I was educated at the local Girl’s High School and, as neither of my parents drove a car, I, like many of my school pals, had to go to school by bus. This journey was along narrow, winding, country roads and we had to stop and start many times on the four mile trip from where I lived. The biggest nightmare was travelling with a satchel full of books, a PE kit and a whole load of items for our cookery lesson. I absolutely loathed that day of the week; the day when I was expected to take all the necessary ingredients, dishes to carry the end product home and a variety of other paraphernalia.
I was taking a GCSE in cookery and the examination day was a day never to be forgotten. I had to cook a roast dinner for four people and a sweet to follow and, worst of all, a tomato soup made from raw ingredients. It was a mind-boggling thought that I would have to perch on a bus seat accompanied by all the necessities, carry them from the bus stop into school, sit an exam which would take all morning and then carry the end result home to be eaten for tea.
However, I did pass the exam; although my mother was not very impressed with her meal!
My advice to anyone in a similar position would be to choose an easier option, maybe needlework – but I loathed that from day one. So hence my troublesome journeys which were the norm for a school girl in the 50’s.
Monday, 28 June 2010
Wednesday, 23 June 2010
'Clover McGowan' by Jan Lloyd
Clover's Diary:
Mon April 19: I wish Mum was well, she wasn't too good today and complained of the pain in her legs. She didn't eat the dinner I cooked either and I'd left college early to make her what she likes! Carl is so grumpy and just sits looking at the telly, if only he'd make more of an effort to help Mum and give her some hope.
Tues April 20: Worked the lunch time shift at The Rainbow, missed college so will probably be in trouble but need the money. Mum seemed a bit brighter when I got home. A lady from Social Services had called and said she would get her a new wheelchair, maybe this will help to get her out more.
Fri April 23: Wheelchair arrived today. Mum was a bit more cheerful and Carl said he would take her out to the park. Hope he does as they don't go out much. Went to band practice and tried out some new songs, we're beginning to sound quite good!
Clover's Dilemma:
I had some good news today. The landlord at The Rainbow asked if our band could play at an 18th birthday party. There's a brilliant function room and hopefully there'll be lots of people there. I asked the rest of the band if they were up for it and they seemed quite excited apart from Melvin who thinks it's beneath him to play in a pub but I convinced him that all bands start small. Who knows this time next year we could be playing at Glastonbury! Talking of which I promised Mum I would go to Glastonbury with her on June 25th. The party is on June 26th! What am I going to do? Mum keeps on at me about making more of an effort and Keith the landlord is going to pay us £250 for the evening. I'm in a real quandary and struggling at college with loads of debt. We've made some demo CD's so we could sell them at the party to make extra cash. Mum is so looking forward to going to Glastonbury and keeps saying it maybe the last time she can get there. Oh the guilt, how am I going to tell her? Why should I feel guilty? I do all I can to help Mum. Why can't Carl go with her or Theo for that matter; he'll have finished college by then. I really want this band to work so I'll have to be brave and talk to Mum tonight.
Mon April 19: I wish Mum was well, she wasn't too good today and complained of the pain in her legs. She didn't eat the dinner I cooked either and I'd left college early to make her what she likes! Carl is so grumpy and just sits looking at the telly, if only he'd make more of an effort to help Mum and give her some hope.
Tues April 20: Worked the lunch time shift at The Rainbow, missed college so will probably be in trouble but need the money. Mum seemed a bit brighter when I got home. A lady from Social Services had called and said she would get her a new wheelchair, maybe this will help to get her out more.
Fri April 23: Wheelchair arrived today. Mum was a bit more cheerful and Carl said he would take her out to the park. Hope he does as they don't go out much. Went to band practice and tried out some new songs, we're beginning to sound quite good!
Clover's Dilemma:
I had some good news today. The landlord at The Rainbow asked if our band could play at an 18th birthday party. There's a brilliant function room and hopefully there'll be lots of people there. I asked the rest of the band if they were up for it and they seemed quite excited apart from Melvin who thinks it's beneath him to play in a pub but I convinced him that all bands start small. Who knows this time next year we could be playing at Glastonbury! Talking of which I promised Mum I would go to Glastonbury with her on June 25th. The party is on June 26th! What am I going to do? Mum keeps on at me about making more of an effort and Keith the landlord is going to pay us £250 for the evening. I'm in a real quandary and struggling at college with loads of debt. We've made some demo CD's so we could sell them at the party to make extra cash. Mum is so looking forward to going to Glastonbury and keeps saying it maybe the last time she can get there. Oh the guilt, how am I going to tell her? Why should I feel guilty? I do all I can to help Mum. Why can't Carl go with her or Theo for that matter; he'll have finished college by then. I really want this band to work so I'll have to be brave and talk to Mum tonight.
