I’ve Moved………

……over to blogspot.  You can now find me here

An Occasion Requiring Shoes

This was written using the visual prompt at Magpie Tales.

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I was sooo glad to get home and remove those instruments of torture!
I must be getting old! I mostly like to wear something comfortable, and if they are a little bit old and worn I don’t really mind. The heels on those shoes only look low, but when you’ve got to wear them for several hours they might as well be four-inch heels.

I do remember when I used to crip about in four-inch stiletto heels all day at work. Of course, I was eighteen, young and stupid back then and they really did make my legs look good, along with the mini skirts, and they made me taller.  I could actually run in four-inch heels! These days I’m built for comfort, not speed.

I keep these little black shoes strictly for weddings and funerals – and anything else that might crop up that requires a little style. They’re the only ‘dress’ shoes I own.

The weddings have been fewer and farther between, but the funerals are increasing in number. I suppose that’s what happens when you’re nearer the end of your life than the beginning. There will come a time when I will probably know more dead people than live ones. I don’t like funerals, but sometimes they can’t be avoided. When I turn my toes up I don’t want anyone coming to my funeral dressed in black, and I’m going to have Spirit in the Sky by Norman Greenbaum played at the end. If you’ve gotta go, you might as well go out with a good beat.

The School Dentist

Many British people of my generation are scared to death of the dentist. Ask any of them why, and they will tell you horrendous tales of visits to the school dentist when they were small children.

Our school dentist was situated in Player School, a short distance from our own school. I think they must have sent someone round to the individual schools to check childrens’ teeth, but I can’t honestly remember that part. I can remember as if it were yesterday the actual visit to the dentist. It’s like something out of a Dickens’ novel.

My older sister recently told me of her experience at the school dentist. Apparently she had to go to have a milk tooth pulled when she was in the Junior School. She tells me they all had to sit on chairs and the dentist walked along, told them to open their mouths and then hoiked out the offending tooth without any anaesthetic. All the kids were screaming and crying. He used the same tool for each child. No suggestion of sterilising or anything. That experience is burned into her brain too. She is absolutely terrified of dentists. She has false teeth now so it’s no longer a problem for her. She never went back to the school dentist, and had to be in total agony before she would even consider a visit to any dentist.

The day I went there were several of us sitting on little infant-school chairs in a corridor, all looking very worried. One of my bottom teeth beside my incisors had decayed. I didn’t have toothache or anything, and it was a first tooth, but they decided it had to come out. I could hear kids crying in another room. When it was my turn I had to go into the room and they told me to sit in a big, black funny looking chair. I asked a woman in a white coat if I could please have gas? She answered with a stern ‘No!’ I was terrified. Next they told me to open my mouth and they put a metal thing in there and started to jack my mouth open. I thought they were never going to stop and the top of my head would fall off. There were no words of comfort or explanation while all of this was happening. Next they pushed a black rubber mask onto my face. After that I don’t remember anything until I was being told to go and rinse my mouth out. I had to do this at a stone trough with an enamel cup on a chain attached to a cold water tap. I think we all used the same cup. It was like a production line in a factory. It’s a wonder we survived, really. I couldn’t get out of that room fast enough.

I never went back to the school dentist either, but I did manage to overcome my fear of dentists as a species. I’m still not easy with it all but I try to look after my teeth as I don’t want a mouth full of plastic. My dentist is a kind man who makes sure I’m not going to feel any pain. I still ‘white knuckle’ it though.

Thank goodness things had changed by the time my own kids visited the school dentist. Clean; hygienic; bright pictures on the wall; young, cheerful dental assistants full of comforting words and a small reward when the visit was over. It was not easy for me to stand beside my kids, with heart racing and sweaty palms, while they were in that chair, but it didn’t seem to bother them, thank goodness. Things have come a looooong way in the last fifty or so years.

The Nit Nurse

When I was at school we had regular visits from the nit nurse. She would set up shop in the cloakroom. This consisted of a bowl of Dettol-water and a comb. Each kid would be checked to see if they had nits, and if they did a card was given to them to take home. Everyone really hoped that they wouldn’t get a card as it meant that you were unclean and to be avoided at all costs. I don’t know if this happens in the schools in the UK today. It’s possibly gone the way of free milk and disappeared.

I now live in Australia and it is quite common for kids to get nits in the summer and has nothing to do with how clean you are, but back then it was the worst thing that could happen to you. I’ve done a bit of ‘nitting’ with the grandkids. Apparently head lice have no preference for clean or dirty hair – they are happy with either, so we were all misinformed. I never had nits as a kid and have never had them since…….yet. There’s a lot of misinformation about head lice.

