CHAPTER THREE
THE BIKE

 

This incident/accident happened on a Sunday afternoon in July during 1939. As you can see from the date, that was a couple of months before WW2 broke out

 

We lived in a rented terraced house in South East London. We were not very well off and every halfpenny had to be accounted for.

It was a hot humid day with rain coming down in buckets full. Our front door was wide open to let what breeze there was come through. The house had a long passageway that had the front room ( this was out of bounds to the children and we were only allowed in when visitors came ) leading off halfway down, the kitchen was next and the scullery was at the end of this long passage way. My father was in his favourite position sitting on the stairs with his rolled up cigarette dangling from his fingers. My 16 year old sister Amy was reading a book in the kitchen my younger brother Johnny - the one that forgot about me in the tuppenny rush cinema - was upstairs. My mother was in the front room brushing her beautiful knee length flaxen coloured hair. Her hair was my father's pride and joy. Meanwhile, Billy my 18 year old eldest brother had his bike turned upside down in the passageway doing something to the chain.

I sat playing with a tea-set that my eldest brother had bought for me the week I was born out of his meagre pocket money which at that time I was told cost 3d from East Lane Sunday Market. I was turned 7 years of age by the time I first played with that tea-set because of being in the home. I was 9 years of age when this incident/accident happened.

I can remember when looking out of the front door and watching the rain falling down SO heavily it reminded me of dancing men. DON'T ask me why I thought that because I have no idea. Meanwhile my brother had set the wheels of his bike going at a great speed. I would imagine that he was testing it to see if the chain and the brakes were working properly. My mother after finishing braiding her hair and putting it up like two ear phones each side of her face walked out of the front room and my brother said "Can you stop the wheels for me please Mum?" Instead of getting something to stop the wheels with, she put her hand there.

The top of her finger flew through the air right past where my Dad sat on the stairs.
He in fright dropped his cigarette down his shirt and mayhem broke loose. Mother ran to get the top of her finger that had landed two steps past Dad's head which she firmly plonked back on as she ran into the scullery to run the water over it and Dad finally got the cigarette that was singeing his hairy chest.

My Gawd what a to-do!

Mum got a newly washed sheet to put round her hand where she had stuck the top part of her finger back on while telling Amy my sister to get her coat and to go with her to the doctors surgery. Amy went with my mother and Mum's finger was stitched back on but it was always crooked after that. The next day my mother came in with an Eton cropped hairstyle. I could not get used to her with short hair like that and I wondered what my father would say when he got home from work. I did not have to be on pins for long because he went ballistic when he saw her. My mother finally got through to him that she HAD to get the money for the doctor for stitching her finger on and she sold her tresses to do it. She got 15s for her hair. That is 75 pence in today's currency. Out of which she had to pay the doctor 7s/6d for stitching her finger back on plus aspirins to ease the pain.

There was NO NHS in those far off days and each visit to the doctor cost 5s.
It was lucky that the doctor lived on the premises but it was still a 20 minute walk for my mother to get to his place. How she did it I will never know. She was not very big in height, in fact she was less than 5 foot tall but she had the strength of an ox and the temper that could get the better of her when she got riled. My father bore the scars!

I never got on with my mother but I had deep admiration for her courage both in this incident and others that happened over the years. I felt embarrassed by her many times but looking back I realise how many folk loved her, even if I couldn't.

Incidentally my tea-set was wrapped up very well during the war and although it suffered minor damage to the tea-pot spout and a cracked saucer it is now sitting in pride of place in my daughter-in-laws unit.

Its ironic to think a 76 year old tea-set survived the horrors of WW2.

 

 

home | help | contact | e-mail

Copyright www.Age-Net.co.uk 2000 - 2008