Modern Alternatives to "Old Fashioned" albums and Stickum

Modern Alternatives to "Old Fashioned" albums and "Stickum."

I am not against modern technology, but I wonder what will happen if one day systems go down, or are corrupted, and the back-ups fail as well?

I feel very strongly that if we don't keep records like pictures (all mine are captioned!), letters and cards, etc. - then where will the historians of tomorrow find their primary source material? From E-mails? From digital photos stored on the cloud? Property deeds that have all been digitised, and the old paper ones destroyed?

Old books can be a treasure trove of information. Sometimes there are notes in the margin, made by an earlier reader, that can offer an insight into that person's understanding of the story. And what a thrill and excitement there is to find a battered suitcase or cardboard box, long forgotten in a loft, crammed with letters and mementoes from generations ago. Paper, perhaps a bit yellowed and musty, that has been well-thumbed over the years by other readers, inspires the imagination and can be an open door - or at least an open window - into the past.

I am so delighted to read in recent articles in the press that bookshops are actually doing better, and increasing their business, and vinyl records are staging a come-back. Maybe there is hope for a continuing resurgence of the tactile delight of real books!

I love looking through original documents, or letters and cards that have been written by hand, touched by real people at the time, and then sent to be read and handled by the recipient. They might be classed as ephemera, but surely they are worth holding on to.

After Mum broke her ankle in 2011, she could never live on her own again; apart from there being too many stairs, with the dementia becoming more severe, she would not have been able to look after herself, anyway. She came to live with us in 2012, and we had to clear out her old home. I had no idea what a huge task this would be. After my Grandma died in 1985, and Mum returned to live in England, we discovered she had kept everything - letters, magazines, ancient bills, etc., and brought it all back with her.  There were even piles of papers dating from the time we first went out to East Africa in 1948!

There was so much "stuff," we had to rent a couple of large Big Yellow Storage rooms to contain it. Looking after Mum at the same time, meant it took two years before we got it reduced to a more manageable level, and could bring the rest of it back to the house. Because Mum had "filed" personal letters, etc., in magazines and newspapers, we couldn't just chuck everything into black or orange bags; although there were times when we felt it would a great idea just to put a match to the lot, we went through every page, to be satisfied we hadn't accidentally thrown something precious away.

It was daunting; but there was one positive aspect to it, when I found hundreds of letters I had written to my Mum and Grandma, dating from 1970, when I left Durban to live in England. Mum had kept all those as well, and memories came flooding back. Every time Mum and Grandma came to England for a holiday, Grandma would say, "I love all your letters! How do you find the time to write so much?!"

I said, "I love writing to you! If you're not here to share things with us, I try to keep you and Mum up to date with what we've been doing, and how Wendy is getting on at school."

For me, writing letters with all our news, and about our day-to-day lives, was - and is - as natural as breathing; now I know that Mum and Grandma had kept them all, it just confirms what a worthwhile exercise it was. If they hadn't kept all my letters for me to find nearly 50 years later, I might never have known exactly how much pleasure these missives brought them.

Although e-mails and modern methods of communication have their place, they don't really convey the character or style of the individual who has written them, and speed is sometimes counter-productive. I know so many people who have fired off an e-mail in haste, and regretted it a split-second later, immediately after pressing the "send" button. A little time to pause for reflection, and re-read what you have written, is often the best way. It's wonderful to receive a thoughtful, hand-written letter - seeing familiar handwriting on the envelope, sometimes with a cryptic postal acronym inscribed on the back: "SWALK" (Sealed With A Loving Kiss), or "HOLLAND" (Hope Our Love Lasts And Never Dies) - or even the saucy "BURMA" -  (I'll leave that one for anyone reading this blog to look it up) - adds to the pleasure of anticipation to read it. I know I've slept with a love letter tucked under my pillow!

As for computer-generated and electronically dispatched greetings...  Well, the 14th February is coming up in a couple of weeks, so here is a poem I wrote some years ago, about Valentine's Day:

A VALENTINE VERSE

We may all be ultra-modern
With mobiles, voice and text;
But with all of these devices
We can be sorely vexed.

We need a touch of mystery
And of one thing I am sure:
Nothing beats the gentle "plop"
Of post, landing on the floor.

I'm waiting for that special card
Picked with love and care,
From that one darling other
Whose life I want to share.

So, to the Royal Mail, this plea
Is made with all my heart:
On St. Valentine's, can you please
Play your major part?

It might be called "Snail Mail" by some,
But for romance, it's best:
You cannot tuck an e-mail
Up close against your chest.

