Childhood stories

On visits to Grannie’s little end terraced house, my sisters and I would sit at the table and listen to her stories about Rupert the Bear. There would be smells of her homemade soup; the aroma of vegetables and salty ham. It was warm and cosy and I remember feeling lovely and secure there. She would wear scratchy wool skirts, and her knees were all swollen from arthritis. The football results would be echoing through from Grandpa’s radio in the living room ‘Queen of the South- 2, Morton Rangers- 0’. The coal fire from the living room would be making popping and cracking sounds. We were allowed to throw our crisp packets in sometimes and I loved to watch them shrivel away to nothing. Grannie had a kind face but smelt like a mix of sickly stale talc and lavender. Her eyes would water a lot when she spoke, in a nice heart-warming way. Her stories were never the same, and when I asked for last week’s version, she would never be able to remember it.  

         I don’t recall mum or dad ever reading to me, although my mum assures me she did until I could read for myself. I then started reading Ramona books by Beverly Clearly. Ramona was an American girl, around my age of eight, who was always up to something and having adventures. Her friend Howie Kemp was her accomplice. I loved the sound of where she lived; I think it was Portland, Oregon, which sounded very exotic to me! She would get into trouble now and again for being naughty and she sounded like someone I would have been friends with. When reading Ramona books, I would either be in my pine single bed or up on the large floral sofa downstairs. My bedroom had a lilac floral design on the wallpaper, and thin cotton curtains which let the light in, in the summer months. I shared with my little sister who was two and a half years younger than me. Downstairs, we had an old upright piano which mum sometimes played, and smells of soup and mince and potatoes were pretty standard. Sometimes there would be a pungent smell of whiskey and stale smoke, from my dad wondering in after bowling.

         Using my library card (or little brown tickets in those days) we would have a weekly trip to the local library. I think it was there that I first came across Enid Blyton’s ‘Moon face and the Magic Faraway Tree’. I would eventually have my own copy which I read until the covers were loose and scraggy. I liked to escape to Moon face’s house and all the lands he went to like Topsy- Turvy land, were everyone was upside down. The imagery Enid Blyton created with the lively, fanciful characters and lands allowed me to feel like I was there and part of it. It provided much needed solitude, as my house could be quite chaotic and Topsy- Turvy too.