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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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