Using Stickum and Creating Memories

Using Stickum and Creating Memories

One of my favourite pastimes is creating scrapbooks with all sorts of mementoes - things that mean nothing to people outside the family, but evoke wonderful memories for those of us "In the know."

We moved up to London when Wendy was 11, and we became regular theatre-goers - the Half-Price Theatre ticket Booth in Leicester Square was well patronised by us! -and if Bob wasn't working, he would come with us. We loved seeing all the latest shows. If we were attending an evening performance, after buying our tickets, we would have lunch at Garfunkels Restaurant by Leicester Square, and then make our way to the theatre. It was a very happy time; I've kept all the programmes and tickets, and stuck them into scrapbooks as mementoes of the day.

Now that Mum is disabled, and we manage only very rarely to get up to town, it's lovely to leaf through the albums and remember all the dramas, musicals and comedies we saw.

One New Year's Eve, about 15-odd years ago - and when Mum was still very able to travel - and walk - quite well, Wendy booked tickets for us all to see a show. We thoroughly enjoyed it, but as we set off for home (we had never planned to see in the New Year in town), came the realisation that of course there would be hordes of people pouring into London - especially around Trafalgar Square. In order to control the crowds, the police were closing some Underground Stations.

Suddenly, this presented a real problem, as the station we were heading for, closed. We were advised another station further on was still open, so we started to head for that, and suddenly the idea of seeing a show on New Year's Eve began to be nightmarish.

I was worried about Mum - even though she was a good walker, it was getting very late at night and we were all tired. Although it wasn't actually freezing, it was a jolly sight colder than we liked, and we were being jostled by people who were becoming happily well-refreshed ahead of the midnight "bongs" by Big Ben. We really needed to get on the tube!

I had to take my hat off to Mum - she did have a justifiable grumble about the situation (we hadn't realised the police would stop people accessing various stations), but she kept going, walking a long way until at last we found a station that was still open, and could get on a train to take us home. It was not full - that night, most of LU's passengers were all travelling in the opposite direction!

I also have albums of press cuttings, including albums with Al's clippings from the time he acted in films and advertisements. I know he is now totally immersed in a paramedic career, but he was a very successful child actor, and I think it's lovely to look back at the publicity, and reviews he received.  I have also kept cuttings of shows I've been in, and of my poetry performances. Having a record like this makes you realise how much has been achieved over the years.

I also keep a second copy album for Mum, that she can look through whenever she likes. Photographs are brilliant for stimulating memories, and I make sure they are all happy ones.

Origin of a Wild(e) word

Origin of a Wild(e) word

"Stickum."

This is a word that was coined by my lovely mum-in-law, Minnie, and will be used for as long as the people who remember her keep it alive by family usage.

I was extremely fond of my Mum-in-law; she was a wonderful lady, and we got on really well. When we first met, and she knew I was her son's intended bride, one of the first things she said to me, in her lovely Derbyshire accent, was:

"You can call me Mum - or Mother - if you would like to?"

"Yes, I would like to very much!" I told her.

I knew I was very lucky to have a mum-in-law who thought of me so kindly. Thinking of my own Mum, I know not every daughter-in-law is as fortunate as I was; my father's mother used to say - and she meant it - not even royalty was good enough for her children, so my Mum could never measure up.

Things were so different with Minnie, and it was also lovely that she took the rest of my family - especially my Grandma - to her heart as well.

Minnie got married a bit later in life than was usual in the 1920s, and because Bob was 16 years older than me, it meant Minnie was only three years younger than my Grandma. When Grandma and my Mum came over from Durban to England for Christmases and other holidays, the two older ladies got on famously. Mum was also only 10 years older than Bob, and they got on well, too.

Wendy and Grandma on Wendy's 4th Birthday
10 April 1977

My Grandma (Alice), my Mum, Wendy and Minnie
New Year's Day, 1978

At that time, Bob had been appointed as Naval Engineer Overseer at Cammell Laird in Birkenhead; we had a house in Prenton, and with Minnie living in the family's home town of Glossop, it was not a long drive to go over and bring her back to stay with us for holidays and special occasions.

I don't know how long Minnie had used the word stickum, but the first time I heard it was when she was with staying with us at home.

Minnie had a hairbrush - part of a dressing table set, I think - that had a pretty back to it; over the years, the back became loose and one day, fortunately when she was on holiday with us, it came away completely.

Nothing daunted, and sure it could be fixed, she came downstairs with it, and said,

"Robert, have you got any stickum?!"