I always had my hair plaited for school and I hated the nit nurse looking in my hair as she only ever undid one plait and then plaited it up again very loosely, and by the end of the day it would be sticking out all over the place. Mum always plaited super tight.

Many years ago my neighbour’s kids hung over the fence and said, ‘Hey, Sue, guess what we’ve got!’ I was expecting a bike or a rabbit or something but it was, ‘We’ve got nits!’ It kept me giggling for quite some time.

To this day, whenever I smell Dettol I think of the nit nurse. My nose is my time machine. For some people it’s music – and it is for me, to a degree – but smells can whip me back through time at hyperspeed.

Starting School – 1951

I found starting Infants School rather traumatic. I was not quite five years old. I didn’t know anyone. My older sister had already moved up to Junior School and my best friend hadn’t started school yet. I remember spending my first lunchtime crying at the school railings, wishing mum would come and get me.

I never really got to like school at all. I think school was probably one of my first lessons in accepting that some things in life are unavoidable. My very first teacher was Miss Ward. She was a round sort of person and was very nice. She had taught both my older sisters before me, and probably my brothers too, as the Infant School was for boys and girls.

All the teachers were Misses when I started school – they weren’t allowed to be married. Teaching was looked upon as a vocation – much like doctors and nurses – and they were expected to devote all their attention to their work. This changed when I was in the Junior Girls School.

In Infants we ‘play’ learned. We had a shop with all sorts of things in it, made out of salt dough, – and of course, we all had a taste of the lollipops. We were given money made out of cardboard to buy things with. We also had different sized bottles and water to play with which taught us how many thirds went into a pint, etc.. We would collect things from the school gardens and they would be displayed on a ‘nature table’. We also had a bulb vase which was filled with water and a bulb added so that we could see the roots grow and the flower appear. It was a hyacinth when I was in the infants, and the smell was beautiful.

One day a little boy named Donald came into the class on crutches and with callipers on his legs. I think he must have been a polio victim, as it was quite rife at that time. Eventually he was able to walk without the crutches, which made us all very happy.

At playtime we all went into the playground for a while to let off steam. The boys spent a lot of time lifting up gymslips and looking at your knickers, which caused a great deal of squealing from the girls. The toilet block was divided in half and stood in the playground. The boys took great delight in peeing from their side over the top of the wall onto the girls, so you had to be quick when you went in and out, and hope that you didn’t get caught.

I could read before I went to school. My father had taken me to join the library, and in order to join I had to read to the head librarian, Miss Seeds. When I say I could read, I meant that I could work out and say the words. It wasn’t until I was seven and had just started the Junior Girls School that the penny dropped and I realised that what I was reading was a story. I’ve been reading stories ever since – when I was a child often using only the light from the crack in the door when I was in bed, and supposed to be sleeping.

I got a watch from my godparents that year, as I had learned to tell the time. Looking back, I must have been quite a bright kid, but school never made me feel that way. I always felt like a mediocre student and did my best to blend into the background.

Assembly was held every morning in the school hall. I don’t remember much about the reason for the assemblies. Judging from later years there would have been prayers and a hymn probably, and then school notices. There was an upright piano in the hall with three different sized brass claw bells on the top. The back of the piano was covered in hessian with the Three Wise Men riding their camels sewn onto it – all made out of felt. I think I remember this so well because, being infants, we were at the front of the assembly and I probably spent my time in there studying it.

School dinners were provided each day for anyone who wanted them. The cost was 6d per day. You took your 2/6d on Monday which paid for your week’s dinners. We always had school dinners as it was too far to walk home at lunchtime, and my dad went home and had his cooked meal in the middle of the day, which meant mum didn’t have to do us a cooked meal. We generally had something on toast for tea. I didn’t mind school dinners, except for the mashed potato, which was always lumpy. The puddings were yummy and I loved school stew which was so thick you could stand a spoon up in it. We were also given a third of a pint of milk every day at morning recess. I think it was to ensure that kids got calcium for growing bones after the restrictions of the war. I don’t think they do that anymore.

When I was seven I moved to the Junior Girls School to start the second stage of my education.

Working on Wood

This is what I am working on at the moment. It isn’t finished yet; I’m waiting for clues!

I’ve enjoyed my first time working on wood and trying out new things.

This is mixed media using graphite, coloured pencil, texture paste, collage, paint, stamp, rub-ons and embellishments. The background needs further work as it is rather boring.

Rhubarb, Rhubarb

As a child I shared a room with both my sisters, Yvonne and Wendy. Wendy is eight years older than me, and Von is four years older than me. Our bedtimes were staggered appropriate to our age, so I was the first to be sent to bed and Von second.

