GROWING UP IN BIRMINGHAM, 1950-57:
63 BAMVILLE ROAD, WARD END, BIRMINGHAM,
MY FIRST HOME…
This was a terraced house with a privet hedge resting on a wall surrounding a front yard, which was only a couple of metres deep. An outer door, flush with the front window led into an enclosed porch. A front-room branched off to the right side of the hall, which led into a single doorway and the parlour. A door in the back-room hid the stairs. My parents and I used the front bedroom but my Nan slept in a rear bedroom off the landing to the right and I understand the room at the end of the landing, one step down, was built as a bedroom and contained one bed behind the door. A bath had been plumbed in under the window but no sink, apparently. I don’t recall this, or indeed my Nan’s room. ‘Dark’ seems to sum up my memory of the house in general.
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| MUM & ME, THE SHED ON THE RIGHT, POSSIBLY ONCE USED AS AN ANDERSON SHELTER DURING WORLD WAR 2 & MOVED TO BECOME A SHED... |
The 17th September 1950 was a Sunday and I was born on the Sabbath… When asked by someone whether I had been dropped on my head during my infant years, my mother replied quite seriously, “No but I fell downstairs whilst carrying him…” Perhaps this explains why people have considered me a bit of an idiot. I understand that I was born in Heathfield Road Nursing Home in Handsworth. The site subsequently became Heathfield Primary School and I visited it some years back to find only a perimeter wall remaining from the original building.
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| ABOVE & BELOW: THE REMNANTS OF HEATHFIELD'S NURSING HOME WALLS, PICTURED IN 1993. THE ADDRESS WAS 134 HEATHFIELD ROAD... |
Much crying with pain during my early weeks of life led to an operation for a hernia at the Children’s Hospital, at the other side of the city-centre from where we lived. This became one hell of a long journey for mom and dad into town and out the other side, on public transport. I was nearly two months old and was taken into a ward on Bonfire Night & apparently it was very atmospheric.
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| THE OLD Birmingham Children's Hospital... |
Anyway, the small lump in my groin had refused to go away and yet on 5th November no operation was actually performed. I was taken home in a taxi after midnight on a very cold winter’s evening but returned on a tram in deep snow, during the following day, November 6th. Despite much pushing of the ‘lump’ with my legs strapped in the air and no crying, the now larger swelling would not recede and an operation was decided upon. That was apparently unwise usually, because a baby naturally lies with its knees up, hardly helpful to hernia recovery.
Due to the extremely bad weather, my dad was unable to do his job of cleaning windows anyway, so he visited me in the hospital each day. When I was eventually allowed home, I was unable to cry. My mouth opened but no sound came out. I have made up for that silent period ever since…
Around Christmas time, my vocal cords began to work again. I’m told that I was very good under the trying circumstances and a well-behaved baby most of the time. It seems that dad nursed me if I awoke at night, not surprising as mom was always shy, reserved, controlled by my father, naïve and undemonstrative.
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| NO FLASH ON THE BROWNIE CAMERA BUT MUM MANAGED TO GET THE LIGHT FROM THE PARLOUR WINDOW TO HIGHLIGHT ME... |
I was usually bathed in a tin bath in the front room.
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| WELL, I SEEM HAPPY ENOUGH... |
I had to share a bedroom upstairs with my parents at the front of the house, above the front-room, the one in which we ‘lived’. My bed ran beneath the window, from the far right corner of the room as one walked in. My head was therefore in line with the door. Essentially I slept in a bed positioned across the end of my parents’ double-bed.
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| THE ONLY PICTURE WHICH EXISTS OF MY CUDDLY TOYS. THE TEDDY BEAR SUFFERED A TRAGIC END. HIS FULL STORY WILL APPEAR IN A LATER ARTICLE... |
I believe my dad nearly pushed me into the lake in Ward End Park one day, whilst I was lying in my pram, for his football damaged knee locked & he let go of the pram near the water’s edge. Only a desperate lunge and grab by my father prevented more than the two front wheels going into the water…
THE BOATING POOL, WARD END PARK... 
A MORE RECENT IMAGE...