'The Diamond Stud' by Rosie Pugh
Alice drew back the curtains; the greyness of the sky matched her mood. Another day to get through. She sipped her coffee. ‘I must shake this dread from myself.’
As she went to the wardrobe her eye fell on a long multi-colour skirt. Alice took it off the hanger and lifted a cream blouse from the drawer. A small velvet pouch fell out from one of the pockets. It held a belly-button stud with a drop diamond that she once wore.
She stared at the reflection in the mirror. She was now in her sixties and her chestnut hair was streaked with grey. Recently, she felt, she had let herself go.
Alice went down to the park, always a place of peace and contentment; and she felt free there. Looking around she was aware that some people were staring at her, but what did they know? They just lived in their little boxes and tried to be better than their neighbour.
She loved watching the children, they were so open-minded and enjoyed using their imagination. Their laughter was music to her ears. Alice became aware of two women sitting opposite and deep in her heart she felt they were talking about her. Shepicked up the odd sentence. ‘Just my luck ,’ she thought.
‘Just look at her,’ one woman said to her friend, ‘who does she think she is?’
‘What do you mean,’ the other said as she glanced kindly at Alice.
‘That’s how she used to dress all those years ago. Don’t you remember she’s the one who had the affair with her best friend’s husband. He found out so he packed her bags and threw her out in the street. Lost her children as well, big court case. She had a beautiful detached house and drove a bright red sports car. Serves her right.’
The other woman felt a sadness looking at Alice, but thought there must have been a reason and she did not like to gossip like her friend because the story was similar to a similar incident in her own life.
Alice could not help but chuckle at the memory of her stuck up neighbours of that time and her husband was not much different: very serious, dull and had forgotten how to live and laugh. She had been a therapist; enjoyed massage, reflexology and everything that came with it. She had met many interesting people. Had lived in a beautiful house in Cheshire and had two lovely children.
But life had started to become a drag. Then Alice met John when she was feeling lonely and vulnerable. He made her laugh - something that had been missing in her life and he made her feel special and wanted. The drop diamond was a gift from John and due to the scandal he moved to Africa. She could have gone but wanted to be near her children so she was able to get a glance of them when she could. Some people could not make her out, a woman of mystery the town’s people would whisper.
Alice felt the tears surfacing. She glanced at the two women, smiled and left the park.
Later, she entered the tiny flat where she lived. She chnaged into an old pair of worn jeans, a shirt and got her materials together as she was now on her way to her job. Alice had become a cleaner and did some part time waitressing as her pension could not afford to keep her.
As she went to the wardrobe her eye fell on a long multi-colour skirt. Alice took it off the hanger and lifted a cream blouse from the drawer. A small velvet pouch fell out from one of the pockets. It held a belly-button stud with a drop diamond that she once wore.
She stared at the reflection in the mirror. She was now in her sixties and her chestnut hair was streaked with grey. Recently, she felt, she had let herself go.
Alice went down to the park, always a place of peace and contentment; and she felt free there. Looking around she was aware that some people were staring at her, but what did they know? They just lived in their little boxes and tried to be better than their neighbour.
She loved watching the children, they were so open-minded and enjoyed using their imagination. Their laughter was music to her ears. Alice became aware of two women sitting opposite and deep in her heart she felt they were talking about her. Shepicked up the odd sentence. ‘Just my luck ,’ she thought.
‘Just look at her,’ one woman said to her friend, ‘who does she think she is?’
‘What do you mean,’ the other said as she glanced kindly at Alice.
‘That’s how she used to dress all those years ago. Don’t you remember she’s the one who had the affair with her best friend’s husband. He found out so he packed her bags and threw her out in the street. Lost her children as well, big court case. She had a beautiful detached house and drove a bright red sports car. Serves her right.’
The other woman felt a sadness looking at Alice, but thought there must have been a reason and she did not like to gossip like her friend because the story was similar to a similar incident in her own life.
Alice could not help but chuckle at the memory of her stuck up neighbours of that time and her husband was not much different: very serious, dull and had forgotten how to live and laugh. She had been a therapist; enjoyed massage, reflexology and everything that came with it. She had met many interesting people. Had lived in a beautiful house in Cheshire and had two lovely children.