In summer, when it stays light until late into the evening, we would still have to go to bed at the same time as usual and mum would hang a heavy blanket over the window to block out the light. However, although we’d been sent to bed, we actually did not get into bed but messed around with several pastimes, one of which was eating stuff that Von had nicked out of the pantry. Von did lots of things that would have been frowned upon had they known about them……………… and I was roped in as an accomplice. I was sort of between a rock and a hard place. I was not naturally a naughty kid and if mum caught us it would mean a smacked bum; if I didn’t join in my sister would give me a hiding – and she was there, mum wasn’t.

We had a tin containing cocoa and sugar hidden in a cupboard, which we would have a little of every now and again. This just proves to me that kids have no tastebuds, but we relished it – probably more because it was illicit than because it tasted nice. In summer the treat was rhubarb, stolen from the garden. We had a tin of sugar to dip the sour rhubarb into when it was collected.

Mum had a clump of rhubarb down the bottom of the garden and Von would harvest two or three sticks and bring them back to the bedroom where we would feast. To do this she had to climb out of the toilet window and down the drainpipe (it was a two storey house), check that nobody was in the kitchen and then sneak down the path for the rhubarb. I would be stationed in the toilet with a long piece of string which was tied to the rhubarb to hoist it back upstairs. She would then climb back up the drainpipe and into the loo window. This worked very well for a time, but on one occasion, while I was waiting for her to come back, my dad came upstairs to use the toilet.
‘Ooooh, now what do I do?!’ I thought. ‘I can’t stay in here until she gets back or he’ll want to know why we are both in the toilet at the same time.’

Von is deaf – not totally deaf, but hard of hearing – so I couldn’t shout or warn her without dad hearing. I didn’t know what to do so I flushed the toilet and went out. Dad was standing there with his paper under his arm and his cigarettes. ‘Oh, no. He’s going for a sit down. He’ll be in there ages. I’m gonna cop it!’

Von got almost to the top of the drainpipe before she saw the smoke coming out of the window, so she had to go back down until she heard him flush the toilet and leave.

I got a good hiding off her when she came back up, and she wouldn’t listen to my reasons for abandoning my post. I don’t think I got any rhubarb that time.

April Fool’s Day

When I realised it was April Fool’s Day I had to have a little smile to myself.

When we were little kids, every year on the last day of March we would nick my Dad’s shoes after he had gone to bed (he went to bed early and got up early) and would replace his shoe laces with liquorice shoe laces.

He always obliged by pretending he hadn’t noticed until they snapped off in his hands and we were all giggling away. Normally he would have put his shoes on when he got dressed, but on April Fool’s Day he never put his shoes on until we were all up. Dad was good like that, he’d join in the fun.

We thought it was a huge joke that we got him every year. We eventually all grew out of it.

A Midsummer Night’s Dream

This is my latest journal spread.  The fairy came first and then I looked for a quote in Shakespeare’s ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’.

No major dramas with this one.

Some Days………….

you’re better off not trying.  I decided to put a piece of ‘parchment’ paper on the blank side of this spread and I was then going to find an appropriate piece of poetry or verse to go on the top of that.  What a disaster that was!

I cut the ‘parchment’ to the shape I wanted it and then pasted the back.  It immediately curled up.  If I’d  had any sense I would’ve stopped then, but it was a lovely piece – all sweet peas in lavenders and a little bit of pink – so I pressed on.  It was extremely difficult to get it to stick – again, I should’ve given up then, but I persevered.  It stuck eventually, but I couldn’t smooth it out and it was full of wrinkles and bubbles.  I had the good idea of using the hair dryer to tighten it up.  Now, this stuff does not behave like paper.  In fact it feels more like plastic.  Applying heat did tighten it up, but it caused it to screw up the page underneath.  What a mess!!

I thought of removing that half of the spread, but when I found the sheet it was attached to, it was half of another spread so I couldn’t do that.  I ended up ripping the offending parchment off the page (as much as possible, anyway).  This is what I was left with:

I couldn’t get off any more of the sweet pea stuff, and as you can see it’s buckled all the page.  It’s as lumpy as an unmade bed!  I searched through all my papers and found something with the right tones, which was really paper and put that over the mess.  The envelope was in my stash of ephemera and I printed out the verse, ripped and tinted it and then added that.  It’s not what I was aiming for, but it will have to do.  This page will never, ever be flat again!  Maybe if I’d used a glue stick rather than liquid glue I could’ve avoided all of this.  Who knows??!!