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| "I'M GLAD I'M IN THE GARDEN DAD CUZ YOU CAN'T RUN ME INTO THE LAKE FROM HERE..." |
I was often left outside the house for fresh air in my pram but I can remember the faces of a leering window cleaner and a lively chap we called ‘Jack the Fruiterer Man’ suddenly looking down into the pram to see me and terrifying the hell out of me. I never had trouble filling my nappy in those days…
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| "I HATE THOSE GURNING FACES..." |
A step down from the parlour was the kitchen, with its own coal fire but the long rear garden, backed by a right-of-way is what I remember most, corrugated metal shed and all. I’m told that I had a fascination with car doors and although only a few vehicles were parked in Bamville Road, I do remember opening a car’s door one day then being too scared to shut it properly and running home, thinking the owners and several policemen were sure to be following me. Coal was delivered via that right of way by dad’s brother Les and his co-worker, who worked for Aldridge’s, based behind the Brookhill pub in Ward End. “Ten bags but no slack…” mum would say to my uncle…
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| LOOKS LIKE A COLD DAY, AROUND 1953 & DAD HOLDS 'TIMMY', THE CAT WHICH BELONGED TO THE EXCELLENT RON & FRED REDALL NEXT DOOR. |
ALDRIDGE'S COAL YARD WAS DIRECTLY BEHIND THE BROOKHILL PUB, LEFT OF PICTURE & DAD'S BROTHER LES LIVED IN ONE OF THE TWO HOUSES BELONGING TO THE FAMILY...
I recall other moments which flick into my mind on rare occasions, such as the family assemblies at Nan’s house each Saturday, going to bed around 7.30pm even at weekends and thinking that a burglar had placed his swag-bag on the end of my bed one night when my cat had slipped upstairs and sprung onto the eiderdown. I remember with horror and amusement when Nan sent out jumble to the ‘rag and bone man’ one day and to her extreme embarrassment her discarded corset dropped off the wagon and lay in the street for everybody to see. Somebody went out to retrieve the offending garment rather smartly, I believe…
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| THE ONLY PICTURE OF MY CAT RICKY TAKEN AT BAMVILLE ROAD. I LOOK LIKE SOMEONE HAS ENCOURAGED ME TO DO AN IMPRESSION OF NEANDERTHAL MAN... |
A Guy Fawkes model sat on coal in the coal-house too on one occasion and Nan thought we had a squatter, nearly suffering a seizure. The visits of Uncle Eddie, written about elsewhere on my blog were memorable too.
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| BAMVILLE ROAD A FEW YEARS BACK. CROWDED WITH CARS, BINS & SATELLITE DISHES... |
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| NUMBER 63... |
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| I HAD SLEPT IN THIS FRONT BEDROOM AND HAD NEVER REALISED THAT THERE WAS DECORATION AROUND THE WINDOW... |
As reported in my article about Nan Hedges, she used to ‘draw’ the fire when it was first lit, by holding an opened out section of a broadsheet newspaper in front of the lit coal, then pull it away, thus drawing in air, so that the flames would more quickly begin to show. This seemed a good idea to me and so whilst Nan was outside hanging washing, I ‘drew the fire’ in the kitchen…
Nan caught me. She was rightly concerned that I might have set fire to myself and uttered the frightening words: “Just wait until your dad gets home…”
He bellowed at me, before taking my hand and holding it towards the kitchen fireplace, until my hand became rather hot as it neared the flames, at which point he smacked it to the same rhythm as he yelled “Don’t-put-your-hand-near-the fire…” I never did and even today, I shy away from getting too near candle flames.
I recall winning a doll in a school raffle and not wanting to part with it because I had won it. Possession was important to an only child whose usual clothes and toys were hand-me-downs from cousins. Nan read ‘Woman’s Own’ magazine and I would search through to find a strip cartoon about a scruffy boy, called ‘Just William’.
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| 'JUST WILLIAM'... |
Mum had four brothers: Albert, known as Clarence; Samuel, known as Claude; Frederick Kitchener, known as Bun and John, known as Eddie. This was ridiculous and could have given children in the family total mental breakdowns. But that’s how it was. A complete outcast, Eddie used to pop in to visit on rare occasions to discuss the fortunes of Aston Villa with my dad.
The only toilet at Bamville Road was in the back garden, hence not only having very little to drink before bedtime, but also having to struggle with a potty in dire emergencies during the night. Half asleep, attempting to pee in darkness? No wonder I became an accurate passer during my football career…
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| HAVING STOOD BEHIND ME TO SHOW ME HOW TO BAT, I ENDED UP AS A RIGHT-HANDED BATSMAN. THANKS DAD, I WAS LEFT-HANDED... NOTE THE SHED AGAIN, ALMOST LIKE A GYPSY CARAVAN... ODD, THAT... |
Two neighbouring girls played in my garden once; one was my age, Pauline Lucas, whose mum Freda was my mum’s friend from number 71 and the other lived further along the road but she was younger. This child needed a pee and I said to wee in my seaside bucket which was lying in the garden. Sensible, I reckoned, as she would have been too small to climb onto the awful wooden shelf which was the proper toilet and anyway, she seemed desperate. I carried on playing after placing the part-filled bucket out of sight in the shed.