Bob took the brush and the back that had come adrift, and had a quick look.

"Oh, yes," he assured her, "I can fix that for you."

And so it was that in a few minutes, the hairbrush was repaired, and as good as new.  Minnie was delighted, and that word, "stickum," has stuck in my mind forever, and remains in our vocabulary today.

I think it's a wonderful word - onomatopoeic, it describes exactly what it is and what it does - encompassing so much more than just "glue," Gloy, Loctite or any other branded type of "stickum."  Every time I use that word, I think of Minnie, and smile at the memory.

I Love To Iron... No Longer ...

I Love To Iron... No Longer...

I think everyone who knows me, is aware I love to iron. Last week, my beautiful, ideal for the job, faithful Rowenta dry iron blew a gasket, flexed its muscles, threw in the towel and gave up the ghost.

That iron had been a household staple since Wendy was a little girl, and it was a joy to use. I know after so many years, it certainly didn't owe me anything, but I really miss it, and especially how easy it was to use - I could sit and iron happily for hours, feeling I was smoothing out creases not only of the clothes, but of life as well. Modern irons tend to be hefty affairs, with reservoirs for water should you require the steam option. I don't, and the Rowenta was slim and neat, with no superfluous plastic overhanging the soleplate making it chunky. It was not too heavy, and the handle was a perfect fit for my hand - I do not have great big mitts, and the slim handle was easy to hold, allowing me to manoeuvre the iron into all the areas of a garment I wanted to go. It could get into the fiddliest places, and had pressed more frilly blouses and more pleated skirts than I could ever count.

I have looked up "retro irons" on the computer, and a few have come up on e-bay, but I'm a bit reluctant to buy a second-hand iron without knowing its history! My Rowenta was made in Germany, with the number LA58, and if anyone reads this blog, and knows of a place where I could buy a new "old fashioned" iron, I would love to know about it!

In the meantime... Yes, I'm still ironing, and shall persevere with the replacement, but the gentle pleasure has rather gone out of it!

Uncle John Flies Back To See Us

Uncle John Flies Back To See Us

After Uncle John returned to Brisbane in 2010, we all missed him very much - even Mum, who had refused to bid him goodbye, was asking when he would be able to come back to see us, so it was a great day when he said he was going to book another holiday and stay with us.

This time, he would be here for nearly three months, which was wonderful news; it meant we could take our time going around places of interest, and where he and Mum had lived when they were young, and we could enjoy lots of little local trips out as well.

As soon as we met him at Heathrow, it felt as though he had been away for no time at all, and he was soon settled again into a happy routine of home life, interspersed with shopping, visiting the new friends he had made, and accompanying me to various venues where I performed the poetry I'd written. It was fun! and Mum was rather more amenable this time, and friendlier towards her younger brother.

In 1943, my grandfather died in an accident at work; after sorting out all the paperwork that followed the tragedy, and especially since Mum's elder brother, Austin, had died in 1938, Mum, my Grandma and Uncle John felt their lives in Liverpool had become so bleak, they had to have a fresh start somewhere new. They decided on Torquay, and it turned out to be a very good move.

Torquay was in the south, on the "English Riviera," and relatively warm - at least compared to Lancashire, and the Mersey area - even palm trees flourished, and it gave them the complete change of scene they needed so much.

The Imperial Hotel in Torquay was quite famous. It attracted an upper-class clientele, and Mum was very happy when she landed a job as one of the receptionists; Uncle John, who had studied shorthand, typing and bookkeeping, was appointed as secretary to the then Manager, Mr H M Chapman. Mum told me only the best people stayed there, and would regale me with stories of the rich and famous people she had met as they checked into the hotel, and how notes were taken on cards, detailing the likes and dislikes of all the guests.

My Grandma also found work at the hotel as a chambermaid; she worked hard, and it took her mind off all the sadness and loss she had suffered over the previous five years. Even though she was profoundly deaf, it was a job she could do well; during their time there, Grandma worked her way up, until she was also responsible for more housekeeping duties, such as keeping a check on the linen.

Mum and Uncle John had very happy memories of the time they spent there, so when I suggested we could go back and pay a visit, he was really excited about it.

I got in touch with the Manager, Cormac O'Keefe - a charming man who made us so welcome, and took us round the hotel, pointing out things that had changed over the years. One thing that had definitely not changed, was the warmth of the hospitality! Before we left, we were invited to take afternoon tea at the Imperial - a very special occasion, and afterwards Cormac also presented us with a copy of a book about the history of the hotel.

