". I played that over and over. On the
tough side I remember having to play truant off school in order to go to the gasworks nearly three mile away to fetch coke
in an old pram. The problem was it was uphill all the way home. Hard graft indeed. I used to go the Beeroff for my grandparents
and in winter I was given a cup of mild ale with a spoonful of ground ginger powder in it which had a red hot poker placed
in the cup. The result was a lovely warm drink that kept me warm for hours, which was just as well for in the mornings in
winter ice formed on the inside of the bedrooms windows. Wooden floors with just peg rugs but I know I lived in the nest
era. I wouldnt swap it for now even if I could.
With thanks to Ray Massey.
The Titanic story
The purpose of this section is to help us
understand the Titanic tragedy through the experiences of others. The Titanic not only affected the lives of those who sailed
on her, but has also touched the lives of many others. All of the stories told here are true and involve real people. After
reading these stories, my hope is that you realize that Titanic was not just a Hollywood movie, but a part of history.
By Dr Myrtle Parker from Talybont:
"In
November 1940 my family's home and business in Fulham West London was destroyed due to bombing. Twenty eight of our neighbours
died so we were lucky to have survived. My father was serving in the Royal Navy in Gibraltar.
We then evacuated to my
Grandfather's relations who were living in Aberystwyth and I went to Ardwyn school. My Mother had been searching for any
available housing to rent or buy but was unable to find somewhere accessible for me to attend school.
She did find a
cottage three and a half miles from Aberangell in Merionethshire using the track of the Hendreddu Quarry's narrow gauge
railway. The cottage was previously occupied by the workers from the Hendre ddu slate quarry, which was no longer being mined.
It was a haven of peace and we went there for holidays and to give the relatives a break, so many people kindly shared
their homes in those difficult times. We walked the track or bicycled and lorries used the track, carrying ammunition for
storage, in the quarry. Unfortunately the track was damaged by the transport and the bicycling was hazardous due to loose
sleepers and an adjacent river.
The cottage was the end one of a row of six. A middle one was sometimes occupied by
a widower and two young sons. The two at the other end were derelict and the one next to ours was used for coal and wood storage.
In the bad weather some sheep would go into the cottage and being mountain sheep could climb the stairs.
We had an oil
lamp for light in the living room and candles in the bedrooms. We carried drinking water in a bucket from a spring in the
farmer's field which he had kindly struck for us. The farmer lived about half a mile from the cottage he was a bachelor
and had a housekeeper. He also had an accumulator operated radio.
He asked us to visit every evening when we were at
the cottage to hear the 9 o'clock news with him. We would then discuss events, mainly the progress of the war, and if
we had a London visitor he was very keen to know what Londoners were thinking.
He was also very concerned that we should
not use river water for anything other than washing. We had to carry all water to the brow of the hill so we did not waste
it. Coal was also delivered to the foot of the hill and then carried up the hill by a bucket and stored. We had a chemical
Elsan toilet which was emptied by burying in the ground.
We carried all our food and oil for the lamp on the bicycle
which we pushed as we walked from the village, also any luggage that we brought with us from Aberystwyth. We travelled from
Aberystwyth by Crossville bus which also carried unaccompanied parcels and was a very good service.
Our friends that
came from London were so pleased to be able to sleep in the tranquil, and beautiful surroundings after leaving the war torn
city.
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My Grandad !
Being born in 1952 I still remember my Grandparents
house opposite ours, it was, like ours a terrace with 20 others in the row. Grandads had a steel fire grate with a oven built
in, I remember he would warm a large lump of stone in the oven at night then wrap this in a blanket to use as a foot warmer
at night. He had a washhouse attached to the back which also served as a kitchen. One day I switched on all the jets on
the gas stove but never lit them, he came into the kitchen ( I had gone by then ) and lighting his pipe which always seemed
to go out, when he hit the gas it blew him off his feet and lifted the roof off the washhouse, I dont know how he survived??.
I got the 'belt' from him and off my dad when he found out. I must have been abou 5 at the time. Happy days!!!