But life had started to become a drag. Then Alice met John when she was feeling lonely and vulnerable. He made her laugh - something that had been missing in her life and he made her feel special and wanted. The drop diamond was a gift from John and due to the scandal he moved to Africa. She could have gone but wanted to be near her children so she was able to get a glance of them when she could. Some people could not make her out, a woman of mystery the town’s people would whisper.
Alice felt the tears surfacing. She glanced at the two women, smiled and left the park.
Later, she entered the tiny flat where she lived. She chnaged into an old pair of worn jeans, a shirt and got her materials together as she was now on her way to her job. Alice had become a cleaner and did some part time waitressing as her pension could not afford to keep her.
Friday, 18 June 2010
'Dorothy' by Maureen Bradley
Dorothy was sitting looking out of her cottage window trying to remember when life had been different.
To look at her you would think she was an old lady aged about eighty two, but in reality she was only sixty two.
She was short in stature and had long disheveled grey hair. If you looked closely you could see that that she had good bone structure and had once been a very striking woman.
She did not seem to care about her appearance as she wore no make up and her clothes consisted of a long black skirt and grey jumper. She wore black ankle socks and had tatty slippers on her feet.
The cottage she lived in was neglected and the garden was covered in weeds and rubbish. Inside there were four cats roaming around and every surface was covered with papers, books and food.
I picked up one of her books and was surprised to see it was about how the world began and the one next to it was a Hebrew version of the Bible.
I was only there because I had had a call from a neighbour who was worried as Dorothy had not been seen outside for about a month.
On the mantle shelf was a photo of a young man in army uniform and a lady holding a small child.
I guessed this was her husband and son. I tried to talk to Dorothy but she just stared out of the window. There was a Times newspaper on the floor beside her with a date from six months before. I looked at it and read an article which reported a man in his sixties had been killed on his motor cycle and also his son who was riding pillion and their only relative was a lady called Dorothy Barnes.
I could see that this was the lady who had been traumatised by this tragedy.
To look at her you would think she was an old lady aged about eighty two, but in reality she was only sixty two.
She was short in stature and had long disheveled grey hair. If you looked closely you could see that that she had good bone structure and had once been a very striking woman.
She did not seem to care about her appearance as she wore no make up and her clothes consisted of a long black skirt and grey jumper. She wore black ankle socks and had tatty slippers on her feet.
The cottage she lived in was neglected and the garden was covered in weeds and rubbish. Inside there were four cats roaming around and every surface was covered with papers, books and food.
I picked up one of her books and was surprised to see it was about how the world began and the one next to it was a Hebrew version of the Bible.
I was only there because I had had a call from a neighbour who was worried as Dorothy had not been seen outside for about a month.
On the mantle shelf was a photo of a young man in army uniform and a lady holding a small child.
I guessed this was her husband and son. I tried to talk to Dorothy but she just stared out of the window. There was a Times newspaper on the floor beside her with a date from six months before. I looked at it and read an article which reported a man in his sixties had been killed on his motor cycle and also his son who was riding pillion and their only relative was a lady called Dorothy Barnes.
I could see that this was the lady who had been traumatised by this tragedy.
Thursday, 17 June 2010
'Teenagers - Then and Now' by Louise McClean
I have never been a teenager simply because, when I was that age, the word hadn’t been invented. There was no such thing as a teenager.
We were just young people who got on with living our lives and mostly did as we were told. It was so quiet and tame and orderly compared with the life of a teenager to-day. Did we miss out I wonder?
We had no idea we were supposed to be moody and rebellious - nobody told us. Think of the fun we missed!
No excuses were made for us if we made a lot of noise when we were in a big group. We were told to go home and behave and be quiet and we did. We were afraid of the police, believe it or not, because they would tell your parents and then you were in double trouble!
There was no dress code for us to follow. You wore whatever your mother could get - remember clothing coupons? My clever mother used to make my clothes from cast-offs and I wore them happily and never dared to complain. There was no point in complaining anyway, no-one was any better dressed than anyone else.
To-day it’s accepted that teenagers will be rude to their parents. It’s OK to answer them back or even to shout at them and then run out and bang the door. No-one in our generation ever did that. Instead we sulked in silence and moaned to our friends. We got long boring lectures from adults and, like to-day’s young, paid no attention. But few rebelled.
Alcohol, or rather the lack of it, was no problem at all. Going for a drink was what your dad or uncles did. We had fizzy lemonade as a treat and loved it! Our mothers never went into pubs either, they were a male domain in our town anyway. If your mother was lucky she got a small sherry or a glass of port wine at Christmas.
