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Jan. 29th, 2008

NEIGHBOURS

My Nana came from a small coastal village on the edge of a cadet training camp.

 I had a strange upbringing but she was there when I needed her.  Which was most of the time.  My Cousins were jealous of all the time I spent with her. They made it very clear in their attitude and actions.

The 'Avenue' was not anything out of the ordinary.  It was just a long street leading down to a rough path over MOD land to a beach my mother's family had played on as children.  A place that my Grandfather had collected driftwood and seacoal in the depression years.  There were a lot of old people living down that street.  Mostly old woman who had lost their husbands in the Second World War and even some who had lost their Sweethearts in the First World War!  They made me feel one of the family. I in turn reciprocated this.  I was the happy child who skipped along with a smile for everyone and a polite good morning and a hallo if someone was a stranger.

It is only now, through life's circumstances,  living in an overcrowded and paranoid City that I can finally appreciate my Seaside/Country upbringing.  People tell my all the time that I am 'idolizing' my childhood and that it couldn't have been as good as I retell it.  Well it was!

I have been back to the Village and it has now become a small Town by joining to the Village next to it.  The 'Square' where I played happily on the 'Swings' Ocean Wave, Roundabout and the highest Slide you ever did see has now been ripped up.  What a safe place that was all the Neighbours surrounding the 'Square' looking out incase little John or Katie fell and scraped their knees.  We didn't care that there was gravel on the ground.  It gave you good grip if you were running around.  The only kids I saw hurt themselves did it on purpose.  Attention seekers I was told 'that it is what they are.'  I mostly played in Nana's garden because she had a lot of overgrown plants and the loveliest smelling Roses you would ever smell.  She or my cousins showed my how to make Rose Water from the petals.  I used to run messages for my Nana.  There was a small Food Shop at the top of the street across the road and a man who looked like Mr Pogle but he had brown hair ran it.  From an early age I had to pick out the best cuts of meat.  Choose the best cheese.  Also the tinnned food.  Only one type of Beanz would do for me.  Across the way a VG Store opened and put 'Mr Pogle' out of business.  He couldn't compete with their low prices or the way they were able to source a myriad of new and exciting products.  Our 'Fruit and Veg' came from the Family Business in the next Village.  Then they started up a mobile service which was great for the old people and harrassed young mothers with very young children.  The Co-operative Shop also started a Mobile service about the same time so if people think that supermarkets delivering is a new thing then you can't be very old.  I was lucky that my mother was considered to be the 'Grace Kelly' look a like and because of her looks and her impeccable manners she was treat like a 'Queen' I just want my fellow Bus Passengers to know that it wasn't my fault when the man who drove the bus who had known mum all his life used to divert from the normal Bus route so that my tired frazzled Mum wouldn't have far to walk home.  The company who own that Service now have made this an official Bus Stop.  The Village Policeman was someone you family had grown up with and they new the 'Area' like the back of their hand.  Nothing got past them.  Then came the Seventies and everything changed.  The Police who took over didn't know anyone and the good people of our Village started moving away.

To the geniune 'Dixons of Dock Green' I salute you each and eveyone of you.  I only wish that I had been able to join the force but meeting Karen Ray and Lorraine Powell destroyed that dream.                             

Comments

( 1 comment — Leave a comment )
deborahw37
Jan. 29th, 2008 05:35 pm (UTC)
What lovely memories.

I really enjoyed reading that

Thank you
( 1 comment — Leave a comment )

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