Time is rushing past ...

I cannot believe that time is rushing so fast, we have completed the makeover of 205, I have ordered the last plants from Thompson & Morgan - Huchera and Wallflower. These will go round the lawn in the front so at least I will have something colourful to look at!

We wander over to our new garden today - slash and burn!

All this means that I can go on a train trip on my birthday, dining first class - maybe I'll be a lady at last (at least for the day!)

I have been trying new recipes over the weekend, Date, Apple & Walnut cake on Saturday and Moroccan Meat Balls yesterday. The cake is a keeper so that is good, all apples from my tree will go into cakes now. The Moroccan recipe uses up my spice and also mince so I shall add the recipe to my list. It is good to be back in the kitchen again, we are talking of getting the unit so hopefully soon I can redecorate Yeah!!

Continuing:-

Dad always left the house at about 0815 every morning, my father believed in being punctual – his criterion was ‘better to be five minutes early than one minute late’.  I think this was drummed into him during his army days but we ‘all fell’ with this routine as well, often sitting at bus station for a good hour before we had to leave!!! 

Anyway off he would go, in full uniform and open up the bottom gate, as it was know, undoing padlocks and chains and opening wide the gates.  He would then walk up the hill to his hut, unlock and light the fire.  This fire was a small wood burning stove on the centre of the one wall, in his ‘office’.  It took an age to light so while waiting for this to get going he would set off down to the

Station Road

gates, go through to the paper shop, get his paper and milk, cigarettes and anything else he needed and then open up the gates.  Then he went across the park to the lower gate (same procedure of undoing padlocks and chains), up the hill to Redhouse Lane – open the gate – and round the football pitch (Cricket in the summer) – never across the pitch – to the top gate, which was only a single entry and then to the Manor Road gate which was the official entrance and back to his hut. 

By the time this routine had been completed, the fire was going strong – not that you would know as it was all contained within the stove - and the hut was all warmed up, time to put the kettle on.  On top of the stove was a round plate which covered the fire and, when removed, the wood went into the hole.  A small window was at the bottom of the oven through which shone a small light.   Dad never left his hut at night without putting all the ashes outside, making a path around the hut and to the ‘changing rooms’.  He then laid his paper rolls and wood (or sometimes coke if he would afford it!) inside ready for the morning.  So in the morning, he opened the window and lit the paper and then left to open up.  On his return to the hut he would put a kettle of water on the plate at the top to the oven and get the pot ready with the tea.  If I was with him, two cups would go on the table, the milk bottle and a plate.  Then he would sit down to read his paper while he waited for the kettle to boil.  Then we would have a cup of tea and a sandwich for breakfast, sometimes we had a bowl of cornflakes but that wasn’t very often, there wasn’t much money to go round so that was a special treat.  It was always exciting being in his hut and I wish that I could convey the feelings of it to you – it smelt of Dad, it was special to him and me because it was very rare that Mam ever came and there were no other women, at least not when I was there. 

I used to spend all day there in the park and in the winter it was really special – there was no electric so he had a lamp.  This lamp ran on paraffin, a strange smelling purple liquid which always amazed me but Dad always seemed to know what he and it was about!  He filled the container on the bottom of the lamp and then, after replacing the next bit, lit the wick which was a round piece of mesh but very brittle and under no circumstances was I allowed to touch it.  This had to be replaced quite often but why I never knew and there was a lot of swearing attached to this process - probably because it was getting dark and the office was not the most well lit place!!!  Anyhow the light emitted from this lamp was soooo bright, I was unable to look at it and it lit up all the corners of the hut.  Dad did sometimes hung it up on a hook in the centre of the ceiling but most times just had it on the table.  In the winter it was always dark before we left at night although the park was supposed to close at sunset (or 21.30 in the summer – dependant on Dad!!?!)  Dad would light the lamp and we would read for a bit longer, we both had library books (that’s another story!) and then came the locking up.

Dad would lock up the hut, leaving the lamp on, and then we would go down to the lower gates and the morning’s work went in reverse.  The chains were placed round the gates and the padlock locked into them, sometimes I put the key in the padlock while Dad held the chains or we reversed, Dad put the key in the padlock and I held the chains.  Then over to the bottom gate, round to

Station Road

, over to the lower gates, up to

Redhouse Lane

, round the pitch and back to the hut.  Dad always did it this way because the way down the hill to the bottom gates and round to

Redhouse Lane

gate was very uneven territory, very hilly, dunes and holes and manhole covers.  Dad didn’t mow there very often, so it was really wild.  We needed every bit of daylight to negotiate this land but how Dad could gage how much daylight was left was beyond me but just as we got back to the hut it would be almost dark; now of course, with age and experience I realise how.  When I left Stechford, swimming baths had started to be built there and I was very sad at losing all that wilderness….. but why   ….. another story.  When we got back to the hut, we had to rake out the ashes, roll up the newspapers, fill the bucket with wood or coke, wash of the muck, pack our bags (and any left over milk!!) and put on our coats.  Dad then locked up and we went down the hill and out through the bottom gate, chained and padlocked, and then we went home, always together and me trying to keep up with him.