I remember once when my cousin was about fourteen, he came upon his dad’s hidden Christmas supply of booze. He sampled rather a lot of it and got tipsy. It was the talk of the family for years and he was watched closely to see if it would set him on the slippery slope to hell! It never did!
To-day it’s no hardship to be banished to your room as a punishment. In there it will likely be warm and carpeted and comfortable and there is very likely to be a TV and a PC.
In my day bedrooms were always freezing. There was cold lino on the floor with maybe a small rug by the bed. The walls were usually brown and dingy and thick net curtains covered the window. Believe me you did your best not to be sent to your room - it was not a fun place.
How did we ever manage without crisps and all the other rubbish snacks available to-day? Simple, we just didn’t eat between meals and if we had a treat it was fruit from your, or a neighbour’s garden when it was in season. I often used to spread HP sauce on bread and thought it was great. Try offering that to a young person to-day and hear their reaction!
Bad language was saying “damn” and everyone was shocked if you said it. Woe betide you if you were overheard. None of the adults in our family swore so we had no bad example to follow. Listen to-day to the average group of teenagers and every second word will be offensive. It’s sad really.
The youth of to-day think sex was invented in their time and we were never tempted. Well, they’re wrong! In those far-off, pre-pill days it was pure fear that kept us on the straight and narrow! Just imagine the shame and horror of getting pregnant out of marriage? What would your parents and your grandparents and the neighbours say? The very thought was so horrific and terrifying that that was the best birth control ever invented. A bit of self-control never did anyone any harm and it made the thought of marriage more exciting.
How did we spend our spare time? We joined church youth clubs where we played table-tennis, put on concerts and went once a year to the sea- side on a church excursion as a special treat which we thought was wonderful.
So, what a sad, dreary young life we had! We were expected to behave, to be responsible for our behaviour and to be seen and not heard and not to bring shame to our family and we accepted this - we really did!
Were we miserable - not on your life. It was just wonderful to be young and we enjoyed every minute.
We were just young people who got on with living our lives and mostly did as we were told. It was so quiet and tame and orderly compared with the life of a teenager to-day. Did we miss out I wonder?
We had no idea we were supposed to be moody and rebellious - nobody told us. Think of the fun we missed!
No excuses were made for us if we made a lot of noise when we were in a big group. We were told to go home and behave and be quiet and we did. We were afraid of the police, believe it or not, because they would tell your parents and then you were in double trouble!
There was no dress code for us to follow. You wore whatever your mother could get - remember clothing coupons? My clever mother used to make my clothes from cast-offs and I wore them happily and never dared to complain. There was no point in complaining anyway, no-one was any better dressed than anyone else.
To-day it’s accepted that teenagers will be rude to their parents. It’s OK to answer them back or even to shout at them and then run out and bang the door. No-one in our generation ever did that. Instead we sulked in silence and moaned to our friends. We got long boring lectures from adults and, like to-day’s young, paid no attention. But few rebelled.
Alcohol, or rather the lack of it, was no problem at all. Going for a drink was what your dad or uncles did. We had fizzy lemonade as a treat and loved it! Our mothers never went into pubs either, they were a male domain in our town anyway. If your mother was lucky she got a small sherry or a glass of port wine at Christmas.
I remember once when my cousin was about fourteen, he came upon his dad’s hidden Christmas supply of booze. He sampled rather a lot of it and got tipsy. It was the talk of the family for years and he was watched closely to see if it would set him on the slippery slope to hell! It never did!
To-day it’s no hardship to be banished to your room as a punishment. In there it will likely be warm and carpeted and comfortable and there is very likely to be a TV and a PC.
In my day bedrooms were always freezing. There was cold lino on the floor with maybe a small rug by the bed. The walls were usually brown and dingy and thick net curtains covered the window. Believe me you did your best not to be sent to your room - it was not a fun place.
How did we ever manage without crisps and all the other rubbish snacks available to-day? Simple, we just didn’t eat between meals and if we had a treat it was fruit from your, or a neighbour’s garden when it was in season. I often used to spread HP sauce on bread and thought it was great. Try offering that to a young person to-day and hear their reaction!
Bad language was saying “damn” and everyone was shocked if you said it. Woe betide you if you were overheard. None of the adults in our family swore so we had no bad example to follow. Listen to-day to the average group of teenagers and every second word will be offensive. It’s sad really.
