Childhood continued
by
Brian Dickenson
(Age: 73)
copyright 07-23-2005
Age Rating: 7 to 127
I have been asked by a dear friend to elaborate on the details of the way we were, and the conditions at this time.
A typical boy would have worn short trousers. We did not get ‘long ones’ until we had left school. I guess it was a part of entering adult hood. We were considered to be adult at around fifteen years. That was normally when you started full time employment.
Imagine if you will a nine-year old school boy. It’s summer.
He is on his way to school.
He would probably be wearing what we called pumps. A very early version of tennis shoe, but far more basic.
Short trousers, about knee length, shirt and socks.
Very few wore underwear, unless it was winter, then you might have a vest.
Over his shoulder he would have a cardboard container on a string. Inside the container was a gas mask. (We still expected a gas attack from the Germans).
In his hand would be a newspaper parcel, in it would be his lunch, probably something like a jam sandwich, or if it was a good day, a meat paste.
On arrival at school everyone went into the school hall for Morning Prayer, and maybe a lecture by the head master.
There could also be a public punishment if one of the boys had been fairly bad. This could be being caned, either on the hand or on the bottom. I suppose humiliation was the motive.
To be caned in front of the whole school was not something any of us wanted, whether deserved or not. Of course, most times it was richly deserved.
The teachers were mainly women, and men, to old for the forces.
But they were in control. We did not argue with them, or answer them back. Punishment was swift and sure. Some of the women were the most feared.
With most men away fighting the war we were pretty wild.
Not as in robbing from houses or mugging old people.
But we did get into trouble. Petty things, like playing football or cricket in the street. scrumping apple’s and pears, maybe breaking a few windows with the ball.
One somewhat wrong thing we did, was take empty lemonade bottles from the rear of the local sweet shop, we climbed the wall to get them.
We would then take them into the same shop and collect the money on them. Usually buying sweets or pop with it.
If the local police Sargent caught us at anything he thought wrong, he would give a smack with his cape on your bare legs; that stung.
You did not run and tell your parents, they would smack you as well. The Sargent was always right.
I remember that summer lasted a long, long time in those days, or maybe it just seemed that way.
One thing that has never left my memory is the smell on the street on a hot summer’s day. The smell of rotting food.
The government had ordered empty fifty-gallon drums with their lids removed, placed on the streets. The thinking was that everyone put any waste food into them. This was collected weekly and taken to feed pigs. All a part of the war effort. But boy did they smell ripe after a few days of hot sun.
Winter was much the same. The big difference was the cold.
The winters were definitely colder and longer then. There was always snow; it used to stay for days before turning to slush.
It meant that we did not wear our pumps. Mostly we wore clogs; they had wooden soles and leather tops. Unfortunately the snow would be deep enough to come right over the top of the clogs, so we would tie cardboard around our ankles in an effort to keep our feet dry. It did not work very well. Chilblains on the toes were normal, although very painful.
Another thing we did not like was chapped legs. Wearing short trousers in winter is not recommended. Believe me, unless you have ever suffered from chapped thighs you have no idea of the pain of that.
Still we had to get on with it. As we were constantly reminded, there is a war going on.
Thing like rubber boots were none existent, unless of course you were rich enough, then you could get anything.
It was called a people’s war; suckered again. It was only the working class that really suffered.
We ate all sorts of strange foods, things we had never heard of before the war. I can recall things like horse-meat, rather good as I remember. Whale Meat, something called snook, I do not have a clue as to what it was. We had chips, with either a pie or fish. Brawn, I think this was made from animals brains.
Spam of course, an American invention I think; and not one of the better ones.
And of course corned beef hash.
We ate lots of stews, mostly in the form of a Liverpool recipe called Scouse. This is where the nickname Scouser originated.
It was really an Irish stew, Liverpool being predominantly of Irish descent.
In fact Liverpool is still known as Ireland's second capitol.
The stew was usually made with mutton, and whatever vegetables were in season.
