Hymermut
2024-11-04 04:01:35 UTC
DEALT CARDS Tony Haynes Nov 2024
When I was about six to nine, every school holiday my parents would dump
me on Aunty Ada and Uncle Bob who lived in Rose Cottage, a terraced two
up two down house at the top of Scots Hill, Croxley Green, narrowly
missed by a landmine in WW2. The bomb site, four houses along, became a
car park for the local school.
Aunty Ada was my paternal grandfather’s sister. She was an ‘ample’
woman, who treated me far better than my own parents. She never had
children of her own. I can remember being ‘absorbed’ into those huge
breasts when she cuddled me. It was very comforting. Uncle Bob was okay
too. He was a bit old fashioned and strict, but always fair. He was the
fire station foreman at nearby Dickinson’s Mill.
They had no electricity in Rose cottage, only gas. The lamp lighter
would come around with his pole to light the street lamp outside their
house. Aunty Ada was a demon with her gas poker on a long reinforced
hose, when lighting the range and the copper fires. She would wield it
like a breaker’s flaming torch. I kept well out of the way.
A galvanised metal bath hung on a hook outside the back door. Every
Friday it was filled with warm water from the hopper, and I was dumped
in it, and scrubbed. I mean scrubbed too, with a scrubbing brush. I
certainly came out of that bath clean, and sore!
A tea pot was on the range. It was never emptied. Tea leaves and boiling
water would be added at times. Uncle Bob liked his tea strong, with
evaporated milk and three sugars, so I had to have the same. Luckily I
was a 'fluoride child' and still have my own teeth.
The only electrical item in the cottage was the ‘accumulator’ that
powered the old ‘church window’ wireless. Uncle Bob would put on a
collar and tie and light his pipe to listen to the news read by Ivor
Lidell, who wore a dress suite when reading it. Woe betide me if I even
made a noise during the news.
Across the road was a small garage next to a pub, ‘The Sportsman’. Uncle
Bob had convinced Aunty Ada that he had to wait for the accumulator to
be recharged. In fact it was an exchange. Sometimes it was a one pint
accumulator, and sometimes it was a two pint accumulator. I had to sit
on the pub doorstep with a 3d packet of Smith’s Crisps, salt in a twist
of blue paper, waiting for him.
I slept in a small unheated bedroom above the scullery. Every night I
was sent upstairs with a candle. At night I could hear the winding gear
being dropped at the nearby locks as the Dickinson’s boats went through,
carrying pulp from Brentford, and paper reels on their return.
Every day Aunty Ada would tell me not to go near the canal. Of course
every day off I went down through Croxley Woods to Walkers lock, and
then along the towpath to Ricky locks. I even managed to cadge a ride on
the counter of a working boat a couple of times.
I guess that’s how my love of boats and canals began. I joined the Royal
Navy at aged 15, and went through their training establishment, HMS
Ganges as a boy. Twelve years later I ended up as a Chief Petty Officer,
a ‘Tiffy’ maintaining Sea Vixens at Yeovilton and Wessex helicopters
aboard the aircraft carrier HMS Victorious and RFA Olynthus. In later
life I lived aboard a narrowboat for 12 years and ran a trip boat fleet
for five of those years.
But the cards. In the evenings there wasn’t much to do. No TV, let alone
smart phones or internet! Most evenings were spent playing cards with
Mrs White, the next door neighbour. Pontoon for matches was a favourite.
(They had no spare money). Also snap, and beat-your-neighbour-out-of
-doors. But Aunty Ada loved playing patience. She taught me how to play
solitaire and clock patience. To this day I still love to play Spider
and FreeCell on the desktop.
Now, whilst playing I’m taken back to those happy and safe days of the
1950s as we recovered from WW2, and welcomed the brand new NHS. ‘We will
look after you from the cradle to the grave’ was Churchill’s promise in
1943, later adopted by Clement Attlee for the welfare state.
