It has taken me nearly two years since losing my Father, to Pancreatic cancer, to decide what I could do about my loss. It has taken me this long to realise that one of the things I miss most was hearing the anecdotes he would recite on a fairly regular basis. Many I have heard over and over again but I never tire of them. They were made more real because other family members still tell them from a slightly different perspective.
The intention is to share a few of these stories with you. If you like them then that is great and I will publish more; if you don't I will still publish more but for my own benefit only. C'est la Vie.
There won't be many pictures as you can't produce photos of a man who was a small boy in the 1930s. I do have one or two of him as he grew older and they may feature in later stories assuming I keep it up. - So to the first tale.
My Dad, Jimmy, was born to an East End family in 1931 (September 17th) and was the younger of two brothers. His Dad worked in the Docks and his Mum, as I understand it, spent some years at the Ford Motor Company in Dagenham.
Dad would have been around 1 year old when this story took place. My Grandparents had just managed to get a new Council House in Lambourne Road in Ilford. They were delighted and, since they didn't have two Ha'Pennies to rub together, had begged and borrowed furniture to fill their new home.
Most of the furniture was pretty grubby but served it's purpose. One piece of furniture, however, had been 'purchased' by my Grandad because my Nan had seen it and fallen in love with it. The item was a big old mahogany sideboard and they had bought it on HP (hire purchase) since they couldn't afford such things outright. It was her pride and joy and she spent a great deal of time polishing and maintaining it. Nothing other than pictures were allowed to stand on it and woe betide anyone who put something in it without her permission.
When I say she spent a lot of time polishing it what I really mean, she was a fairly formidable lady, is that she convinced my father's older brother, Ronnie, to polish the woodwork as one of his chores.
My father, as a little kiddy, was fascinated by his brother and the jobs he did for their mum around the house. He wanted to help so one day stood up and attempted to polish the sideboard with his big bruvva. Unfortunately he had no polishing cloth nor indeed any polish. What he did have, though, was a terry toweling nappy; the ideal implement for polishing a big dark sideboard which gleamed in the light through the parlour window.
As you can probably guess the nappy was already used! Regardless little Jimmy removed his nappy and began 'waxing on, waxing off' adding a completely new colour and patina to the lovely wood. Excrement was now smeared all over the front of the new sideboard. Ronnie was of course horrified and needed to get the offending 'coating' off of the wood because he would get the blame. He had a clean cloth, how hard could it be? Very hard and all he really achieved was to rub it even further into the woodwork.
What would you do today if one of your kids smeared muck all over your best furniture? Have it professionally cleaned, get rid of it, replace the damaged part, go to Ikea and buy a new one?
My Grandparents didn't have that luxury, they hadn't paid for the thing yet. They had to keep it and they had to keep up the payments on it. People at this time did not have contents insurance and their pride would not allow them to cease payment because the shop would come and collect the item back. They tried cleaning it along with other various attempts at removing the interesting new stain. The sideboard now had a very faded panel with a reasonably dark grain on the, nearly white, Right hand door. As I understand it they lived with the thing for some years until such time as they could afford to get rid of it and the piece of furniture must have retained that faint smell that only babies seem able to produce. For some time the damaged door sat behind an armchair and if any visitor commented on the lovely sideboard then the subject was quickly changed!
I never knew my Grandfather but I still remember my Nan chastising my Dad as a man in his forties and fifties for taking a dump on the best piece of furniture she ever owned. You will read in future stories how formidable my Nan was but suffice to say she made my Uncle and my Dad suffer for that little escapade many times over.