When my parents and Nan Hedges later saw the bucket, I was shouted at…
No surprise there.
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| I LOOKED HAPPY ENOUGH BUT I CRAVED SOME WICKETKEEPER-PADS & GLOVES... |
Before leaving Ward End, aged about 6, I was playing alone one day (my usual situation) in the back garden which was my virtual playground and I was throwing my few cuddly toys like high-jumpers over a raised area, with live commentary… “Ted…, Duck…, Blue Bunny…, Brown Bunny…” then suddenly I had been whisked into the air by my twin cousins Dave and Derek, by then 13 years old. “AND PETER…” they yelled as they pretended to chuck me after my toys. Scared the shit out of me. I hadn’t realised they had arrived for a visit…
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| GARDEN VIEW & YOU CAN JUST MAKE OUT ANOTHER CURVED SHED TO THE LEFT OF THE IMAGE... |
There was an older lad who lived across the road from me called Terry and he was a bit of a tearaway but although I was only about six years old, I was allowed to walk ‘round the block’ into Sladefield Road and buy chewing gum from a machine outside a shop. I had done so and had just returned to the house but somehow the outer door had closed and I couldn’t get in. Terry saw me and poked fun at me, before chucking an old cutlery knife my way, its cream handle mostly worn away. It struck the door…
I believe my father sorted the affair out but he kept the knife and for years he served my cat’s food with it…
I attended Sladefield Road Infants’ school which I accessed from Bamville Road, for there was a secondary school facing onto my street. I was forced to walk through the secondary school’s gate, across the yard and through another gate into my own playground. Despite being shy, I went to school and returned home alone, which looking back was rather brave, I guess.
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| READY FOR SCHOOL... ALSO A GOOD VIEW OF THE OUTER AND INNER DOORS TO THE HOUSE... |
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| SLADEFIELD ROAD IN THE 1930s. THE SCHOOL WAS AT THE FAR END, ON THE RIGHT. A RAILWAY LINE RAN BENEATH THE SECTION OF ROAD IN THE FOREGROUND... |
Mum sometimes used to walk me to see her friend Doris Saunders (‘Girl McKenzie’ mum had known her as…) who lived at 418 Bromford Road with her husband and two daughters. Oddly, when my own kids were growing up, we lived a short distance from that house in Hodge Hill and I walked my dog Chico past it almost every day. Mum and I would walk to the Fox & Goose pub, then past the Metro-Cammell sports ground, before using a gully, which cut through the houses on the Coleshill Road. There were occasional steps in the gully and I would race off down them and return to mum several times.
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| THE FOX & GOOSE PUB... |
I would also sprint the 100 metres or so from Doris’ house down to the post box on the corner of Collingbourne Avenue, which I loved doing. The post box is still there and I think Chico peed up it a few times when I strolled with him…
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| THE AMAZING BUT RATHER NON-COMPLIANT 'CHICO', NAMED FOR Aston Villa's WINGER IAN 'CHICO HAMILTON'. 'CHICO' HAD BEEN MY NICKNAME AT COLLEGE... |
In Year 2 the children went to another school to perform a play, possibly at Thornton Road, which was due to be my Junior school. Being shy, I was handed the part of a baker with no words to say, simply having to carry a tray of small cakes around the edge of the central area in which we were performing. I was told not to let anyone take the cakes from my tray but typically some greedy kids in the audience grabbed at them and I was helpless to prevent them doing so. The teacher wasn’t pleased with me but she likely realised what a terrible and vulnerable situation I had been forced into.
Soon afterwards, I left the school when we moved to Shard End and I can remember my last day at Sladefield because the teacher had written something on her blackboard for the class to copy out for handwriting practice. It was something like: ‘Today Peter Ray is leaving our school. We hope he will be happy in his new school.’ I wrote it too. I was too scared to change ‘Peter Ray is’ to ‘I am’ & I can still feel the embarrassment I endured on that day, not really wanting to write my name out in full…
The headteacher at Sladefield had been Miss Stitt and I was to see her again when I applied to a school in Yardley for a teaching job many years later, where she was the Headteacher. It was a real coincidence and she soon travelled to watch me teaching at Audley Junior School and chat to me but I heard nothing for a period of more than a couple of weeks. In the meantime, another job came up, I was visited by the Headteacher, then was offered an interview and ultimately the job.