Well, it almost came true for our generation. But I can’t help thinking
us war babes who survived, were the lucky ones.
When I was about six to nine, every school holiday my parents would dump
me on Aunty Ada and Uncle Bob who lived in Rose Cottage, a terraced two
up two down house at the top of Scots Hill, Croxley Green, narrowly
missed by a landmine in WW2. The bomb site, four houses along, became a
car park for the local school.
Aunty Ada was my paternal grandfather’s sister. She was an ‘ample’
woman, who treated me far better than my own parents. She never had
children of her own. I can remember being ‘absorbed’ into those huge
breasts when she cuddled me. It was very comforting. Uncle Bob was okay
too. He was a bit old fashioned and strict, but always fair. He was the
fire station foreman at nearby Dickinson’s Mill.
They had no electricity in Rose cottage, only gas. The lamp lighter
would come around with his pole to light the street lamp outside their
house. Aunty Ada was a demon with her gas poker on a long reinforced
hose, when lighting the range and the copper fires. She would wield it
like a breaker’s flaming torch. I kept well out of the way.
A galvanised metal bath hung on a hook outside the back door. Every
Friday it was filled with warm water from the hopper, and I was dumped
in it, and scrubbed. I mean scrubbed too, with a scrubbing brush. I
certainly came out of that bath clean, and sore!
A tea pot was on the range. It was never emptied. Tea leaves and boiling
water would be added at times. Uncle Bob liked his tea strong, with
evaporated milk and three sugars, so I had to have the same. Luckily I
was a 'fluoride child' and still have my own teeth.
The only electrical item in the cottage was the ‘accumulator’ that
powered the old ‘church window’ wireless. Uncle Bob would put on a
collar and tie and light his pipe to listen to the news read by Ivor
Lidell, who wore a dress suite when reading it. Woe betide me if I even
made a noise during the news.
Across the road was a small garage next to a pub, ‘The Sportsman’. Uncle
Bob had convinced Aunty Ada that he had to wait for the accumulator to
be recharged. In fact it was an exchange. Sometimes it was a one pint
accumulator, and sometimes it was a two pint accumulator. I had to sit
on the pub doorstep with a 3d packet of Smith’s Crisps, salt in a twist
of blue paper, waiting for him.
I slept in a small unheated bedroom above the scullery. Every night I
was sent upstairs with a candle. At night I could hear the winding gear
being dropped at the nearby locks as the Dickinson’s boats went through,
carrying pulp from Brentford, and paper reels on their return.
Every day Aunty Ada would tell me not to go near the canal. Of course
every day off I went down through Croxley Woods to Walkers lock, and
then along the towpath to Ricky locks. I even managed to cadge a ride on
the counter of a working boat a couple of times.
I guess that’s how my love of boats and canals began. I joined the Royal
Navy at aged 15, and went through their training establishment, HMS
Ganges as a boy. Twelve years later I ended up as a Chief Petty Officer,
a ‘Tiffy’ maintaining Sea Vixens at Yeovilton and Wessex helicopters
aboard the aircraft carrier HMS Victorious and RFA Olynthus. In later
life I lived aboard a narrowboat for 12 years and ran a trip boat fleet
for five of those years.
But the cards. In the evenings there wasn’t much to do. No TV, let alone
smart phones or internet! Most evenings were spent playing cards with
Mrs White, the next door neighbour. Pontoon for matches was a favourite.
(They had no spare money). Also snap, and beat-your-neighbour-out-of
-doors. But Aunty Ada loved playing patience. She taught me how to play
solitaire and clock patience. To this day I still love to play Spider
and FreeCell on the desktop.
Now, whilst playing I’m taken back to those happy and safe days of the
1950s as we recovered from WW2, and welcomed the brand new NHS. ‘We will
look after you from the cradle to the grave’ was Churchill’s promise in
1943, later adopted by Clement Attlee for the welfare state.
Well, it almost came true for our generation. But I can’t help thinking
us war babes who survived, were the lucky ones.