Behind the village shops of old grey stone and an ancient Chapple
lay a narrow lane with back yards made from concrete with high walls and wooden
back gates. In the yard was a brick coal shed that used to be an outside toilet
and a concrete coal bunker that was full of dirty coal for the open fire in the
sitting room. The chimneys used to spout out smoke that filled the air with a
familiar feeling of home.
It was my home as I grew up. My Dad was a coal miner so we
got the little two up two down cottages for very little rent as they were
called pit houses. We lived in a beautiful large house near the seaside but
when I started to have to go abroad for eye treatment, my parents couldn’t
afford to keep that house going, so we had to move into the tiny house.
It was home though, I spent my weeks at horrid cold boarding
school but thank goodness in those days I could come home at weekends to my
family.
From my first step out of the transport that brought me
home, I knew I was home. Only problem was, I never wanted to leave that
comfort. That kindness. That love. As I burst
through the back door as no one used the front doors in those days, I could
smell my Mums cooking. The kitchen would be full of steam, from the chip pan
normally as it was Friday and it was fish & Chips. (fried potatoes)
I never ate fish, but loved my Mums proper homemade chips
and there were always loads of them. No shortage of food as I starved all week
as our school fed us as though we were in the Victorian work houses, a weekend
feast was much needed.
The house was so warm. The fire place was a place I sat near
feeling so cosy. Thick blue carpet was on the floor and shiny wood and 70’s
chrome was everywhere as it was new then and in most houses. It was polished to
an inch of its life. even the brushes and poker in the rack on the fire place
was so shiny. I missed shiny at school. Every thing was so dull and damp. My Mum
had large lamps everywhere velvet curtains and just warmth.
I adored my brother he was my hero. I couldn’t wait to see
him. My darling Dad was always at work, until I was eleven and then he had that
dreadful life changing accident down the mine. The pit fell on top of him
almost killing him. Certainly, changing his life for the worst. Leaving my
heart broken and a feeling of sadness in our family as that year, everything
changed. My dear brother married so left home, and I was given the news that
crushed me. I had to go to another boarding school this time so far from home
even weekends were not possible, though my parents tried their best to get me
back home as many times as they could during term time.
We moved house that year too. Into a brand-new house that
was a council house. So cheap rent. I said goodbye to my friends from school
who were more like family to me as we didn’t have our own families, I guess we
thought of each other as brothers and sisters. It was that year I said goodbye
to my first little boyfriend from school too. My now Husband. We were heartbroken.
And there was no way in those days we could have kept contact with each other
as I have written about before, I didn’t know Braille, and my love was and
sadly still is, blind. He obviously couldn’t write print to me and there were
no such things in those days as computers or mobile phones. But thank goodness
he was my destiny and we managed to find one another many many years later.
But I still remember that lovely warm feeling of home. My roots.
And I will never forget those days.
People used to scrub their front doorsteps and paint them
white. Neighbours used to chat over the fence or in our case the wall that to
me was so tall but looking back I remember my Mum could see her neighbours head
to chat to, so mustn’t have been that tall, I must have just been shorter than
the wall.
The rag and bone man would come around in his horse and
cart. Even in those days I felt so sorry for the horses. The old cart and horse
now have been replaced with a van and a tannoy on the top so the men or man,
can shout through. Now, ask me what he shouts? I wouldn’t be able to tell you. But
in the old days… he would shout any rags. Any rags. Can you imagine that now?
it would be 36-inch TV’s? Lap tops?
If we gave them anything, they would return our kindness
with swaps of clothes pegs. Haha. Gosh, how times have changed?
I remember getting 10 pence from my Mum to go to the shop. It
was a paper shop I guess now days they would be news agents. I had to use the
crossing to go there. I remember seeing the huge thick white zebra lines you
crossed near. I would skip over, not wanting to stand on the spaces though they
were the same level as the white ones, in my head they were dangerous rivers
you had to avoid. I would run everywhere so as soon as I was across, I would run
to the shop. My vision was perfect then as long as I stood still. As soon as I moved,
I saw nothing. Try telling a child that? I had many bruises and cuts as a
little girl until I learned I wasn’t the child I wanted to be free, I had to
slow right down. But in those days, I was still learning.