A day of rain ...........

OOh dear! Can't do the Train garden, cos it's absolutely pouring with rain. It might have waited until we had cleared all the garden!!
Spent a lazy day stitching and sorting out my next project - will have to start a stitching blog but what to call it - that is the question .............................

To continue here:-

As mentioned in a previous posting, Dad was very proud of the Park and took good care of it.  A tractor used to come once a fortnight and mow the grass but the rough land at the bottom of the park was left to grow wild.  Dad used a large petrol driven mower with a large blade at ground level in front of it to mow this land and he could often be seen struggling up and down the lumps of the ground and by the sides of the pathways pushing this very loud and dirty mower.  Sometimes the mower would stop and Dad would have to sort it out, clearing the grass and weeds caught in the blades or go fetch some more petrol to fill it up.  One day as he was clearing the weeds, whether it was in gear or not I do not know – I have the story only second hand as there was no one there but Dad at the time - but the blades started moving and mowed his middle finger on his left hand clear off at the first joint.  I will tell you how it happened but first I need to say that I was unaware of all this drama – I can remember Dad having stitches in his finger but anything else I am oblivious to.  As far as I am concerned Dad always had a gammy finger on his left hand.

Back to the story – Dad managed to switch the machine off, pick up his finger and get back to his hut.  He wrapped the end of his finger in a clean handkerchief, he applied a first aid dressing to what was left of his finger, put on his coat, locked his hut and went out of the

Station Road

gate.  He used one of the shop’s phone to tell Mr McDuggan what had happened so that the Park could be closed and then caught the bus to the Accident Hospital.

The hospital stitched his finger back on and sent him home; I can vaguely remember him wearing a sling for a short time, but then life went back to normal. 

Years later, Dad told me all this and said that after a few weeks, when he went back to the hospital, they told him that the finger was not setting right and re broke it so that left the tip sitting at right angles to the rest of his finger.  (He jokingly used to say that he didn’t mind as it was perfect for picking his nose and Mam would say “Oh! Harry!!”)

An Update .................

Yippee! I have found my blog - it has been so long since I posted that I thought I had lost this. I shall update now with current 'memories in the making' as well as past memories.
Although I have now retired from paid employment I find the days going so fast and so busy - amazing! I thought retirement was peace and quiet, slower lifestyle, long days and nothing to do ........................ not so ................

To continue:-

Dad cared about that park, so much so that he regularly mowed and marked out the pitches for the football teams, marking all the lines with a white wash of lime.  This powder was mixed into a bucket of water and then poured into a small machine, it was all very messy and I was never allowed any where near this procedure.  The lime would burn if it touched skin and once on clothing etc. it made a right mess.  Dad would then test the machine to ensure that the lime mix was running through correctly and leaving the right thickness of line.  I did try to do it once and Dad was very kind to me but even I could see that the line was not the best.  He used to mark the inner circles first and then the outer lines, it used to look great – such a shame the footballers had to spoil them!!   Matches were usually held on Saturdays and Sundays and were well supported.  The Teams were always given hot water to wash in afterwards, Dad carrying buckets of the stuff into the changing rooms just before the game finished.  I don’t know what happened inside, where the water went or how it was laid out as I was never allowed in there – strictly boys only!!

My brother Tony played in one of the leagues not only in football but also in Cricket.  I can remember that sometimes they came back to ours afterwards, particularly the cricket team, and Mam would make pots and pots of tea, using jam jars as cups because we had run out of crockery!!!  Great fun was had by all and Mam’s cakes and pies just disappeared.  Did I say that the sun was always shining?!!!!  These young men would spill out of the house and into the back yard, laughing and teasing and we all had fun.  Sometimes Frieda and I would wander up to

Glebe Farm Road

park to watch the football and we would shout support for Tony’s team (he played Goalkeeper) and this is where my love of these games came from.  I remember one time Mam had to wash all the football kit and piles of these smelly, dirty clothes came into the house, I really don’t know how they arrived or went but Mam’s face was a picture.  She had to fill the boiler several times and I did as much mangling as I could.  Not fun really, as it took a lot of Mam’s time and with her back not very good, it was a big effort for her but she had a willing heart.  She never complained about these things, all the baking that went on for Tony’s friends and now the washing for the team, thank goodness she didn’t’ do the Cricket Team!!!!

So this afternoon I have found my blog - yippee!!!

I thought that I had lost this site because it has been so long since I posted.

But now I am back! ..............

I shall recall my past as and when I can ...............

Promise!!!

xx