Uncle John, Alexandra and Cormac O'Keefe
at the Imperial Hotel, Torquay

Marguerite, Uncle John's late wife, was born in nearby Paignton; before we left the west country, we were able to take Uncle John all around the Torbay area, including Paignton and Newton Abbott, for more trips down memory lane.

The rest of Uncle John's holiday with us was spent relaxing, and just enjoying each other's company; again, the time passed far too quickly, and it was quite a wrench when he had to leave. Mum had been far better tempered and less argumentative with Uncle John this time (also due, in no small way, that he had quickly realised life was much easier if he never disagreed with her!) and she was sad when we set off to drive him to Heathrow.

We all hoped he would be back to stay with us the following summer; he knew (and still knows!) he will always be welcome here with us.

Mum Re-Writes Some Song Lyrics

Mum Re-Writes Some Song Lyrics

I'm sure that most people who know us, are aware that Mum has a very good voice. Although she is now well over 99, she can still sing, and she remembers a lot of the songs from the war years, and from various variety shows, and Flanagan and Allen numbers.

I play piano and Mum joins in - but she sometimes sings words that mean more to her than those printed on the sheet music!

One favourite is "We're going to hang out the washing on the Siegfried Line...." which is very often is changed to: "We're going to hang out the washing on the Sidcup Line..."!

We have worked this one out, because it must refer to the time when she lived in Sidcup for a while and, of course, it still scans perfectly.

Another great song is "Kiss Me Goodnight Sergeant Major..." which usually she remembers perfectly well. When I reach the part that begins, "We all love you, Sergeant Major, 'specially when you're bawling......" at that juncture, I usually pause, hands in the air above the piano keys, for Mum to come in with her solo, "....Show a leg!"  However, it does not always work like that, and if she is tired, Mum has a way of personalising the song to the way she is feeling at that moment:

Alex (playing and singing): "We all love you, Sergeant Major, 'specially when you're bawling ..."

I pause for Mum to follow her cue, but if she doesn't join in after a few seconds, I have been known to carry on, singing the line myself: "..... show a leg..."

This is now often followed by Mum adding, "I'm tired and I want to go to bed!"

Well, she couldn't be more explicit that that, describing what she wants to do; and this line comes from another song my Grandma used to sing to me - and presumably my Mum as well:

"Show me the way to go home; I'm tired and I want to go to bed!
I had a little drink about an hour ago, and it's gone right to my head.....
Wherever I may roam - on land or sea or foam -
You'll always hear me singing this song,
Show me the way to go home!"

"There'll Bluebirds Over The White Cliffs of Dover" usually starts off correctly, but then instead of singing, "Tomorrow, just you wait and see," Mum might sing, "Tomorrow.... is just another day." Yes, well, maybe it is, but that line doesn't carry the poignancy of the original!

I love playing that song - it's in Eb major, with a beautiful line in chords: Eb major, C minor, F minor, Bb7, and back to Eb - to my ears, that's a perfect arrangement.

It's the same with "A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square" - you really do need to play it in Eb major, it just doesn't sound "right" if it's transposed into another key - much to my annoyance, in fact, because I find Eb major takes the vocals a bit high in places! I shall have to try harder to reach those upper notes.

Another song I play is Heart and Soul, which I first heard Floyd Cramer playing, during a show in Durban back in 1962, when he was on tour with Jim Reeves and Chet Atkins. It's an old Hoagy Carmichael song, and I have an idea I've seen sheet music showing the key of D major, but I play it in Eb and still use the same four chord intro.

We've also introduced an old childhood nursery rhyme, for when Mum washes and dries her hands:

Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, baker's man,
Bake me a cake as fast as you can;
Pat it and prick it and mark it with "P,"
And put it in the over for Phyllis and me.

By the time she has done this a couple of times, Mum has concentrated on what she is doing, and her hands are properly dry.

I remember Mum patting my hands with a towel, and reciting this rhyme - I'd be about 3 or 4, so it's a happy memory from that time, too.

Some Statistics

Some Statistics

Before Mum stopped being able to be helped out of bed, and when she was generally stronger on weight bearing and could stand up for a few seconds, do a "twiddle" to turn herself around and sit on the glider/chair/bed, she kept pretty well to a routine of being washed and dressed by the carers every morning, after which she would get up, sit in the chair and eat breakfast. This would be followed by a mid-morning nap; getting up again for lunch, with another nap afterwards, followed by tea and cake (again sitting in the chair) before bedtime at about 10.00 p.m.