The youth of to-day think sex was invented in their time and we were never tempted. Well, they’re wrong! In those far-off, pre-pill days it was pure fear that kept us on the straight and narrow! Just imagine the shame and horror of getting pregnant out of marriage? What would your parents and your grandparents and the neighbours say? The very thought was so horrific and terrifying that that was the best birth control ever invented. A bit of self-control never did anyone any harm and it made the thought of marriage more exciting.
How did we spend our spare time? We joined church youth clubs where we played table-tennis, put on concerts and went once a year to the sea- side on a church excursion as a special treat which we thought was wonderful.
So, what a sad, dreary young life we had! We were expected to behave, to be responsible for our behaviour and to be seen and not heard and not to bring shame to our family and we accepted this - we really did!
Were we miserable - not on your life. It was just wonderful to be young and we enjoyed every minute.
'Christmas Day' by Elisa Hill
I was woken by someone opening and shutting doors and blundering about. It was 6am on Christmas Day and I thought my 12 year old sister and I were alone in the house. Although, it was difficult to imagine what sort of a Christmas Day this would be for her, when both of my newly separated parents were at the hospital most of the time with my brother Mike, who had been sick for months.
I hadn’t been asleep for long, as a few hours earlier I had felt an urgent need to go to see Mike, and had almost gone, a few times,!! But as I had been left in charge of my sleeping sister, I felt I couldn’t drag her out a mile or so to the hospital in the middle of the night and I knew my father would be furious with me if I did!
We had been to see Mike that afternoon. We stood, one on each side of his bed, alone with him while my parents talked to the doctor. We chatted about ordinary things and the excitement of Christmas, which was my brother’s favourite time of year. I felt sad that he would still be in hospital.
"We will come and see you first thing tomorrow, and stay with you as long as they will let us," I said.
“That would be great," he said, trying not to cough, and when his attention went to something else I noticed tears were welling up in my sisters eyes.
"Go out," I mouthed at her, not wanting Mike to see.
Earlier my father had been brought back from his weekend away with his new girlfriend, very annoyed with my mum, and blaming her for exaggerating the seriousness of my brother’s illness. He had left no address, so the police had to find him, and tell him he needed to be at the hospital; a fact which would have been obvious to every one else!
The noise continued and as I tried to rouse myself enough to get up and see if she was OK, my door opened and my father was standing there. I was stunned, as he refused to come into the house since they had split up.
"What .... why are you here?" I started to say.
He interrupted, "Why are you in Nicky’s room? I was trying to find you,"
I mumbled something about her wanting comfort, but I knew as it came out it was not making sense and he ignored me.
"Get up, I'm going home, Michael’s gone, you need to look after your mother, I'm going home." The phrases were spat out like bullets from a gun.
"Gone?" my muddled head couldn’t take it in. “Gone?”
"Yes, he's gone."
I didn’t understand. "Gone?.... where has he gone?" I asked as I started to dread the answer and as it started to dawn on me I rejected the thought, as my mind couldn’t make the connection without it being spelt out clearly.
"He's dead," he shouted as he spat out the words, really viciously this time, blaming me for having to say that word to him. I was just an annoyance, keeping him somewhere he didn’t want to be. He had no regard for my feelings or the shock I was experiencing.
"But... but.... how can he be dead, we just saw him….?" My disbelief caused me to question my father. Something none of us ever did as he saw it as defiance.
"Get up, you have to look after your mother, she’s downstairs, " he shouted. I almost fell out of bed as he stood there impatient to be off. He considered he was doing his duty to his family by getting me up, a young girl to be with his wife of twenty five years!
I could not process this information, my mind seemed to shut down, become completely blank; but the long habit of obeying my father propelled me down stairs. Halfway down I heard the front door slam and as it resonated through the house, it dawned on me, that I was alone, with no one to lean on. I had no idea how to comfort my mum in her grief - something no child should ever have to do.
Later she asked me to wake my sister, and bring her downstairs so she could tell her the sad news.
As it was Christmas Day, Nicky woke up almost instantly. The moment she woke up she became excited, "Is Mike home?"
"No, just come downstairs, Mum needs to talk to you"
"Have you opened the presents yet? I have Mike’s ready! He’s going to love it; its one of those snoopy books!"
"Please come downstairs, Nicky, Mum really needs to talk to you,." I repeated like a robot. I was getting desperate. I was trying to hold in the tears and my sister who is a very intuitive person just did not pick up on the signals. She was so excited about the presents and the fact it was Christmas Day.
We walked down stairs, my sister chattering happily, just a kid looking forward to an exciting day. I wanted that short journey to last forever. I wanted for her never to know. I wanted to keep her happy for as long as I could. But of course it couldn’t last; she was a child eager to see her mum, who had been absent at the hospital for most of the past few days.
