Moving On

I have lost my Guardian Angel who saw me safely across the road near my home. The drinking school have been moved on. I suppose they caused offence to the respectable citizens of Hove although I always found them polite enough. One day they took up residence on a seat across the road but that was outside someone's window so they have now disappeared altogether.
When I lived in Canterbury we used to have a middle aged Polish lady who would come and sit on our front garden wall. She would occasionally shout out something but whether it was a greeting or a curse at the rotten hand fate had dealt her I never knew. My German neighbour used to try to talk to her and gave her some food but she did not seem very appreciative.
My mother as a child witnessed a whole family with their belongings being turned out into the street in the rain. This made a great impression on her and she said to me "Whatever you do always make sure you can pay your rent so that you have a roof over your head". I have grown up with the belief that one of the worst things that can happen to you is to have no home even if it is your own fault. Count your blessings!

Down on the Farm

To continue the theme of my last two posts I met my husband, Don, at a village hop at the church hall in the village of Cranleigh in Surrey. I lived in London , he lived in Aldershot. It came about in this way.
After the war there was a great shortage of shipping which meant that imports of food were very limited. Everyone was encouraged to grow as much food as possible. Farmers needed extra labour so Civil Servants like me were given an extra week's leave added to our annual leave (at that time 2 weeks) if we spent a week working on a farm. Being young and ready to try anything my friend and I volunteered. We were met at the railway station by a lorry and driven a short distance to a tented camp. Two big army marquees, one for men and one for girls and another for the mess hall.
We were told there was a dance in the village that night and so we went. It was a Saturday and we did not start work until Monday. Sitting at the next table were three young men. One came over and asked me to dance. He thought I was a local and when I said I was at the farm camp he said so was he. The three friends were on demobilisation leave from the R.A.F. and had volunteered. We danced together most of the evening and ended up doing the Conga in a long line out of one door, round the Church hall and in at another, holding the person in front round the waist. I didn't know we were going to spend the next sixty years together!

Parents

Do you know how your parents met each other? After all, it was a momentous occasion for you or you wouldn't be here.
A crowd of us were discussing this some time ago. Our parents were born between 1883 and 1905. One said the parents met at school, another said in the church choir. Yet another that they were next door neightbours. Most couples lived a short walk or bicycle ride from each other. Don did some detective work to discover how his father, George, who lived in Godalming, Surrey met his wife, Elizabeth, who lived in Deal, Kent. George visited his uncle who ran a tobacconist's shop in Deal which was next door to a greengrocer's. The greengrocer had five pretty daughters so George was spoilt for choice. He chose the second daughter Elizabeth.
Cooks tended to marry policemen or postmen or gardeners. Outdoor men who had been offered a cup of tea! It was surprising how many couples met in domestic service, as mine did. We were a proletarian crew except for Joan, a delightful but frightfully posh friend. She trumped the lot of us by saying her parents met at Richmond Tennis Club. Stunned silence!

S.C.D.

The TV programme Strictly Come Dancing doesn't remotely resemble ballroom dancing as I knew it. The waltz is usually fairly graceful but the rest could be labelled Strictly Acrobatic!
I can hear you all saying "Here she goes again" but I must tell you what is was like when I was a teenager. Only we weren't called that. The name hadn't been invented.
We danced to the strict tempo of Victor Sylvester and Joe Loss. Slow, slow, quick,quick, slow. We all said this under our breath as we circled the floor. As we got more adventurous we would tango or rumba to records of Edmundo Ros. The Hammersmith Palais and the Locarno Streatham and no doubt other dance halls stayed open all through the war and were full of people. Servicemen and women of all nations were there. It was good to relax there with the bright lights and the music , one could forget the war. You went with your girl friend and hoped that good-looking sailor would ask you to dance. Girls who were wallflowers would try to look as if they had only come to listen to the music.
Much hilarity was caused by the group dances like the Palais Glide and the Conga and the Paul Jones. Ah, the Paul Jones! The men in one circle, the girls in another. This was a bit of a lottery. When the music stopped your partner might be that chap who looks like Clark Gable. Oh rapture! But after a few steps the music would change again he would be off and the next time the music stopped your partner would be a little chap with two left feet.
The evening would end with lights dimmed and the band playing "Who's taking you home tonight, after the dance is through?" And out you went into the blackout.

Remembrance

Another Remembrance Day
and we, who are still here,
Join in the silence today
And cannot restrain a tear.
At this most solemn hour
We think of our young men
Willingly sacrificing all
That the world may live freely again.

Olympics

Yesterday the Telegraph reported on the route the Olympic Flame would take to London next year. On the day the 1948 Olympics came to London my husband decided that we would get up early to see the torch bearers who were carrying the flame from Dover through Kent and Surrey into London. We rose at 4 a.m. My mother thought we were crazy but she should have been used to her son-in-law doing unusual things. We were young and excited at this great event after all the drabness of the war.
We started off on our bikes at about 4.30 a.m. to cyclethe 15 or so miles from West Dulwich in south east London due south to Godstone in Surrey where there was to be a handover by torch bearers. These runners had been travelling in relays throughout the night and people had left their beds to applaud them as they ran by.
I think we got to Godstone before 6 a.m. (bear in mind these are my memories from more than 60 years ago) and joined the crowd waiting for the runner to arrive. We clapped enthusiastically when he appeared. In a moment the flame had been passed on and it was all over.
We cycled home for breakfast and as my husband had miraculously purchased tickets for the opening ceremony we made our way to Wembley. We probably went on a No.3 bus to Oxford Circus and then on a crowded Metropolitan line train to Wembly. When we reached the stadium there were hundreds and hundreds of people. Everyone was in holiday mood. It was extremely hot. We found our seats. I don't know what the tickets cost.
King George VI and Queen Elizabeth (later known as the Queen Mother) were there and I believe old Queen Mary (George V's widow) although I really only remember seeing the King as he made a speech of welcome. There were lots of speeches then the athletes marched into the stadium. They came from lots of different countries, some in colourful native dress and were mostly men. Guns were fired in salute and then the last torch bearer ran into the stadium. He ran up a huge number of steps with his torch to light the fire in the cauldron at the top.
I suppose today's youngsters would think it was a very tame affair but we thought it was wonderful.