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| THE AUDLEY JUNIOR SCHOOL STAFF TEAM, WHICH BEAT A FINE LADS' TEAM IN A 5-A-SIDE FINAL... BACK ROW: PHIL GOSLING, KEN LEEMING, HEADTEACHER MR DAVIES; FRONT: MYSELF AND DAVE GOTHERIDGE... |
A week later, Miss Stitt invited me to her school for an interview… I had to call her and explain that because I had heard nothing from her, I had applied for and secured another post. She was rude to me. I was shocked at her lack of professionalism, especially as I had been ignored for three weeks or so, with no hint of being offered an interview at her school.
Several days later I received a written apology for her behaviour…
Before we moved house in October 1957, for some reason I had wanted a guitar… However, when my father came home from work one day, he gave me a box and I enquired excitedly whether it was a guitar… He said no, it was a set of cricket stumps… I was slightly disappointed. However, it was a plastic guitar with plastic strings, which was pretty useless to try and play. I never forgot that incident, both being fooled by my dad and then disappointed by the small, cheaply made guitar…
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| MY DAD WAS AN INSURANCE AGENT FOR BRITANNIC ASSURANCE BY THIS TIME & HE BOUGHT THIS PEDAL CAR FOR ME FROM ONE OF THE FAMILIES HE CALLED UPON. THE PARENTS WERE MR & MRS CAROLGEES. THE SON WAS BOB, OF TV PERSONALITY 'SPIT THE DOG' FAME... |
My favourite toys, apart from my football and my cricket bat, were my Dinky vehicles and my cowboy, American Native Indian and World War Two soldier figures, which offered me hours of pleasure, despite being alone most of the time…
IN RECENT YEARS I HAVE BEEN LUCKY ENOUGH TO COLLECT SOME OF MY FAVOURITE MODELS...
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| DIDN'T PLAY IN IT MUCH. IT WAS RED & BORE THE NUMBER 6... |
On my 7th birthday I unwrapped a gift which proved to be a pair of rubber-wheeled roller skates. A nut could be loosened underneath to lengthen or shorten each skate, to fit one’s feet. The toe-pieces were flaps of soft leather which tightened with laces like on shoes but only over the fronts of the feet. I went straight into the back garden to try them out before going to school but the toe-pieces kept slipping off and of course I tripped, cutting one of my knees badly. The secret was to tie them to my shoe laces and that finally did the trick. Sadly there are no images of me wearing my skates…
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| SIMILAR TO MY SKATES BUT MINE WERE LIGHT GREY IN COLOUR... |
A small black and white TV allowed me to watch a Western series called The Range Rider, also the series about Davy Crockett, the action programmes about The Lone Ranger, Champion The Wonder Horse and a young children’s offering called Rag, Tag & Bobtail, all of which I liked a lot. Otherwise shows like Andy Pandy passed me by, although Bill and Ben resembled some Birmingham City fans I met later in life…
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| THE RANGE RIDER, FAR RIGHT... |
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| RAG, TAG & BOBTAIL... |
CHAMPION THE WONDER HORSE...
In Ward End Park there were swings and a slide too but I recall being on a roundabout one day which was being scooted faster and faster by older kids and at just six years old, I jumped off for fear of being thrown off, yet I kept my feet on the grass as I literally ‘hit the ground running’. I was really told off for doing that…
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| WARD END PARK LAKE BEING EXCAVATED... |
Fred Redall, my father’s ex-school friend, living next door at 65 Bamville Road with his younger wife Ron (Veronica) took me to see Aston Villa play against Lincoln City in the old Division 2 on Tuesday, March 1st 1960, a game which was drawn 1-1. I sat in the Trinity Road Stand, for Fred and Ron had season tickets but this was a day when Ron couldn’t attend for some reason. The only memories of the game I have are first that the Lincoln goalkeeper Heath lost the flight of a high cross, which was somehow deflected upwards but then dropped onto the top of his head, to guffaws from the crowd. Secondly, Fred was sad because Villa were losing for much of the game and I said to him that there was still time for the team to regain parity, as time began to run out. They did… That was the first time I had sat in a grandstand at a sports venue…
I used to ride my tricycle alongside Ron sometimes, as she walked to the end of Bamville Road to catch a bus to work, hence the photograph…
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| RON REDALL & ME... NOTE THE LACK OF PARKED VEHICLES IN BAMVILLE ROAD COMPARED TO THE MODERN IMAGE ABOVE... |
I recall being told to recite my times-tables in the front room, over and over again but rarely was I read to and to be honest, being in bed so early, left little time for much activity in the evenings.