With thanks to mrplod
Mike remember the last story about my Grandad
and the gas stove. Well I was about 6yrs old when he passed away. It was the first time I had seen a dead person,
and was scared to death ( excuse the pun) The day of his funeral came and as usual it was raining heavily. We
all went to the church and then on to the graveside. I couldnt believe they were going to put him in a 'hole in
the ground' so as he was being lowered I bent over and trying to look down FELL onto the coffin as it hit the bottom of
the hole! As I said, it was raining and I was in new shoes and white shirt and new pants I was frantically screaming
trying to climb out of the hole. After much crying and being Cussed at I was extracated by one of the grave diggers
and was covered from head to foot in red wet clay. I suffered for that escapade I can tell you and my shirt never came
clean again. But at least I have a lasting memory of Granddad, even from the bottom of a grave
By David Lewis, born in Caersws but now living in Oswestry:
"Standing
on the beach on the French coast at Dunkirk, dirty, hungry and totally exhausted, being alternately machine gunned by German
aeroplanes and shelled by German Artillery, in that part of the war in 1940 when all seemed lost, I was completely unaware
that I would soon meet someone who would prove to be the one great love of my life and would even now be my constant companion,
friend, lover, wife.
Eventually being picked up by a boat, transferred to a ship, then shipped back to England, there
followed a few days of hanging about, waiting for the War Cabinet to decide what to do with an Army of mixed up, disorientated
soldiers.
Eventually orders were received to proceed to Wimbledon in South London, to be billeted in the large unoccupied
houses on the south side of Wimbledon Common. There to rest, retrain and form part of the defence of London. This was to prove
the most important posting of my military career, which would change my life completely.
Marching down the High Street
in Wimbledon on our way to our new quarters, people lined the pavements, smiling, waving, some were even crying for they knew
that we were recently back from the hell of Dunkirk. Then I noticed the staff of a very high-class hairdressing salon, and
there leaning out of the first floor window, waving and cheering was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen, her enchanting
face, encircled by the most gorgeous auburn curls. A Goddess right here in the High Street.
I was captivated and knew
that I just had to meet her. I resorted to hanging around the shop at closing time, even lunch times and whenever I had any
free time, all to no avail. The enchanting creature seemed to have vanished.
Then one day on Guard Duty outside the
large house, which was now my temporary home, I saw this vision riding her bicycle toward me, her beautiful hair outshining
the sun and a contented smile brightening that beautiful face, she was obviously enjoying her ride.
At last after days
of constant searching, here she was on a bicycle riding toward me. This was my chance; I must not fail, so I stepped out,
held my hand up requesting she stop. She looked furious. How dare a member of the military stop an innocent Civilian, peacefully
enjoying a ride on a lovely sunny day.
I thought I had completely blown my chance. Mumbling an apology, I made some
excuse about thinking I knew her, but now realised my mistake as that other person did not have such personal beauty. In view
of my mistake could I please make amends for my stupidity by taking her for tea, coffee, the cinema, anything?
I was
devastated when she snapped "Damn cheek" and rode off. Then she looked back and with that dazzling smile said "I'm
free tomorrow, Leave the shop at one O'clock." That was when Gwendoline Kathleen Gandy entered my life.
We met the next afternoon, had tea in a little cafe and arranged to meet that evening on the corner of the common where
the main road met the long row of large imposing houses, each one surrounded by a tall brisk wall. All seemed to be going
well, Hitler's bombers were either late or not coming.
With about ten minutes to our meeting time all hell broke
loose, sirens wailed, sounds of heavy bombers droning overhead and a constant stream of anti-aircraft fire seemed to fill
the sky. The shrapnel fell like rain.
As I walked toward our meeting place, I saw her walking toward me, head held high,
never faltering, this was not just a beautiful lady, she also possessed considerable courage. When we were about ten yards
apart I heard that awful whistling sound of a falling object; experience told me it was not a bomb, but an unexploded anti-aircraft
shell and just as dangerous. Wanting to shout a warning to get down and take cover, I just couldn't; my voice had gone.
All sorts of thoughts flashed through my mind, what had I done? This angel was in grave danger due to my negligence
in not selecting a safe place to meet. Perhaps we were both due to meet our maker, how selfish can you get?
Then
just as we met, the shell, for that is what it was, screamed down about ten or twelve feet above our heads, slammed down on
the roadway in a shower of sparks, then ricocheted off across the common.
We sat on a wooden seat under a chestnut tree,
ignoring falling shrapnel, and Hitler's bombers, chatting away, getting to know each other, as though it was a most natural
thing on one's first date to be shelled by some far distant anti-aircraft gun.