I ushered her into the living room, where Mum was wanting, like me, to keep her unaware as long as we could. I shut the door and went back into the hall to give them some privacy and not wanting to see my sister’s grief. Her piercing screams seemed to rip me in two and I fainted.
I hadn’t been asleep for long, as a few hours earlier I had felt an urgent need to go to see Mike, and had almost gone, a few times,!! But as I had been left in charge of my sleeping sister, I felt I couldn’t drag her out a mile or so to the hospital in the middle of the night and I knew my father would be furious with me if I did!
We had been to see Mike that afternoon. We stood, one on each side of his bed, alone with him while my parents talked to the doctor. We chatted about ordinary things and the excitement of Christmas, which was my brother’s favourite time of year. I felt sad that he would still be in hospital.
"We will come and see you first thing tomorrow, and stay with you as long as they will let us," I said.
“That would be great," he said, trying not to cough, and when his attention went to something else I noticed tears were welling up in my sisters eyes.
"Go out," I mouthed at her, not wanting Mike to see.
Earlier my father had been brought back from his weekend away with his new girlfriend, very annoyed with my mum, and blaming her for exaggerating the seriousness of my brother’s illness. He had left no address, so the police had to find him, and tell him he needed to be at the hospital; a fact which would have been obvious to every one else!
The noise continued and as I tried to rouse myself enough to get up and see if she was OK, my door opened and my father was standing there. I was stunned, as he refused to come into the house since they had split up.
"What .... why are you here?" I started to say.
He interrupted, "Why are you in Nicky’s room? I was trying to find you,"
I mumbled something about her wanting comfort, but I knew as it came out it was not making sense and he ignored me.
"Get up, I'm going home, Michael’s gone, you need to look after your mother, I'm going home." The phrases were spat out like bullets from a gun.
"Gone?" my muddled head couldn’t take it in. “Gone?”
"Yes, he's gone."
I didn’t understand. "Gone?.... where has he gone?" I asked as I started to dread the answer and as it started to dawn on me I rejected the thought, as my mind couldn’t make the connection without it being spelt out clearly.
"He's dead," he shouted as he spat out the words, really viciously this time, blaming me for having to say that word to him. I was just an annoyance, keeping him somewhere he didn’t want to be. He had no regard for my feelings or the shock I was experiencing.
"But... but.... how can he be dead, we just saw him….?" My disbelief caused me to question my father. Something none of us ever did as he saw it as defiance.
"Get up, you have to look after your mother, she’s downstairs, " he shouted. I almost fell out of bed as he stood there impatient to be off. He considered he was doing his duty to his family by getting me up, a young girl to be with his wife of twenty five years!
I could not process this information, my mind seemed to shut down, become completely blank; but the long habit of obeying my father propelled me down stairs. Halfway down I heard the front door slam and as it resonated through the house, it dawned on me, that I was alone, with no one to lean on. I had no idea how to comfort my mum in her grief - something no child should ever have to do.
Later she asked me to wake my sister, and bring her downstairs so she could tell her the sad news.
As it was Christmas Day, Nicky woke up almost instantly. The moment she woke up she became excited, "Is Mike home?"
"No, just come downstairs, Mum needs to talk to you"
"Have you opened the presents yet? I have Mike’s ready! He’s going to love it; its one of those snoopy books!"
"Please come downstairs, Nicky, Mum really needs to talk to you,." I repeated like a robot. I was getting desperate. I was trying to hold in the tears and my sister who is a very intuitive person just did not pick up on the signals. She was so excited about the presents and the fact it was Christmas Day.
We walked down stairs, my sister chattering happily, just a kid looking forward to an exciting day. I wanted that short journey to last forever. I wanted for her never to know. I wanted to keep her happy for as long as I could. But of course it couldn’t last; she was a child eager to see her mum, who had been absent at the hospital for most of the past few days.
I ushered her into the living room, where Mum was wanting, like me, to keep her unaware as long as we could. I shut the door and went back into the hall to give them some privacy and not wanting to see my sister’s grief. Her piercing screams seemed to rip me in two and I fainted.
Friday, 4 June 2010
'The Job That Never Was' by Jan Lloyd
In hindsight I was a mere child when, aged fifteen and three-quarters, I walked into the Labour Exchange to obtain my first job. I was interviewed by a very austere lady called Mrs. Boyle who sat behind a large wooden desk in a very dark and gloomy office.