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| LOVED MY TRIKE... |
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| ...EVEN ON GRASS... |
Each morning I was expected to empty my bowels in the outside loo but was also instructed to yell, “Da-ad, I’ve fin-ished…” so that he would exit the house to wipe my bum. Bet the neighbours loved that... Harsh loo paper too, although newspaper was on stand-by, especially the sports pages with information about Birmingham City printed upon them, which made them useful for one activity… (I am joking by the way…) One day though, I cleaned myself, yelled for him, hid from him and slipped inside the house, fooling him. He wasn’t easily fooled and I felt triumph for one, rare moment. I refused ever to call him again from the boghouse…
At 61 Bamville Road lived Heritage and Amelia Blythe, who dressed like they were still in mourning for Queen Victoria’s husband Albert. Only rarely did one of my small balls bounce over the fence into their back garden but they would never return it. My father would have to go round and knock on their front door to reclaim the ball with his stern expression, which I was terrified of… Heritage was a violinist from the Midlands but Amelia (maiden name Blight, so her name altered not a lot from Blight to Blythe…) hailed from Plymouth, where I was to spend so many holidays when I was older.
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| A SLIGHT FROWN BUT BEYOND THE FENCE IS THE HOUSE OF THE BLYTHES... |
The house I lived in had been owned by a Mabel Mary Ann Bateson in 1920, a young widow then, whose schoolteacher husband had died in World War One. He died of wounds at the age of 35, as an acting bombardier for the 223rd Siege Battery, Royal Garrison Artillery. She moved away from Birmingham at some point and when we lived at 63, she resided at Park Cottage in Newbury. She originated from Cockley Cley, Swaffham in Norfolk.
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| Cockley Cley CHURCH... |
Leaving Nan was a wrench but in truth, the murmurings by other family members about us going to make a new life in Shard End without her seemed a trifle harsh, for she had been a career soldier’s wife, adapting to moving house several times, then had re-married of her own volition and had possessed the gumption to leave the chap rather quickly and take on another house. She was no wilting violet…
So, 121 Nearmoor Road it would be and a change of school to a Year 2 class at Hillstone Road in Shard End…
BELOW ARE FOUR POEMS WRITTEN ABOUT MY TIME AT 63 BAMVILLE ROAD. THE THIRD AND FOURTH TOUCH ON TWO STORIES WRITTEN ABOUT IN A PREVIOUS ARTICLE ABOUT NAN HEDGES...
The Early Years…
Fragmented memories.
I was five or six:
A general dullness,
Almost sepia.
A complete chill,
Or does recall play its tricks?
Front parlour.
I was a child:
A timid resistance,
Almost constricting.
A behaved existence
With a father rarely mild.
Gloomy hall.
I was a little in awe:
A lonely childhood,
Almost terrified.
A perfect falsehood,
Behind a closed door.
Hidden stairs.
I was fascinated:
An access door,
Almost unnoticeable.
A draught excluder
And more space created
Family bedroom.
I was deposited:
A single bed,
Almost cornered.
A silent presence,
Parents’ relationship tested.
Kitchen fireplace.
I was tempted:
A news-page drawn,
Almost burning.
A terrifying experience
And from a thrashing, not exempted.
Outside lavatory.
I was instructed:
A morning dropping,
Almost instantaneous.
A plaintive beckoning,
Tissue to be administered.
Portable pillar.
I was attracted:
A smoker’s aid,
Almost carved.
A dark wood,
Silver ashtray supported.
Patterned sofa.
I was partial:
A dull-red,
Almost faded.
A childhood seat,
Flower print inconsequential.
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| ME ON ONE OF THE DARK RED PATTERNED LOUNGE CHAIRS... |
Privet hedge.
I was allowed:
A shearing, occasionally,
Almost marshalled.
A tangible boredom
Cast its depressing shroud.
Polished brass.
I was aware:
A pungent odour,
Almost unbearable.
A lingering stench
For a child’s nose to bear.
Sepia memory.
I was impressionable:
A colourless home,
Almost custodial.
