memory lane: more snapshots

I remember...the house in which I spent the first 11 years of my life. It was a big house, with high ceilings and many rooms (I was the youngest of 5, and my grandmother also lived with us).

I remember...the big, drafty sash windows with which we used little wedges to stop them rattling on a windy day.

I remember...the wind coming under the front door and lifting up the hall carpet in billows - and me sitting on it, wishing that I was feather light and could be lifted up with it.

I remember...the huge curtain I used to roll myself up and hide.

I remember...the fire that was lit at Christmas and I would lie on my tummy and gaze into the flames.

I remember...pretending the staircases were waterfalls in one huge imaginary landscape.

I remember...the gong that hung outside the kitchen door, to summon us to dinner - 'Mummy can I bang the gong puhleeese...'

I remember...the Christmas trees that were sown in a row in our garden, and that the last of them needed its head chopped off to fit (and remember there were high ceilings!)

I remember...trying to persuade my 'youngest' sister (10 years older than me), to join in my imaginary games, and having fits of giggles.

I remember...the excitement of when my brother set up his railway on the floor of his room, and looking at all the tiny figures and buildings, while the trains raced around the track.

I remember...Bonnie the black Labrador whining at the back door, wanting to come into the kitchen.

I also remember...Bonnie rushing up to me when I had fallen down the stairs, sniffing me to see if I was hurt.

I remember...the sound of my grandmother (Nanny) playing her piano.

I remember...my mother laying out all her seed trays and tending the seedlings.

I remember...my sister Debbie coming downstairs wearing a face mask and being silly - much to my delight.

I remember...the strange quietness after bedtime, and the eerie hugeness of the dark.

I remember...the freezing winter mornings, when Mum brought in an old fan heater so I could stand in front of it while I got dressed for school...and she huffed into my socks to make them warm.

I remember...many other moments, but I will save those for another time...

memory lane: the little naturalist

When growing up, I was fascinated by all kinds of wildlife. I was just as fascinated by insects, spiders, slugs and snails and suchlike as I was with animals and birds. As a little girl, I was utterly fearless when it came to wildlife (although very shy in front of strange people!). I believed all little creatures had the potential of being my friends (and I theirs) if they just had the time to grow accustomed to me.

At the house where I spent the first thirteen years of my life, the garage was sunk into the hill on the side of the road, with a tarmac roof which could be easily sat on, or climbed on, from the garden. (There was, of course, a barrier before the drop on the other side.)

The tarmac would grow warm on sunny days and I would perch or lie on it, and examine the honey bees buzzing around the Cranesbill Geraniums with grew up round the sides. Initially wearing gloves, I would somehow "persuade" the bees to climb onto my fingers. After a while, I grew more confident and took the gloves off, and watched them climb onto my fingertips. No, not once was I stung; though it's not something I would try now - and I suspect my parents would not have been entirely happy with this activity!

It simply did not occur to me that these creatures would hurt such a friendly little girl as I was! Even when wasps chased me across the school playground, I would be proud of the fact that they preferred me to the others - although this sentiment would change rather drastically in the future. My enthusiastic attitude towards the attention of wasps ended one day, when sitting in the school hall, I suddenly felt an intense stinging pain on the back of my neck. A drowsy wasp must have landed there and, as I shifted my head, felt threatened and stung me. We found it flailing on the floor afterwards. I'm afraid an unprovoked wasp sting rather effected my attitude...

Anyway. Enough about wasps! I would go around the garden collecting slugs, snails, or woodlice ('chiggy pigs' as I knew them), giving them leaf matter or roots/wood to eat. I would watch with fascination as pregnant woodlice gave birth to dozens of tiny white miniature selves, turning them upside down (poor things!) to watch the babies moving around in their parent's 'tummies'. The naturalist in me, I suppose! I would hope I didn't poke or prod at them, but I suspect most small children do, and I wasn't any different.

As for spiders...well there were plenty of spiders in my life, the house being what it was - big brown ones in the bath and sinks were regular, and there were plenty of fascinating garden spiders outside, hanging on their webs. Intrigued by what they would do, I would put a tiny piece of grass in the web, and watch them 'tidy' it up and throw it away. I confess I also offered up the occasional woodlouse (!!) to watch the spider wind it up. I found it frustrating that a fly never got caught while I was watching...

At school, a certain group of boys would frequently come up to the girls with cupped hands, saying they were holding a big spider. This would cause some to back off, shrieking, but I and another friend held our ground until they confessed there was no spider. Growing bored of it, I went and found a big, hairy, house spider and walked up to those very same boys with the spider in my cupped hands. Of course, they didn't believe me for an instant. When I opened my hands, it turned out they could run and scream with the best of them!

As I grew up, childhood courage receded and adult fear crept in...I brace myself at the sight of a wasp and try not to hurtle off until it gives up bothering me. (Do I smell nice to wasps, or something?!) I won't handle a spider unless I absolutely have to, although if there's a room full of shrieking adults I will gently pick one up and throw it out the window on their behalf. And daddy long legs (crane flies) are my worst. It's fine if they are just minding their own business, but if they fly towards me, they cause a great deal of frantic hand flapping and leaping about lest they fly in my face (and hair!).

The child that I was would look on in astonishment at all the fuss - and, I suspect, no small amount of superiority...

Today: 4/10, medium

patchwork memories

There are many memories I have which are not full stories but simple snapshots. This is especially true of my childhood - where the patchwork of memories is not numbered or dated, and sometimes one memory includes repeats of the same thing, or event. Or an object - I remember an object in many phases, but I could not place it on a chronological line.

I remember the huge kitchen table where we ate our meals; I also remember cutting up sponges there and making paintings, using the sponges as stamps. I remember making cards for my mother using tissue paper to make flowers.

I remember collecting warm eggs from the henhouse, and how the hens would let me stroke their backs.

I remember being fascinated by the gas mask in the loft room.

I remember clambering up staircases with Bonnie, our black Labrador, in tow - making believe I was scaling mountains and waterfalls in some amazing adventure.

I remember my dad finding a grass snake and putting it in a fish tank for a few moments so I could have a good look at it; I remember also catching sight of an adder as I played with the petals of a flower on a bush.

I remember the guinea pigs hollering with excitement when they heard any kind of bag rustling, thinking it was feeding time. I remember when Topsy, one of our rabbits, gave birth.

I remember lying on my tummy watching the ants march to and fro from their nest; I remember catching butterflies and the delight when they stayed briefly on my finger when they were free to go.

I remember turning out all the lights so I could play 'spaceships' with Bonnie, landing on a distant planet, going round with a torch and discovering the resident alien (aka the hamster).

I remember our cats, Twinkle and Tiptoes, curled on my lap and purring; I also remember the too-enthusiastic pummelling with their claws which came before hand as they got themselves comfortable.

I remember making a house out of an old television box and bringing a tolerant Twinkle inside with me.

I remember how my brother, sometimes my dad, would on my request pick me up by my ankles and swing me round in circles, while I squealed in delight.

I remember hurtling down a snow covered hill on a simple plastic sack.

I remember frequently asking to hear stories of my brothers and sisters when they were my age (I am the youngest by ten years).

I remember the smell of the Christmas tree and how I would make little piles out of the pine needles on the carpet.

I remember lying in the dark in front of the fire.

I remember having staring contests with my sister (she who laughs, loses).

I remember the view from our old house.

I remember feeling - elation, disappointment, joy, hurt, fascination, puzzlement.

I remember more than all this - but this will do for now...

Today: 4/10, high