That "J" Word (pt2)

Hot summer, bees and lavender

So, there I was I guess, a typically unremarkable baby on the scale of unremarkable babies. Two arms (check) Two legs (check) Ten fingers and toes (check) nose, eyes, ears etcetera all appear to be in situ. I would imagine quite a chubby little chap, the usual rolls of baby fat. The only concern I would of had? When’s my next meal!? Or when is someone going to change my nappy (diaper) I guess to my parents I was quite remarkable? Or maybe not. I was their second child. My elder brother having been born some eighteen months earlier. Had the novelty worn off? On a more animalistic level, at least my mother knew what to expect to some degree regarding the birthing process. What levels of pain to expect, possible complications? To be honest, I don’t know how advanced midwifery was back in the early 70’s.

I can only imagine now, writing this as a 52 year old dad of two, having been through the days of having two babies to help care for, being fed and being changed would have been my only real concerns. Assuming my baby sized brain possessed the capacity to function on that level? Actually, this is one aspect regarding our brains and their functions which fascinate me. On what level do they function as a tiny infant? Is it purely on an instinctual level, or is there a level of intelligence present already? Baby needs food, so cries, instinctual or intelligence? Again, baby needs changing, instinct or intelligence? A certain degree of both? I know not. I guess my brain worked as intended, and my parents had learnt sufficiently enough from the birth of my brother some year and half earlier.

I must ask him one day how he feels about being a trailblazer? A guinea pig of sorts. The sacrificial lamb on my behalf! Our parents learning the caring routine with him. It would appear he was a model student, as we survived! And of course, it goes without saying, yet I will say it anyway, we are here and have the values we do due to the dedication, support, love and care our parents gave us both.

I have no memories as a baby at all, I don’t think many people do. Thank goodness.

My first recollection of my childhood is during the summer of 1976. A real life heatwave. It seemed to last forever! In my 3 year old mind, I could only imagine this is how it must be to live somewhere hot all of the time. Actually, I doubt I thought this at all. My world as a 3 year old didn’t extend much outside the cul-de-sac I resided in, or our local town. I don’t even know if I was aware there was a big bad world out there!

I do seem to remember that the sunshine in that summer seemed to last forever. Every day playing outside. I remember my father telling me later in my life about the “Summer of 76” with a misty almost whimsical look in his eyes. He recalled with joy how, as the heatwave, and subsequent drought rolled on, you could arrange a bar be que with friends for a week or so in advance. Which, for those of you who like me have been brought up and live in the UK, is literally unheard of!! It was as if we were living in California or the like. You could pretty much guarantee that when you woke up in the morning during the crazy summer of 76. It would be clear blue skies and dawn to dusk strong sunshine!

“Those were the days my friend, we thought they’d never end”

I remember the cul-de-sac we lived in. It was an ordinary affair in the market town of Billericay Essex and quite unremarkable. To me however, it was home. And my first home at that. The cul-de-sac was built on a gentle hill, possibly a slope. To me as a young boy growing up, it was my race track when I was on my bike, my hide and seek arena, my battle ground for playing soldiers, and above all, my safe place. My parents had a few friends in the cul-de-sac, and would have them over for “drinks” or vice versa. Looking back, it was the perfect family home, and I adored living there with my parents and brother. Oddly though, as hard as I try, my early memories of my brother and I are very hazy. Almost to the point of non existent.

I have one quite horrifying memory, and I guess I must have been quite young, as I was in my room alone in bed, and it is was still light outside. I can remember something itching around my mouth and lips. And then I heard it. The buzzing. I just froze. And then I felt it crawling on the inside of my bottom lip. It was a big bee! What it was doing crawling across my mouth and face, I guess only the bee will know. Frozen with fear, I could do nothing other than hope it would go away. I imagine it did, as I can’t remember anything else about my encounter with it. I know it didn’t sting me, thankfully. I do wonder though if that very early encounter as a very young child has had some bearing on my hatred of buzzing flying insects? Incredibly, moths more so than bees. And yes, I know, moths don’t buzz!

Thinking back, I was a very lucky child. Not only because I was born into a family who wanted me, and loved me unconditionally, no, but because we lived in a nice house. It was no mansion, however it was home. A 3 bedroom semi detached house with a garage! The garage was at the end of a long shared driveway with our neighbours. Bob and Eileen! Their garage was next to ours. I remember my dad chatting with Bob on many an occasion when they were both outside doing dad men things! Like mowing the grass, or working on their cars. I think this is probably where my interest and fascination with cars and engines was born. And before the equal opportunities brigade have me arrested and hauled away for being stereotypical, I am fully aware women are more than capable of mowing the lawn, and working on cars, and doing any job which society has deemed over the decades as traditionally “men’s jobs”

You have to remember, this was the 70s and stereotypes were very much alive and thriving. Not good.

The house was some achievement for mum and dad. Before I was born, they lived in a two bedroom flat (apartment) in Dagenham London. My brother spent the first year of his life there. Not that he can remember anything about it (I would imagine). Mum and Dad were childhood sweethearts, mum being 14 when she met my dad, who was 16. Married in 1966, remaining married until my mums far too early passing in 2001 aged just 55 years of age. More on that later. I remember my dad recalling the year they got married. It was the summer of 66, and of course, that was when England won the football World Cup. A great year for all concerned I would imagine! My mum and dad were Mods and dad had the Lambretta scooter. Mum and dad dressed sharp and looked good. They both had jobs in the city of London, went dancing regularly and were in love. My dad has recalled many a story and mishap from his time in the 60s, usually involving coming off of his Lambretta, or getting into scrapes in pubs!

Married and enough money put by for a deposit on a house, they moved from the “big smoke” to the relative peace of Billericay in Essex. Mum and dad both originate from humble beginnings in the “East End” of London, so to eventually move to a 3 bed semi in typical suburbia, must have seemed like one heck of an achievement and utter bliss!

It had a little front garden with a little wall that I used to sit on. By the wall in the flowerbeds were 3 or 4 lavender bushes. The smell in summer was intoxicating. I think these very early memories of the lavender are why I love it now, and have it in my own garden. I would rub my thumb and forefinger on the lavender flowers as a child to get the scent on my hands.

The house also had a back garden of a decent size. The proportions of which I have no idea. All I know is there was plenty of room for me to play and have fun in.

Downstairs there was a lounge diner affair, and a kitchen to the side. Off of the hallway were the stairs and a cupboard underneath them. And a downstairs room which was my brother and I’s playroom. I spent many a happy hour in that playroom with my imagination. I remember one evening, I was in the playroom alone, happily playing with my toy cars. No doubt making up some scenario involving a Police chase! All of a sudden the lights went out. I can’t remember if this room had a window or not. If it did, the curtains must have been drawn as it was now pitch black. I remember freezing, no doubt thinking mum and dad will be in in a minute to get me. No one came. I ended up falling asleep. It’s only in later years I learned mum and dad had forgotten about me in the playroom!! No doubt, too busy lighting candles and trying to see if the power cut had affected the rest of the street. Yet, they forgot about me! I can only assume my brother was elsewhere in the house or with them. You would have thought they would have made the link! Child number one is ok, we better check on child number two! Nope!

Eventually they remembered, and dad came in to the playroom to find me sound asleep! I must have been 4 or 5 years of age.

It’s funny what you remember 5 decades later isn’t it?

Thank you for reading. I hope my story thus far isn’t too beige, dull or boring.

More soon.

Peas and taters, with love

Dom G