"Where would you like to work," she asked unenthusiastically.
"I want to be a fashion designer," I replied optimistically.
Mrs Boyle could barely cover up the tired, roll of her eyes, at my naive suggestion. She flicked through the box of cards as I looked on, waiting for the magic card that would transport me from this sleepy backwater onto the Kings Road, in London, to begin my dream career. Mrs. Boyle snatched out a card and said she'd got the perfect job for me. My excitement grew until she announced the job was for a trainee shop assistant at Modelias on the High Street. Without consulting me she telephoned the manager and arranged an interview for 3pm later that afternoon. I walked out of the office where my Mum was waiting for me. She was thrilled I'd got an interview in the very posh, ladies outfitters. I was dazed and confused!
"If you get the job, I'll buy you a new coat", my mum said, hoping this would encourage me.
We walked home where I got changed into the smartest clothes I could find and returned into town on the bus for 3'o'clock.
I felt sick as I approached Modelias. What was I meant to say? I had no experience of shop work and felt bewildered as I walked nervously through the door. I asked an assistant for Mr. Daniels, the manager. She ushered me upstairs and told me to sit and wait outside a large, brown door with a brass handle. My heart nearly burst through my chest when Mr. Daniels called me into his imposing office. He began by asking my name and address and I found myself leaning awkwardly onto his desk so I could prop my head up with my arm to control my shaking. He then asked why I wanted to work for Modelias. I didn't, so I couldn't really think what to reply other than I wanted to be a fashion designer. He smiled in a kindly manner and said reassuringly that working for Modelias would provide me with the necessary experience to be a fashion designer. I wanted to be reassured by this, but somehow this seemed a long way off from the pictures I had seen in Vogue as I looked up at the photographs of ladies dressed in fashion from the dark ages dotted around the room. This was the swinging sixties and I felt a distinct lack of swing from Mr. Daniels. I was brought back to reality when I heard him saying to me that I could start the following Monday at nine o’ clock.
It was with mixed emotions that I stepped off the bus with my new camel coat on and anxiously walked towards the High Street. This was my first job and at the end of the week I would be paid my first wage packet; but all I felt was disappointment. I had to report to Miss Stokes, the manageress, and she spent the first morning going through the strict regime and protocol of the store. I had to observe the "proper" way to deal with the loyal and mostly elderly ladies that shopped there. All the shop assistants were dressed in black and as I was shown around the store they looked me up and down, aghast at my choice of outfit, a mini skirt. The ground floor housed the separates, jumpers, underwear and hosiery. Upstairs, where I was to work, was coats, hats, dresses and evening wear.
After the first few days of observing Miss Stokes I had to work in the stock room with Mr. Daniels. This was a very stuffy and confined space and I was extremely apprehensive as he started explaining the procedures. He had a long list of numbers in his hand which had to be cross checked against the long rails of clothing before me. He started calling out the numbers whilst I was meant to tick each item off. I was feeling hot and confused and was desperately trying to look efficient. The day dragged on endlessly until the last item was crossed off. I emerged from the stock room feeling tired and frustrated, I realised that this was not a popular job amongst the other staff and it was given to me as the junior member.
Friday afternoon arrived and I was told to collect my wages from Mr. Daniel's office. He handed me a brown envelope and I went into the little kitchenette to reveal the contents. I counted out £4. 19. 11d, my first wage packet. This gave me a thrill and the difficulties of the first week were pushed to the back of my mind as I proudly placed the money in my purse.
I was only to receive one more wage packet from my employment at Modelias as the following week I was severely told off for serving Mrs. Prendergast, a regular customer who, by all accounts, was only ever served by Miss Stokes. I had broken the golden rule and actually sold a coat and hat and completed the whole transaction, wrapping up the items and taking the money. Miss Stokes was in fact in Mr. Daniels office at the time so I felt it was appropriate to use my initiative. Mrs. Prendergast left the shop looking very pleased with her purchases. Miss Stokes, on her return to the shop floor, when she discovered the misdemeanor, was not very pleased at all. Mrs. Tams, the assistant manageress took Miss Stokes aside and I overheard hushed voices from behind the curtains of the changing room and wondered what was afoot. I soon found out that I had overstepped my position and was notified of this in Mr. Daniels office.
I never returned to Modelias after collecting my second week's wages, instead I started as a junior clerk at the Shrewsbury Chronicle the following week. My aspirations of being a fashion designer were dashed and my youthful fantasies of working alongside Mary Quant and Twiggy unfortunately remained locked away in my head.