Then came the three occasions when Mum would not wake up; this worried everyone - the carers and us - to the extent that the carers rang 999 and an ambulance arrived to take Mum to hospital for checks. After the third trip to hospital, it was agreed that if Mum was tired, then that was simply what it was, and she should just be allowed to sleep on for another hour (or three).

Over three months or so this autumn, I thought it would be interesting to check how often Mum has slept through the morning call - bearing in mind this means she doesn't rouse even whilst she is being washed and dressed in fresh clothes. When the carers return for the next call, at about 12.30 p.m, sometimes she sleeps through that one as well, even though her pad will be changed, and the ladies are making sure she is comfortable. Because I know it's not that good for anyone to lie abed for too long - I also worry about her not clearing anything that has accumulated on her chest - when the ladies return at 4.30, we make a concerted effort to wake Mum up and encourage her to get up and sit in the chair for at least the rest of the day.

Over 83 days, recorded between July and October, the figures stacked up like this:

July - 18 days when Mum got up normally.

August - 24 days when Mum got up normally; 7 mornings when she stayed in bed.
(on 1 Aug, she stayed fast asleep during the morning call, the 12.45 call,  and she was still in bed at 2.15. Finally she got up at the tea call, and we went straight to making Mum's dinner. On the other 6 days Mum just slept through the morning call, and got up at lunch time).

September - 19 days when Mum got up normally; 10 days when she stayed in bed.
(On 3 September, she was still in bed at the 12.30 call, and finally got up at 4.30; on 6 September, she slept not only through being washed and dressed, but also through a trial on the hoist! and was still asleep at 12.15, getting up at 4.30; On 10 September, we all thought she had woken up well enough, but was going to sit in the chair; but then it became very clear she had gone off fast asleep, so she was gently hoisted back in to bed, and slept on until the next call at 12.30 p.m.  On the other 7 days, Mum got up at 12.15 p.m)

October - 2 days when Mum got up; and 3 days when she stayed in bed.
On October 2 and 3, Mum stayed in bed until 4.30 p.m., and on 5 October, she slept through the morning call, and got up at 12.30.

As a rough percentage, this autumn Mum has been awake and ready to get up for about 75% of the time; and very sleepy and clearly better and kinder to let her sleep on, for 25% of the time.

One positive result of Mum sleeping through the morning is that I can also go back to bed to snatch a couple of hours' extra kip!  but of course it also means that Mum misses breakfast and ends up with only two meals that day - dinner and supper - and has just two cups of tea. It's hard enough to get Mum to drink one cup of tea at each mealtime but, when she has slept through, I try to increase her fluid intake with a "filler up" of half a cup.

Noting all the times Mum has been awake and "up and doing" just proves we can't be sure of anything, but we will always keep trying to make arrangements for happy times, and to include Mum in all that we do. Organising outings, like Tea at the Ritz, or special occasion get-togethers such as family birthdays and Christmas, are like military operations, and even then we don't know how things will work out, until the time has actually been and come and gone.

We have learned to prepare for everything as far as we possibly can, taking all eventualities into account, and then just hope for the best!

It's a Happy New Year - and a photo or three from 2018!

It's a Happy New Year!

Mum got to be at about 10.00 p.m. last night, so she didn't watch all the fireworks on t.v, which were pretty spectacular featured around the London Eye.

Before I went to bed at 1.30 a.m., I looked in in Mum, and she was half awake, so I said, "Happy
New Year, Ma!" and she replied, "Happy New Year," and promptly settled back down, to sleep on.

This morning, Mum was up early and washed and dressed, and sitting in the chair, so we had a very normal morning, with Mum eating all her breakfast.

She is back in bed now for a nap until dinner time, which gives me a chance to write a Happy New Year message to all the readers of this blog, and to wish us all, a happy, healthy, peaceful and prosperous 2019.

I have also got a couple of pictures uploaded onto the computer which I can attach to this entry; o.k., I should have put them up earlier, but I think everyone knows my IT abilities are sadly lacking - ask me to write a poem, or an article, and I'll oblige without turning a hair, but trying to get me to understand the mysteries of uploading pictures in such a way that I can attach them to this blog....well, that is another matter entirely.

So, with faith and hope that 2019 will prove to be a good year, here are some photos from 2018 that, to misquote a phrase from Blue Peter, I should have made earlier......

Mum and Wendy - 28 October 2018
Mum's 99th Birthday

Mum and one of her 99th Birthday cards

Christmas Day 2018

Wendy in her Elf outfit - Christmas Day 2018