"I got me christening card and me bible and all that. I was five when I was christenend. I had three or four behind me, following me like, a little baby and I think there was three others between me and the baby, we was all christened together. It didn’t make me cry; they dinna pick me up either, they put some water on me forehead.
O aye, there used to be a lot of us there on a Sunday morning at Sunday School, that’s the only time we ever got dressed up. When we got home mother said take all them clean clothes off, put the dirty ones on, go out and play now. I had a little pillover, mother had knitted, short sleeves like, I think I was about five year when I first had it. I give it up when I was about ten. I used to pull it down, but I grew out of it like, over five years.
Mother’d knit a sleeveless pillover in a night. Knit the back, do the front, then sew it all up. Her was quick, never looked at it like, the needles was going but you never see her look at it. We used to hold the wool out and roll it all up for her.
We made a fair few carpets too. We used to cut the cloth to a certain length then you’d pull it through the mat. We did a hell of a lot of them for mother. My eldest sister went to Bridgenorth when her first left school. Her went to a carpet factory and her used to bring these offcut carpets and the wool like and we used to do it all with wool like, and patterns too; used to keep us busy at night. No telly then. One’d be doing one pattern, the other’d be doing another.
Could be about eight of us living at home at one time; three in a bed; me older brother and me younger brother. But he had more sense because he used to sleep in the middle and come winter time he used to pull the blankets and there’d be none on your side and the other brother used to sleep against the wall, so he could never lose his like, and I’d be on the outside and I’d be the one with nothing on me. We’d be tugging away there. trying to get covered.
We went to Felindre once and we stopped the night at me mum’s mother. She was in bed like, her was getting on, her couldn’t get out of bed like and her’d have this stick and her’d be banging on the floor like and we’d be down below, listening. Her was just like a witch. The bedroom was all one big room with curtains like, and we stopped this night and there was eight of us in one bed, and her was there round the corner, grumbling and mumbling like, just like a bloody witch.
Me dad went with his brother in law fishing, salmon fishing like, and they didn’t get caught. Next morning, early light, we get back to Weston, that’s down the dale; we went to school at Compton. Of course, when we got home, we missed the bloody bus. The bus used to take us about two and a half miles and then we used to have to walk about another mile to school. So we all had to walk down the road to school like; you had to, you couldn’t stay at home like because you'd missed the bus. We all walked together and we got to school.
We had to walk another mile when the bus dropped us off, there was a happle tree on the right hand side; of course, being kids, we used to pick up sticks and chuck them in the tree like to get the apples to fall and catch ‘em, and if it had been a windy night you’d go the next morning and there’d be umpteen sticks in the road, all the sticks that had got stuck in the tree. Same as the conker tree it was; we were always there chucking our sticks up to get the conkers down. In the village we had a big hole in the hedge and there was a horchard off the road. Mrs. Dollor owned it and us kids, we dared one another to go, you know, go on, get through the hole, and get some apples like. I mean if we’d a gone and ast her, her’d have given us some apples. But it was just for the dare like, we had to dare ourselves like. We were right buggers for pinching."
final instalment tomorrow.
I am so enjoying this glimpse into Gardener's (very hard) life. Thank you.
ReplyDeleteThese are wonderful recollections from your gardener. I thought that it sounded like stories from the last century – then I realized that, indeed, they are. He must have been a kid in the 1940s, no? He must be a funny man to listen to, although I think that now I am used to the slower drawl from the South, it might be hard for me to understand him.
ReplyDeleteFriko...Please tell me who Gardener is in your posts and also Beloved. I've only read for a while and always there is confusion when I read about these people..I love the way you tell Gardener's story...it's as if he's saying the words that are written here.
ReplyDeleteBalisha
Wonderful reminiscences from a vanished world. My grandmother could knit like that - very fast and barely looking at her work. I can remember us girls sleeping two to a single bed when we had visitors, but never three.
ReplyDeleteLoved reading this, Friko - looking forward to the next installment
ReplyDeleteWonderful memories of a time gone forever. I'm reading backwards, so I think there's another post of Gardener's story to look forward to.
ReplyDeleteYou are a recording angel, Friko
ReplyDeleteI don't have such stark memories myself, but I do remember my mother knitting me many sweaters and cardigans when I was little and always being the best dressed little girl in the classroom.
ReplyDeleteI love reading this; it's like I'm in another world.
ReplyDelete=)
I came back to read the comments to your blog and now I feel “old.” Some of your readers mention that their mother and grandmother used to knit like this. Well, every year I knit while watching the Tour de France on TV and I don’t need to look at my knitting – I watch the Tour! So I must be classed as an “ancient” one.
ReplyDeleteYou capture the voice so well. Fascinating to hear these stories. I've only just come in on the second installment; will catch up when I'm back in town and on broadband. Here it's very slow dialup so I can't keep up with posts very easily.
ReplyDeleteha. your drop off by the bus and walk brings back memories for me...we used to have a walk of about a mile...and had our own bit of fun along the way...ha...rode our sleds down to meet the bus in the snow some days...that way they were ready when we got home....
ReplyDeleteThis is so fun--like picking up some Roddy Doyle and enjoying the voice.
ReplyDeleteheerlijke verhalen ik zit gewoon mee te genieten.
ReplyDeleteI just read this and the previous one - interesting to hear Gardener's take in his life.
ReplyDeleteLovely writing, I adore how you capture Gardener's spirit, what made him so to speak, He must truly treasure working for you.
ReplyDeleteXO
WWW
Love this -- so wonderfully written! What a lovely gift it is to us this holiday season, Friko!
ReplyDeleteJust enjoying catching up with your advent diary. I especially love gardener's tales. Does he know you've made him famous? Wishing you and yours a happy and stress-free Christmas.
ReplyDeleteLove how you've captured Gardener's voice!
ReplyDeleteReal slice of life! Have a wonderful Christmas and a happy New Year!
ReplyDeleteThis series is such a wonderful trip back in time. I especially enjoyed his last line, "We were right buggers for pinching."
ReplyDeleteJulie
Hmmm. Wondering if my other comment took. Well, if it didn't you'll see another soon!
ReplyDeleteNo, it didn't! OK -- I was saying before that these are incredible and I so admire your use of language and capturing Gardener's turn of phrase, including the dropped (or extra) 'h'. These stories remind me of Dylan Thomas or Spoon River Anthology and I really, really do hope you get these to a publisher. They are marvelous!
ReplyDeleteHi Friko - I can totally relate .. especially to the apple and conker stories ... we used to have lads creeping into the orchard (we were lucky enough to have one) and grabbing some apples - there were plenty though. But certainly weren't happy at being caught - ticked off and sent packing, but I'm sure we'd have shared. Then conkers too - my father gave the village some conker trees to go round the common - probably through health and safety now .. they've been cut down! I must look when I'm back in that neck of the woods ..
ReplyDeleteLove your writing on Gardener's story telling ... cheers Hilary
Love these! They remind me of stories my mother used to tell, and to some extent of my own childhood, although we were more "townies", living a mile outside the town.
ReplyDeleteAmazing how they walked to school when they missed the bus...wouldn't be nowadays! there would be a note written, and at best a request to give them the homework they had missed!
T'was a different era, better in many ways, but a hard life,, especially for women.