"Where would you like to work," she asked unenthusiastically.
"I want to be a fashion designer," I replied optimistically.
Mrs Boyle could barely cover up the tired, roll of her eyes, at my naive suggestion. She flicked through the box of cards as I looked on, waiting for the magic card that would transport me from this sleepy backwater onto the Kings Road, in London, to begin my dream career. Mrs. Boyle snatched out a card and said she'd got the perfect job for me. My excitement grew until she announced the job was for a trainee shop assistant at Modelias on the High Street. Without consulting me she telephoned the manager and arranged an interview for 3pm later that afternoon. I walked out of the office where my Mum was waiting for me. She was thrilled I'd got an interview in the very posh, ladies outfitters. I was dazed and confused!
"If you get the job, I'll buy you a new coat", my mum said, hoping this would encourage me.
We walked home where I got changed into the smartest clothes I could find and returned into town on the bus for 3'o'clock.
I felt sick as I approached Modelias. What was I meant to say? I had no experience of shop work and felt bewildered as I walked nervously through the door. I asked an assistant for Mr. Daniels, the manager. She ushered me upstairs and told me to sit and wait outside a large, brown door with a brass handle. My heart nearly burst through my chest when Mr. Daniels called me into his imposing office. He began by asking my name and address and I found myself leaning awkwardly onto his desk so I could prop my head up with my arm to control my shaking. He then asked why I wanted to work for Modelias. I didn't, so I couldn't really think what to reply other than I wanted to be a fashion designer. He smiled in a kindly manner and said reassuringly that working for Modelias would provide me with the necessary experience to be a fashion designer. I wanted to be reassured by this, but somehow this seemed a long way off from the pictures I had seen in Vogue as I looked up at the photographs of ladies dressed in fashion from the dark ages dotted around the room. This was the swinging sixties and I felt a distinct lack of swing from Mr. Daniels. I was brought back to reality when I heard him saying to me that I could start the following Monday at nine o’ clock.
It was with mixed emotions that I stepped off the bus with my new camel coat on and anxiously walked towards the High Street. This was my first job and at the end of the week I would be paid my first wage packet; but all I felt was disappointment. I had to report to Miss Stokes, the manageress, and she spent the first morning going through the strict regime and protocol of the store. I had to observe the "proper" way to deal with the loyal and mostly elderly ladies that shopped there. All the shop assistants were dressed in black and as I was shown around the store they looked me up and down, aghast at my choice of outfit, a mini skirt. The ground floor housed the separates, jumpers, underwear and hosiery. Upstairs, where I was to work, was coats, hats, dresses and evening wear.
After the first few days of observing Miss Stokes I had to work in the stock room with Mr. Daniels. This was a very stuffy and confined space and I was extremely apprehensive as he started explaining the procedures. He had a long list of numbers in his hand which had to be cross checked against the long rails of clothing before me. He started calling out the numbers whilst I was meant to tick each item off. I was feeling hot and confused and was desperately trying to look efficient. The day dragged on endlessly until the last item was crossed off. I emerged from the stock room feeling tired and frustrated, I realised that this was not a popular job amongst the other staff and it was given to me as the junior member.
Friday afternoon arrived and I was told to collect my wages from Mr. Daniel's office. He handed me a brown envelope and I went into the little kitchenette to reveal the contents. I counted out £4. 19. 11d, my first wage packet. This gave me a thrill and the difficulties of the first week were pushed to the back of my mind as I proudly placed the money in my purse.
I was only to receive one more wage packet from my employment at Modelias as the following week I was severely told off for serving Mrs. Prendergast, a regular customer who, by all accounts, was only ever served by Miss Stokes. I had broken the golden rule and actually sold a coat and hat and completed the whole transaction, wrapping up the items and taking the money. Miss Stokes was in fact in Mr. Daniels office at the time so I felt it was appropriate to use my initiative. Mrs. Prendergast left the shop looking very pleased with her purchases. Miss Stokes, on her return to the shop floor, when she discovered the misdemeanor, was not very pleased at all. Mrs. Tams, the assistant manageress took Miss Stokes aside and I overheard hushed voices from behind the curtains of the changing room and wondered what was afoot. I soon found out that I had overstepped my position and was notified of this in Mr. Daniels office.
I never returned to Modelias after collecting my second week's wages, instead I started as a junior clerk at the Shrewsbury Chronicle the following week. My aspirations of being a fashion designer were dashed and my youthful fantasies of working alongside Mary Quant and Twiggy unfortunately remained locked away in my head.
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