I remember feeling very "macho",
walking towards her that evening, ignoring all my instincts to dive for cover near that big garden wall. Years later I heard
my wife, for of course we were madly in love, and married as soon as we were able, telling a friend about that first meeting,
saying that she would have dived for cover, but that would have looked as though she were throwing herself at my feet on that
very first meeting. She never ceases to surprise me.
Two years into our marriage my son, Richard was born, now he tells
me that he is thinking of retiring. He like me, was lucky enough to marry a beautiful girl. They have three children, all
grown up and making their own way in the world.
Those auburn curls are greying now, but I still see that image of a
young Goddess looking down from a first floor window, waving to me.
After all these years it seems as yesterday that
we met, fell in love, married and raised a family. Yes we can say that some good things did happen during those dark days
of World War 2."
By David Lewis, born in Caersws but now living in Oswestry
A bad hair day
One of those days
We all get one of those
days when nothing will go right
Like struggling to undo a cap that's screwed on very tight.
The washing machine
is doing a dance round the kitchen floor
When you're sitting in the bath there's knocking on your door.
Or someone ringing to sell you something while you are in the loo
I'm not very polite on the phone when I tell
them what to do.
I take everything out of the wardrobe. Goodness what a mess!
How the heck have I managed to lose
a perfectly good dress?
I was doing some ironing when someone called and I went to see
I came back to an ironing
board with a badly scorched shaped vee.
I was trying to hurry while papering and in my blooming haste
I made a
big hole in the paper and put my foot in the paste.
I went to turn round and fell over the dog and burnt my cake black
All the lights went out and I stumbled and stood on a ruddy tack.
But what's the point in grumbling, I am
very lucky you see
Because many in the graveyard are far worse off than me.!!!!
Copyright © - Maisie Walker
2000 - All rights reserved
This small book is to commemorate the 60th anniversary
of Victory in Europe after six years of war.
I am one of the fortunate ones who came through that terrible war and I
wanted to record memories from that era.
I dedicate this book of my early life to my lovely family and all evacuees
who went through such a traumatic time during WW2.
It will tell about the first twenty years of my life. Tales of comical
as well as grim times and will act as a history dossier of life between 1930 to 1949.Maisie Walker
It will take you
through the extremely poor years of the 30s through WW2 and the post war years.
THIS SMALL BOOK
The corner shops.
Christopher Wilson,
from Limavady, remembers helping out occasionally at the back of the shop next door to his father's store in Enfield Street,
Belfast.
"In those days many items had to be packed on the premises. Sugar and tea was weighed into half
or one pound paper bags from large bins for the sugar and plywood chests for the tea. I used a metal scoop to fill each bag
which was on the flat plate of the scales, with a brass half or one pound weight on the other plate. When the bag was full
at the correct weight it was sealed by a four stage system of pointing up two of the sides and folding over the other two.
In time I became quite an expert at folding.
Cheese slabs were cut by a cheese cutter, which was a wooden slab
and a length of fine but strong wire. The size of the cut blocks was estimated for the correct weight.
The work
I really enjoyed was cutting or slicing the bacon and ham. The bacon and ham came in what were called sides, huge lumps in
the shape of part of the pig, cured and covered in white muslin. The muslin was pulled back, the side laced on the bacon slicer
plate tight up to the circular shinning cutting blade.
The thickness or thinness rasher guide was set and then
the slicing began. The slicer wheel was spun furiously and the mechanism allowed the blade to cut through the bacon or ham
until all was sliced. The slices were gathered in sets of half a pound, wrapped in grease paper and set on an enamel tray
in the shop window.
In the late forties some butchers in Belfast still kept pigs in pens at the back of the shop.
They slaughtered the pigs, skinned and cured the bacon on the premises. From time to time the inspectors visited their shops
to check the quality of the carcasses. One butcher had a carcass which he knew was not the proper quality. When he saw the
inspector coming along the street, he sent the message boy off with the carcass on a handcart with the instructions not to
come back until the inspector had gone."
Thanks to Skeggy
Our infants school, I remember relied for heating
upon a black, pot-bellied stove in the middle of the room. In the winter, our third-pint bottles of free school milk were
brought into the class room and stacked near to the stove to thaw out. The milk would be frozen into a pole sticking out from
the bottle, the silver cap sitting on top! On those very cold days we would wear our coats and sometimes gloves inside school.
We still had to go out into the playground at break, though!
