Parents

A Memory of Billericay.

I Remember the early Twenties.

My mothers family, had a woodturning business, pianos, violins, and such good quality instruments, in Bethnal Green, London, She had two brothers, George and Albert, and a sister Sara. Sara was a cripple, a bent leg from the knee,she used a chair to walk. Uncle Albert, had been in the Air Force, he’d come down in that type of uniform, on a motorbike and side car. His wife was blind, she tuned the pianos when they were made. Uncle George, was twenty two and a half stone, a large man. He liked to carry me on his shoulders and did, from Billericay to Laindon to the Fortune Of War pub. Dad and George got on well, both drank in long drafts, only breaking away when a quick gasp of breath was needed. I knew Uncle George had plenty of room to fill, but my Dad being small, I wondered if he would fill up and overflow. Uncle George‘s journey to our bungalow just outside Billericay. In Gooseberry of Perry Street, in a field from over a style, in the hedge of Perry Street road, then crossing to opposite side of the field, would be with a large lump of beef in a sack, his keep. Summertime, as we had a large tank for water one conner of the bungalow, he would strip off and wash in it - very hot summers were in being. Top of the field, with our Bunglow in, were a lot of Dog Rose trees, tall with nice small flowers and beautiful red pods. Tried to eat once, but they were sticky and hairy. Uncle George would cut one or two down and show me how to make a walking stick, using stem and upright stops for twisting the handle. Uncle George always came down when Fairs or such were on in Quilters Field (a sheet explains this field). Dad and Uncle would use the Rising Sun pub opposite the field, so it was, watch the first one or two pints go down - then hand out, palm uppermost, for a tanner to go over to the fair. Dad was very deaf, I have now that of him. Uncle George could hear okay, now and again he would cough up looking puzzled, as Dad could read lips and know ahead my pleading ploys. Those were good times, normally when just family at home. I would be trusted to go and get dad tobacco fag papers and matches, with an old shilling, leaving plenty for my sweets. It meant walking up Perry Street to Queens Park to the sweet shop, Wilderspins owned it. I had no need of fear, in those days, like I do now. For who is safe, to walk freely about, and not have to mind such, todays dangers on or off the pavement, or in their homes? The elderly are not respected. A danger from walking dogs faeces into our homes is so real, as only the few people, if in a seen position, try to clean it up each and every day. Babies crawl on the same floors as walked upon, eyesight is at high risk. Every one of us should get real and help to the do the work others are paid to do, but don’t. Henry.