I was just looking at that photo of me on
my bike and something didn't look right with the front door. My memory
is of stained glass lead light window panels. Our first house at
Goodmayes Avenue had a tessilated tile path, a privet side hedge ( it
looks a bit neglected in the photo) and a letter box that was brass but
Dad had later chrome plated - all correct in the photo except for the
window panels. The windows showed a country scene which included a
windmill. I can't remember it ever being as it was in the photo.
And then it came back to me. Dad took those
windows out soon after we bought the house and had stained glass ones
put in. I think they were salvaged bomb damaged material. After a few
years and Jeffrey had got to about five years of age, ( I would then
have been nine), they got into the habit of sometimes leaving us alone
in the house with me in charge.
Mum would issue her directives, "Dad and
me are just going down the road (for a quick drink at the local)
and will be back in half an hour. Look after your little brother
Michael; don't get into any mischief and don't open the front door to
anyone you don't know".
We soon got into the habit of using the
long hallway as a cricket pitch. One time Dad caught us and told me I
would get a good hiding if he learnt we'd done it again.
Well you know what kids are like don't you?
Anyway one Sunday afternoon we were waiting
for them to leave us alone. It was a compulsive obsession we had to
charge up and down the hallway. As they were leaving Dad said, "No
cricket. What did I say?"
"No cricket Dad."
"Hum."
Mum then said, "I want you to promise on
the bible that you'll do as Dad says."
We nodded dutifully and promised.
As soon as we heard the front gate close
the cricket things were out. After a few overs I sent down a screamer.
Straight through the stained glass window. I couldn't believe it had
happened. Jeffrey immediately piped up with, "Dad will kill you, and
you've now got me into trouble too."
Clearly my little brother developed the art
of self preservation very early in life. We sat in the hall in silence
as I tried to think how I could extricate myself from the impending
catastrophe that was about to fall on me. I knew that Dad had paid a lot
of money for the windows and was proud of them. But finally only one
solution seemed practical. Face the music and be damned.
Finally we heard the click of the front
gate. I can still hear their cheerful conversation as they stepped onto
the path. Then there was silence. Jeffrey and I cautiously glimpsed
thought the front room curtains. They were both speechless and
motionless for what seemed like ages. Then I saw Dad's face and I knew
this was not going to be just a simple spanking. They both charged up to
the front door, flung it open and immediately Jeffrey yelled, " It
wasn't me, Michael made me play cricket, I told him we shouldn't."
I was literally dragged by the scruff of my
neck to the front door and forced to admit that I had disobeyed a direct
instruction. "You even promised me on the bible Michael." I knew then
that I was in real trouble. Mum had been a Methodist Sunday School
teacher.
My tears fell in torrents. My contrition
was absolute. I remember I even offered to pay for the damage myself.
I can't remember what the punishment was.
Probably nothing too serious, but this little story just illustrates how
my Rambling Recollections come back to me.
----
After reading what I've just written and
thinking about things again, I now remember yet more details. Dad was a
great one for "modernising". The house at Goodmayes Avenue was a
particular project. I remember now that the stained glass windows with
the windmill were the windows that replaced the one I'd broken. Although
I only broke one of them, Dad replaced the pair. I suppose he couldn't
get a good match. The house was a typical Victorian terrace house and
would originally have had typically Victorian windows. So the windows in
the photo were replacements that someone had put in prior to our moving
there. The house two doors down from us had been destroyed in the blitz
and our house could well have suffered blast damage. Lead light windows
were particularly prone to being blown in.
Ironically the first set of lead light
windows that Dad put in were probably second hand Victorian ones in
keeping with style of the home. The ones I remember - that is the one
with the country scene - were quite out of character. Like the chrome
plated letter box and the new chrome plated plumbing fixtures he put in.
As I said, Dad liked modernising things. I dare say if we had stayed
there he would have also pulled up the Victorian tiled pathway and
replaced it with a more practical cement one.
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