I would take my penny’s into the German lady’s shop. She was
known in the village to be mean. Her sweets/candy was so much more money than
it should have been. But it was a village, we had no choice.
For my money I would get a bubble gum, a sherbet dip and
loads of black jacks chews as well as a flying saucer and even a small chocolate
bar called a milky way. They used to be 2 and a half pence I think they are
about 60p now.
For those in the UK, can you remember half penny’s? wow, and
now days we just have penny’s and 2 pence but I bet we won’t in five years’
time?
I would come out of the shop where the scary lady was, with
my huge bag of treats. My friends and I would gather to see what each other had
bought. There was one girl we used to try to avoid. Shame really as she was
very nice, but she used to buy glue rather than sweets. She would go with her
own kind of people and do what she needed to do. So sad. Innocently we would
dare to cross the road to go back as it was so much faster to avoid the
crossing. My friends would run over. I would be stuck. I dare not have followed
them as I knew I would be the one who would get hit by a car. So, when it was quiet,
I would run to try to catch up with my pals. At that point no one really knew
about my eyesight. I guess they knew I was always in the media, but they didn’t
really understand why, as to them I was just Fiona who sometimes they had to wait
for, other times they knew I would turn up eventually.
I never got lost. We would run free in the fields and get chased
by the farmers. We would stupidly race the old chug a chug coal train and get
shouted at by the driver. We would pick apples from Granny’s gardens and pick
flowers from the pit managers competition entries. But that was as naughty as
we would be. No one swore or had fights. Not my circle of friends.
It could be cold, and I would rush home to get warm, always
there would be food in our house. Even a hot milky cup of coffee. In summers we
would wait for the ice cream van to play his tune. We would queue again deciding
on what we would buy. Pictures of lovely lollies on the van, always in vibrant colours.
Would we buy the tiny tub of ice cream with the bubble gum
ball at the bottom, or the multi coloured lolly pop with those hundreds and
thousands of tiny dots of hard colours that were really sweet and when we bit
into them, we had ice cream inside. Or, would we go for the chocolate ice lolly
with bright green substance inside. Funny feet, a huge pink foot shaped lolly
made from ice cream or a sugar cornet with ice cream and a chocolate flake with
monkeys’ blood. Or, raspberry sauce as it was also known as. But only to the grownups.
To us, it was monkeys’ blood.
In summer would we rush home to get a cold drink of orange
squash in a tall plastic beaker and filled with ice from the plastic tray in
the freezer. Turn on our heal and back out again to play until we were hungry,
but when we were hungry we didn’t dare go home as we knew it was getting dark,
so our parents wouldn’t let us back out I remember kids younger than us being
called in. in those days parents usually Mums would open their front doors and
shout the name of the child they needed to come home. If the front didn’t work,
they would go to the back door. Whoever heard the name of the child, would
search for that child to tell them their Mum is shouting for them. And they
always went home, but we would hear the cries as they had to go in and they
would beg their parents to let them out just a little longer, but they never
won.
Gosh, those were the days, now we would text or phone. Or our
children wouldn’t be too far away, well unless we knew exactly where they were.
Where we live, we just don’t hear children playing out any
more. Not in streets. Our back lanes were always full of children kicking
footballs or playing with a tennis ball. We girls, used to get a pair of our
Mums nylon tights and cut the leg out of them. The funny thing was, we used to
always put the spare left-over leg back in their draw. I mean, what good would
that have been? We would place a tennis ball in the foot of the tight leg and
play a game against the wall of someone’s house, until they would come out and
shout at us… I loved that game as I never lost the ball. Where as when we used
to play pass with a small ball, I was pretty stuffed.
Children riding up and down the lane on their bikes, giving
each other rides. Wow, what do our children do now?
My past is a very sad one but my memories of my family fills
me with love s well s sadness for what I wish I had now. I just hope one day I will
be given the chance to once again have that kind of family where I feel I belong
and there is so much love and support. Support from me to them and just to be
there.
I wonder what life will be like for my Sons children? I will
try to give them as much of a life I had. Love, good food, and most of all, a
place they can feel safe and warm.
© Fiona Cummings
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