By the time 1953 had arrived we had acquired another
dog. It was a Border Collie that was going to be put down because it was the runt of the litter. We named him Rover and he
grew into a lovely long-haired collie that looked rather like Lassiethe dog in the films.Rover's coat was black and white
though.
We also gained a cat that idolised my hubby because he saved her life when she had been poisoned, she
followed him every where.
Prince found the cat in our garden when she was a kitten. I was quite surprised when
he came in and kept barking at me as though trying to tell me something.
Then hubby and I finally followed him
out we saw this little black scrap of a kitten being violently sick and writhing in agony.Prince must have sensed the urgency
for the kitten although he was not fond of cats and could have killed her with a snap of his jaws.
Hubby immediately
ran in for the castor oil and literally poured it down the kitten's throat. He sat up all night nursing the kitten and
cleaning up after it kept throwing up but by the next morning Sparkie as we called her was perking up and lapping a drop of
water.
Her devotion to my hubby after that had to be seen for it to be believed.Sparkie followed hubby everywhere.
She even fathomed out what shift he was on and used to wait for him coming out of work. She used to run and meet him to walk
home with him. It was an uncanny relationship between them.
This next piece will explain what I mean by the close
relationship between hubby and cat.
We had no bathrooms years ago and had to have a strip wash down every day
at the kitchen sink. Our living facilities were FAR different from today. Houses are not built today without a bathroom/s.
They are a MUST in any building regulations now. We had to bring a tin bath in every Friday night and put it in front of the
coal fire to get a bath.
As soon as hubby got in and started taking his things off for his strip wash Sparkie
used to climb up on top of the door leading into the kitchen and when hubby was washing his face she would leap over on to
his neck and wrap herself round him. She never dug her claws in just wrapped herself round his neck like a collar.
I had to keep the door shut after she had done this about three times so that hubby could have a wash in peace. I had to
lock her in the front room when he was having a bath because she would once again be round his neck.
All three
animals used to go out together and the neighbours called them the Three Musketeers.
If any one has seen the film
The Incredible Journey about two dogs and a cat that was just how our three were. Prince would lead and the other two follow
wherever he went. It has to be remembered here that there were no restrictions on keeping animals indoors at that time.
Rover loved being dressed in Barry's outgrown clothes and he used to commandeer the pushchair or buggy
as they are called today. He also had a fetish about his beautiful bushy tail and disliked anyone touching it although my
lad could do anything with him including dressing him up in his outgrown clothes.
My son was about three years
old by this time and very often we took Rover out in the pushchair with Barry pushing it and Prince and Sparkie walking alongside.
The animals that we had over the years have all left footprints on our hearts and we will never forget them.
Wonderful
memories about the funny incidents and extremely sad ones especially when Sparkie got run over while waiting for hubby to
come out of work. I was devastated when I heard about it but that special bond between cat and master was a different type
of grief to mine.
Hubby was heartbroken.
Copyright---Maisie Walker 2001--- all rights reserved.
The Theatre Collections Online
There were no supermarkets just shops... a cake
and bread shop, the butchers, the milliners, the haberdashers...all with beautiful ornate gold leaf and glass fascias. In
the Co-op shop they sliced bacon from sides of pigs, cut cheese from huge roundels, weighed pounds of sugar from hundred weight
sacks. Nothing was prepped, wrapped or labelled. All staff had the ubiquitous pencil stub stuck behind their ear and yes,
some of them did add up on their starched cuffs! No computerised tills, just an amazing set of cables on the ceiling along
which travelled a small metal canister holding the customers tendered money along with the bill. This canister was `fired`
by the counter assistant along the cable to the cashier who sat aloft at a little illuminated window. The bill, stamped `PAID`,
together with any change was then `fired` back down to assistant to give to the customer.
1954: Pensioners demand more money
Thousands
of elderly people have taken part in a rally in London calling for an increase in their pensions.
The National Federation
of Old Age Pensions Associations has been leading a campaign for an immediate 17s 6d rise in pensions to take a single person's
allowance to £2 10s per week.
The Conservative Government promised in July to restore pensions to at least the
equivalent of their 1946 value, as laid out in the National Insurance Act of that year.
But there is disagreement about
how much pensions would need to go up to achieve the same post-war purchasing power. It is thought the government is looking
at a figure of about 4s 9d for a single person, 6s 3d for a couple.
Thanks to Skeggy
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