My 40's childhood

  Although the second world war started when I was twenty months old, my memories are not of food shortages and rationing, as it is for many people of my age.  I know we didn’t have a lot of food; nowadays we might even consider it a Spartan diet, but we didn’t starve.  My mother had the fortunate ability to make a meal out of anything, or almost nothing!  Normally it was meat and two veg; only I didn’t like meat!  All I remember of meat in those days was fat and gristle, which made me gag.  My mother in desperation to get me to eat, tried to tempt, cajole and threaten, making me sit at table for hours in a vain bid to overcome my stubborn behaviour.  Once she got so mad she took my new bus conductor’s outfit that I wanted to play with and threw the smart peaked hat into the fire.  I was shocked as I watched it burn!  But I still wouldn’t eat. Eventually in despair she would just give me potatoes and vegetables with plenty of meat gravy, which seemed to do me no harm.  I think I was just a natural vegetarian!

Of course my mother was only doing her best to nurture her first child, while she may have secretly yearned to have a career and life of her own.  She did confide in me when I was older, that she had married Norman because it was expected of her.  Apparently she’d wanted to take a job in London as receptionist in a big Hotel, as she was a trained telephone operator, but family and cultural expectations over-ruled her, if she even dared express her revolutionary desires!  My Mum was elegantly beautiful and I can still recall her fashionably styled dark hair and the touch and texture of her blue-grey crepe dress as she tucked me into bed before Daddy came home from work, with a necklace of red, black and silver that my daughter Julie now wears, or one of green glass and gold that my other daughter Anne has, dangling over me as she kissed me goodnight.  My Dad would be at work all day, but when he came home he’d come up to say goodnight before I obediently went to sleep.
When I was maybe eighteen months old Mum briefly went back to work, leaving me with our next-door neighbour, Mrs Ruscoe, an older lady who had two sons, both in the forces. (I became concerned about one of these young men who was in the Navy, because when I asked if he could swim and was told he couldn’t, I was shocked and considered this a serious oversight.)  The arrangement with Mrs Ruscoe must have been short-lived.  I remember that while she left me in her immaculate lounge to eat a bowl of porridge, the thought of which made me feel sick, I carefully put a spoon of the offending mixture on each arm and seat of every armchair in the room.  Did I do this to ensure that Mum didn’t desert me again?  She probably got her mother to look after me instead while she continued to work, and this would have been fine with me.  What she did about porridge I’m not sure, but I’ve never liked it.  I seem to remember my main objection was to lumpy porridge but would reluctantly eat it when cooked to a good texture and embellished with a generous dollop of Lyle’s golden syrup.  Later on I remember Force Cornflakes for breakfast, when I would read all the information on the packet with its stylised 18th Century soldier marching stiffly across the front.  Mum taught me to read and write before I went to school. Education was paramount in this family who’d been “pulling themselves up by their own bootstraps” in the attempt to advance in work and society for generations.
So its  no surprise that I've always loved to write about my experiences and if you enjoy these reminiscences I hope you'll leave a comment.

REFLECTIONS

Mum in Llandudno

You may, or may not, have noticed that I've not been posting regularly for some time, but I have been thinking about my life as a Travelogue... not just travelling in a literal sense, but my journey through life. Being born before the second World War I've lived through possibly the most momentous time in history, as the world has been changing for not just one part of the world, but globally. 

My travels began at an early age as my parents were quite adventurous for that time and would take me, secured in a baby carrier, on their hikes in the Peak District and possibly North Wales, which were quite accessible by train from Salford where we lived. However, that was short-lived, as by the time I was two, the war had started.

When I was three years old, my Dad joined up, volunteering for the RAF instead of waiting to be called up as a soldier.  On his return from training in South Africa, my Mother rented out our home and we moved in with her Mother, my Grandma, so as to be free to travel around the country to wherever my Dad was stationed.  When she knew at which airfield he was stationed, she would go by train, bus and hitching lifts to the nearest village to find a local householder that would take her and young child as lodgers. On her return, she would pack up a suitcase and off we’d go to one of Manchester’s Railway Stations to take a long, slow train or two, to some remote part of the country.  The airfields were mostly situated in the Midlands and eastern side of the country and our destinations ranged from the tiny shire of Rutland to Lincolnshire, Shropshire and up to the wilds of Northumberland.

I believe these experiences either formed or reinforced my love of travel. Of course, I could have hated it; leaving the security and comforts of home, to sit in a grimy, crowded carriage for several hours, breathing in soot-laden air from the coal fired steam engine whenever the heavy sash window or door was opened, to arrive in the middle of nowhere, often late at night and put to sleep in a cold unfamiliar bed in someone else’s house.  The fact is though, I really enjoyed the adventure.  I do remember waking in the morning to the joy of exploring a small, quiet village with a church, school and village shop, surrounded by fields, woods and gently rolling hills; such a contrast to the dirty, crowded streets of the city.  That’s the way I would always draw it; the sun rising over green hills.

I witnessed a way of life virtually unchanged for centuries but this rural England that I saw as a child would soon be gone as modernisation swept through the country after the war.

