Article by Dorothy Lear
In memory, you can be any age. You can become just a child again. Childhood stays with us in snatches here and there, all our days, and shapes our lives too. The happy times, sad times, good times, and bad times are just a few as a stroll is taken down Memory Lane.
Dorothy lived in a terrace house in a rather busy road, which could be described as ‘country’. She was one of a growing family, which grew in number as well as size. One day, someone gave her sister, Vera, a bicycle. They were called ‘fairy cycles’ because they were so small. Vera’s had no pedals, and was an old one, but was loved and played with because hardly anyone had a cycle in those days. The house had a small yard, and a big garden, with a path down the middle, which sloped a bit. It was neatly cultivated with vegetables, rhubarb, flowers of every kind, and a small shed. The cycle was kept there, when not being used.
One memorable day, Vera was playing on it with another sister, Winnie. They were taking turns to sit on it, and the other pushed and it went down the path. Dorothy could not play on it. She was too little, so she watched. It was Winnie’s turn, and Vera was cross because she had not gone all the way down the path. She pushed Winnie hard, and she couldn’t keep her balance. She fell off in the celery trench, breaking some of the plants. Vera laughed and so did Dorothy. It was funny to see Winnie trying to balance the cycle, and then falling on her back, legs in the air, lying in the celery trench. Winnie was not amused — far from it — she was muddy, and mad! And she knew Dad would be cross when he came home from work.
“In memory, you can be any age”
Winnie and Vera started to scrap, and were chasing each other round the garden when Vera, who was afraid of nothing, picked up a worm. Winnie was afraid of them and she turned and ran the other way, with Vera hot-foot behind her, now in fun only. When Vera got closer to Winnie she threw the worm at her. To the horror of us all it went down Winnie’s dress. Winnie became almost hysterical. Vera tried to help her. After laughing a bit, of course, she got a good smacking from Mum, and had to stay in.
Dad didn’t go mad about the broken celery, but they were not allowed to play with the cycle anymore. It caused far too much trouble!
Another little scene flits acros my mind. On bonfire day, we would clear out all the rubbish everywhere. Paper, old toys, wood and trees given to older brother. It was taken into the back garden, we would pile it all up and make a guy from old clothes. Then wait excitedly for Dad, or older brother, Jack, to come home with the fireworks.
It was a real treat night. A rare occasion because we were allowed to stay up a bit and go outside when it was dark. We always had to be in before dark, normally. Jack would light the bonfire, and nextdoor would have one too. Nearly everyone with children had one, but all were in their own backyards.
We would watch the guy burn, the smoke and flames shoot up, and curl. Then the fireworks were brought out. The children were not allowed to touch them, never mind light them. Dorothy was afraid of the bangers, and would stand down the yard, and clutch Mum.
When the Roman candles, spinning wheels, and others were lit, she would stand at the front, watching all starry-eyed. They lasted a lot longer then, than they do now, but it still wasn’t long enough for her. She would stand open-mouthed, eyes popping, weave all kind of magic in her head.
When these were finished, we would all go back round the fire. Mum would bring out roast potatoes, and chesnuts.
We would eat, sing and laugh a lot., before we would go in, smallest first, have a wash, and then to bed, a very happy, tired family. Next day, we would go round the garden to collect the empty cases to play shop, or some other game, with them. We loved bonfire day; it was a red letter day.
On and on the memories flow, changing scenes and moods all too quickly to keep up with. These are a few as we strolled again down Memory Lane, looking at snatches of childhood.
Dorothy Lear was a voluntary tutor at the Willfield Open Learning Centre, Bentilee, and liked to ‘keep her mind active’ by writing, her work appearing not only in “The Bentilean” but also “The Wilfield Reader’s Digest”, the student magazine I edited for the ‘Centre.
Copyright The Bentilean 1999, 2016
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