A silent sanctuary,
Its effects indelible…
63 BAMVILLE ROAD IN THE 1990s...
Pete Ray
The Davy Crockett Hat
The Range Rider and
Obviously
The Lone Ranger were musts
As I sat before a small TV,
Black and white for sure but I was wide-eyed…
Until Davy Crockett,
Obviously,
That lauded king of the wild frontier lands:
His headgear was a must for me,
Fur-trimmed with a raccoon’s tail,
But inaccessible,
Obviously…
Until, from a family of weavers,
My grandmother intervened,
Cutting a rough circle of brown material,
Her work would be hand-sewn, not machined…
Recycling an old fox-fur stole,
She attached it to the circumference
Of the russet off-cut of cloth,
To fit upon my childhood head, at my insistence…
The piece de resistance was however to follow,
For the finishing touch to impress without fail
Was her clever use of the fox’s brush
To add to my Davy Crockett hat:
Its tail…
Pete Ray
All true…
The Range Rider ‘where the deer and the antelope play’ and The Lone Ranger were my favourite TV programmes as a small boy but when the Davy Crockett series was introduced, I fell for the rifle and the fur-trimmed hat with its raccoon tail…
Crockett was a real person of course, being a soldier, a frontier scout and indeed a politician too…
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| TEACHING IN BIRMINGHAM MUSEUM, WEARING A DAY CROCKETT HAT. I DID SAY I WAS LEFT-HANDED... |
Whilst teaching about old toys in Birmingham Museum, I was able to buy a Davy Crockett hat and a toy rifle to show today’s kids what it was like for me to be a young boy in the 1950s…
Ambushing Grandma
Eyes glued,
Meanings misconstrued.
Lariat was hastily covered
By the trail dust;
Taut, one end attached
To a sturdy bush,
The other held nervously
By the hunted ambusher, perspiring
With such anticipation:
And thus my plan was hatched…
Lips smiled,
Reality defiled.
Lasso was hastily yanked
By the anxious prey;
Tight, rope was raised
To trip the mounts
Of the riding predators,
By a jubilant cowboy, hollerin’
With such satisfaction:
And thus my mind was crazed…
Heart skipped,
Sanity dipped.
String was carefully tied
By the small child,
Timid, yet determined,
To a chair leg
And gripped in the kitchen, hidden
By a single step down, hovering
With such trepidation:
And thus my childhood sinned…
Mind wept,
Woefully inept.
Trick hopelessly exposed,
By even my Nan;
Tepid, unemotional, even sad,
To expose self-pity.
The ruse tumbled, she hesitated and
By jove, her anger rose, simmering,
With such realisation:
And thus, my fate, “Wait ‘til I tell your Dad…”
Pete Ray
LEFT-HAND GUN, RIGHT-HAND HOLSTER.
NOT HELPFUL...
Saw this on a ‘Western’ show, where a cowboy on a horse was being chased by ‘baddies’…
He then suddenly stopped beyond a bend, tied one end of his rope around a sturdy bush, laid the main section across the trail and hastily covered it with dust.
He then hid behind the bush awaiting his pursuers.
He yanked the rope taut as they were almost upon him, tripping the unfortunate horses and hastening the villains’ demise.
I tried it on Nan…
And failed.
She told my dad.
I was berated and then harshly smacked.
The Bacon Rinds, The Budgie & The Walk In the Park
Nan held my hand and walked me through Ward End park,
Down the grassy slope to the edge of the lake;
I’d maybe throw some bread crusts to the ducks,
Which squabbled and grabbed whatever they could take…
Exiting opposite Drews Lane, Nan walked me on
To a house maybe in Ward End Park Road,
Where she would collect ‘Christmas Club’ money,
Which would lighten the next Yuletide load…
I remember this particularly, despite being only six
Because the chap there would chew bacon rind
And the sitting-room seemed dark and dull to me
But harboured a fear of a different kind…
An annoying budgie flew free in the room
And would flutter and flap round my ears,
Then land with the guile of a raptor
On the man’s scalp which heightened my fears…
Bacon rind, budgies and Ward End Park
Were thus on my mind indelibly burned,
But now I really love bacon, I once had a budgie
And sixty years later to the Park I returned…
Pete Ray
The above was true.
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| NAN RAY, LEFT & THE AMBUSHED NAN HEDGES, RIGHT... |
Nan ran a club for acquaintances, whereby she collected a small amount of cash from them each week and of course this mounted up over the year and Nan would reimburse the ‘clients’ before Christmas.
The old chap in the sitting-room I can recall still, chewing bacon rind with the abominable budgie perched and watchful upon his head…
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