One variation of this dish was called Blind Scouse; it was the same, apart from not having any meat in it. Many times we could not afford meat.
Another was called Lob-Scouse, as the name implies, this had whatever was available put into it, or as we would say Lobbed, as in thrown.
We never had sugar or real sweets, nor chocolate or ice cream.
The exception, and big treat of the week, would be on a Friday night when my father came home from work.
I don’t know where he got it from, but he always had a Mars Bar. The ordinary small size. He would cut it into four equal pieces. A piece each for my sister and I, and one each for himself and mother.
Never has a Mars Bar been so appreciated; we never chewed it; we let it melt in our mouths the more to enjoy it.
One thing that is never to be forgotten is queueing. We queued for everything.
Word would spread that a shop had had a delivery of food. The kids had to run like mad to try and get into the front of the queue.
If you were slow you could queue for hours. If you were very unlucky the shop ran out of supplies just before it was your turn.
That was never well received by your mother. Usually warranted a slap around the head at the very least.
My mother did not believe in half measures, she saved her hands by using a long wooden handled clothes brush. She could really lay it on. I had lumps on my lumps sometimes.
Reading what I have written makes it seem a grim time. Maybe it was for the adults. But us kids had not really known any other way of life, so to us it was a great time.
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Chilblains were blisters, usually on ones toes. They were caused by having very cold wet feet and putting them too close to the fire.
In those days we wore short trousers, and in the winter ones legs, mostly the thigh area where they rubbed on the edge of the shorts became red raw with the cold. Very painful, plus one had chilblains at the same time. Some kids suffered worse than others. Of course being kids we were pretty heartless, we used to laugh as we watched someone hobbling along to school. We were not allowed to stay home from school for something as minor as this.
Brian.
I'm not one to promote physical discipline in schools. I went to a Catholic school for 9 years, and remember the nuns slapping knuckles with a ruler. However, many people in the U.S. no longer believe in even spanking a child. They tell the child "No!" but don't enforce what they say, so the child does what he/she wants anyway, without punishment. Thus, the parent loses credibility and control with said child. They test the parents to see just how much they can get away with.
Yes, when I was young, you respected your elders, addressing them by Mr.... or Mrs.... You never talked back, unless to say "Yes, sir." or "No ma'am." Now kids are on a first name basis with their own parents.
Sorry, I'm rambling. Now about your story, I have a question: What are "Chilblains?" on your toes?
And chapped thighs, wow. I had to wear skirts to school, and walked a few miles, saving my bus money for other things, but it must not have been as cold. Your memories are pretty special. I'm glad you let us in on them!
This gave me fascinating visuals, especially the wintertime descriptions. I felt like I was reading classic lit for an English class. You sure your last name is "Dickenson" and not "Dickens"?
To read your work, Brian, is astonishing. Parent's actually disciplined their children back then, and the children didn't kill themselves or grow up to hate their parents. It seems more measures should be taken to return to something like this...kids are spoiled :P
I love reading about this...you should put it all into a book, so all these stories are better gathered at one place.
I remember my early years on the farm, but there was nothing like what you saw. We had many things because we made it at home. We ate many things grown in our garden and raised pigs, cows and chickens. Food was always there and when we came in from the field, grandma always had lots of food cooked to eat. I loved her fried chicken and fresh cream gravy on mashed potatoes. We went to church each Sunday and always had chores to do. Life was physically harder, but we had lots of fun outside! Its been more than 36 years, when I went by the farm last year, there was still part of my tree house in the tree. The good old times! Thanks for taking me on a journey of your early days. I'd love more so start writing if you want! Anthony
This is absolutely wonderful...I never knew about or even heard of some of the things you have written. This is as flavorful as some of the stews you write about( I am still smiling about the lob-scouse). What a rich background you are uncovering as you reminisce and the detail makes me crave more rather like good chocolate does or a mars bar...Well done Brian! Oh and Brian, over here, pumps are a style of high heeled shoes that woman wear.
Welcome !