I write these memories for my own benefit and the interest of my family, but if you enjoy these reminiscences, please feel free to leave a comment and watch out for the next instalment.  

patricia@who2lifeprocess.co.uk

My latest adventure, as you can see, is being dis-abled enough to qualify for a mobility shopping scooter in Asda!  As this is the first time I've had the opportunity to drive one of these, which are common in Llandudno... the geriatric capital of North Wales... I think its worth commemorating with a blog on mobility! I trust no-one has an objection to this description of the place where I am very happy to live, but the fact is that the flatness of the town is ideal for disabled and elderly visitors who throng the main street in wheelchairs and mobilty scooters.
This form of transport is great freedom for those, myself inclded at the present, who are no longer able to walk far, cycle or even drive, although there are those killjoys who complain in the local press about the 'danger' of being mown down by over-enthusiastic users!  These are no doubt the same persons who refuse to allow cyclists on the long, broad and generally empty expanse of Promenade, seeing danger in every pair of wheels! 
I realise I'm beginning to sound like a grumpy old woman and I can certainly identify with anyone who complains about the attitude of able-bodied people who seem to be oblivious to those making their way through crowds just below eyelevel.  In negotiating my way through Asda, carefully avoiding bumping into others, I was constantly blocked by clumps (or chumps) of shoppers who appeared to see me, but didn't move out of my way. It was as if they were looking through me... as if I were a mirage... and I certainly began to feel invisible... stopped in the middle of an aisle as people flowed by me unconsciously, like a stream around an immobile rock. With Julie walking ahead of me there was no problem... they could see her ok!
Actually, my tactic was to raise myvoice in a cheery salute... 'Watch out... can't find my hooter!'  and 'Hello... coming through', which usually had the desired effect although even this sometimes fell on deaf ears.
It was a very interesting experience that I hope to repeat on a hired scooter to go around town when the weather improves! Then I'll find the lack of dropped curbs and other hazards that face wheeled users, as I know from caring for disabled people some years ago! Watch this space!!

USE IT OR LOSE IT!

Inside the dome of St Paul's

As a Life Coach and Therapist, I always advise my clients to… “use it or lose it!” but I have to admit that last year I almost lost it! I always thought of myself as fit and healthy… walking, cycling and swimming quite regularly … but last winter, what with the cold, snow and icy conditions, all I wanted to do was retreat into my cosy den like an old bear and hibernate, with the result that, with weakened legs, the knees began to give way.  Not good for someone of my age… I was having trouble getting up two flights of stairs to my flat… and it can happen so easily! 

So, for the past few months I’ve been doing as much as I can to strengthen those wasted muscles and weak tendons, which is taking much time and effort, blood, sweat and tears.  

 After a little physiotherapy, which didn’t do a lot except cost me, some acupuncture, which helped to reduce the pain, plenty of walking, fantastic Thai massage (in Thailand), weekly Bollywood dancing, which helped loosen up all the stiff joints and finally the rigours of a Keep Fit Boot Camp 3 times a week, and now weekly Yoga class, which I’ll be keeping up for the foreseeable future.  

It was scary for me to realise how unfit I’d become, but now I know that even at my age it’s possible to regain fitness, when you have the motivation to do it.  I have no desire to end my days on a Zimmer or riding an electric buggy into town, tempting as that may be!  

This was only half-way up!

I’m happy to report that last weekend on a trip to London with my daughter, I was able to climb over 600 steps to the top of St Paul’s and back down, with nothing more serious than wobbly legs for a few minutes after.   I’m very proud of that achievement and intend to get even fitter this year. 
 

Anything’s possible… so take heart and believe you can achieve anything you really want!   

At Greenwich I have one foot in the West and one in the East.

On the Greewich Meridian

New Year Resolutions?

So, we're 2 weeks into the New Year... and what have you done so far to make a quantum leap in your life?
Most of us want change of some kind at some time of life, but usually expect it to happen magically, instigated by others, so we can take advantage of the change without actually having to do anything.  When the change we want is in relationships, we often expect the other party to change their attitudes or behaviour, because we just don't believe its up to us to change anything about ourselves.
So what really is the secret of successfully making the changes that will help fulfil your desires? If you know anything at all about The Law of Attraction, you'll understand that the secret is not just to pray or day-dream... imagining what you want... although that's a part of it, but to be so focussed on your goal that you are planning strategies and putting your dreams into action.  Think about all the planning and preparation that goes into making a movie... but if the Producer doesn't take charge of the production and the Director never gets round to directing the actors... there would be nothing to see at the cinema. 
You are the Author of your life-script, with your ideas and inspiration... as the Producer of your dreams, you are in charge of the planning and strategies... while the Actors are all the parts of you wanting to express themselves... and as the Director of your life, your call for ACTION turns those potential aspirations into reality.

So don't just sit there wishing... get up and take..  ACTION!

Wishing you a Stress-Free Xmas

As we move inexorably through the festive season it’s possible that you may begin to feel overwhelmed and anxious. Having a good time can take a lot of effort and the strain of giving out joy and goodwill as well as providing all the food and drink can begin to take its toll if we choose to take on that responsibility.  So if you begin to feel stressed, take a few minutes to de-stress… the loo can offer temporary sanctuary from the chaos of kids or drunken relatives! Focus on what you’re feeling and locate it, wherever it is in your body… maybe your stomach feels jittery or uncomfortable… your chest might feel heavy, restricting your breathing… or tears threaten to overflow… and what about the ache in your shoulders?  Simply take a few long deep breaths… relaxing your shoulders and all your muscles with every breath… and imagine how you can send love to the part of you that’s hurting.  Sounds silly?  Just take a few moments to do it and see what happens! 

So have yourself a very Merry and Relaxing Christmas!