Floating in a most peculiar way

My dad was introduced to my mum by his sister Pat in 1946. Both girls were single mothers, ‘knocked up’ by the yanks that frequented the Black Boy and Criterion pubs in those days.  

 

At the time my mum worked as an usherette in the Exchange Cinema (later the Odeon).

 

 

I remember seeing a picture of her in uniform once, a coquettish vamp, holding her torch provocatively. Any man would have been putty in her hands. Rumour has it that my father burned this and many other photos when they parted company. When asked he neither admits nor denies the act because he doesn’t remember. This is strange and surprising since his recall of other events is detailed and cinematic. I suspect he is guilty as charged. Whatever happened, the loss of this time capsule causes me great sorrow, but I live in hope that some gems may have survived somewhere.

 

After a night of beer and darts dad would sneak into the Exchange and wait for mum on the back row. Their love bloomed like a showy hibiscus doomed to quickly drop.

http://www.youtube.com/v/bBp-ehfENsc&fs=1&source=uds&autoplay=1

They married whilst dad was on leave and honeymooned the weekend in a prefab offered up by my dear Uncle Harry. I have wonderful memories of this sweet natured man who never failed to proffer an ice cream or a shiny coin whenever we met. He was always pleased to see me and generous with his time and love. I remember wishing that he was my dad and not my uncle.

It’s strange to think that my parents were once in love and happy. I have no memory of them even sitting together let alone embracing. My childhood was a Somme offensive; neither side ever gaining advantage but much blood spilt in the process.

I was born in March 1959 in the hospital near St Giles Street where my mother now clings to life. As I Love You by Shirley Bassey was #1 in the hit parade.

http://www.youtube.com/v/dpJ5DjM6Yo0&fs=1&source=uds&autoplay=1

The family lived in a prefab bungalow amongst a thriving but poor community on Bants Lane. Auntie Sheila lived in the prefab opposite and looked after my sisters whilst my mum was in labour. My dad rushed to the hospital when I was born and was so happy that he ran back shouting ‘it’s a boy, it’s a boy’ to anyone who’d listen. One can only speculate on why we ended up being such a disappointment to each other. Nowadays it’s too difficult to unpick or blame, so instead I try to influence the present and model a future.

 

In 1947 my dad was demobbed in Portsmouth and sent forth in his civilian suit. He would rejoin the navy soon after when the reality of post war Britain showed itself, but with money in his pocket he decided to visit Brighton for the weekend. The demobbed gang drank the pubs dry and decided to go for a swim, stripping down to their underpants before braving the waves. Two sentries were left to guard the clothes and wallets. When the wet warriors returned they found the sentries asleep and their belongings stolen. I wonder if dad visited the Spotted Dog for another drink and a change of clothes. I’m sure they made the sailors very welcome there.

Dad was in hospital in November and there were doubts he’d leave but now he’s home and well. When I visit mum and enter from St Giles Street I pass by dad’s old ward and remember this fact. I hope and pray for the same outcome for dear Doreen Alice.