Keeping Rabbits.

Tb (The Bast**d) has decided to keep rabbits for breading.

The house we lived in had a large garden with plenty of room for the odd rabbit hutch. The house also had an out-house which actually was in the house, a mad idea of the architects I think. Luckily it also had a door which lead to the out side. It was a dark room with no windows just a few old tea-chests which we used when moving in.

This is where Tb decided to keep the rabbits one in each tea-chest. He put some news paper on the base of each chest and two cereal bowls one for water the other for food, out of the kitchen cupboard. A rabbit was put into each box. After a few days the out house stunk of uncleaned rabbits and so did the adjoining stairs leading to the living room. Dad said he better get them in some hutches out side. Tb said he was waiting for a friend to make some. They never arrived and slowly all the rabbits died one by one. What a total bastard he was! Plus mum and dad should have done something about it.

This is not the only cruelty he has done to animals, I will touch on this in a later blog.

A Day Trip to the Seaside

This is only a short episode in the life and times of me (hazel) just a follow on of what has been said in my earlier blogs. I was just eleven and Sis seventeen.

A trip to the sea side. Every kid love a trip to the sea side and I was no exception.

Tb or as earlier readers know is short for The Bast**d. He has decided to take us all to the coast for the day, Mum will only have to buy the petrol. Tb on the other hand will borrow a car!?

A quite new car with Tb driving turned up out side. We all piled in Sis in front with the baby on her knee, Mum and me in the back.

During the dive some girls were walking on path as we drove past wearing short skirts. Mum said, there skirt are a bit high. Tb replied, I prefer girls around eleven. Don't you think that this would set alarm bells going with most parents, I know it would have me, especially when her eldest daughter got pregnant by him at fifteen!

When we got back home Tb cleaned the car inside and out and took it back, makes you think doesn't it.

Sis & Tb Move In

We have moved house to a three bedroom end terrace. I am ten and a half years old, Sis is sixteen.

I was excited about getting a new big bedroom all to my self. I moved into my new bedroom and enjoyed the space for a whole week before Sis, Tb and baby Jim came to live with us. They had been kicked out of his parents house so needed some where else to live.

I moved into the box room. Great ! The Bast**d is living under the same roof as me!

What was worse Mum no longer worked at the bakery, she now was a nursing auxiliary at a city hospital on nights. Dad also had a new job working shifts at the Coking Plant, across from the coal mine were he previously worked.

Mum and Dad were both on nights.

I sat on the edge of the bed waiting for Sis and Tb to go to bed. In the end room on the top of the landing came a crack and then crying, then quite. O good they have gone to bed. I get undressed and snuggle down to sleep. There's a creak on the landing! good he's just going for a wee. More talking, Sis starts crying again.

Next morning Sis comes down stairs to make Jim's bottle. I ask if she is ok? Yes! I tripped last night and banged my face. She had a black eye and a swollen lip.

The next night followed in a similar manor. talking crying and the nothing.

All quite until I feel a hand over my mouth! He grabs my hair and threatens me, I tell him to go and I'm going to shout Angie. You do he says and I will kill her,and you know I can. After seeing what he had done the night before I had no reason not to believe him. He left me there crying into my pillow.

Dad hadn't see Sis for a couple of days mainly because he would come in form work get his breakfast and go strait to bed.

Sis and Jim stayed in the bedroom nearly all day, only coming down to make the baby a bottle or get him some food. This was the norm they stayed in the bedroom all day when our parent were at home.

It's a school day, when I get home Sis is up set and waiting for me.

Dad has gone to work mum is out at her friends then going strait on to work. The Bast**d had gone to the pub with his mates and doesn't com home until midnight the next day.

Sis told me that dad had tried to throw Tb out and she had not let him. Mum had been on her side and told Dad to leave him. Dad had said no one was going to hit his daughter! Sis told Dad it was an accident and she had fell. Dad gave in and went to work.

I wish Dad had had a bit more back bone. I loved him so much, but he was so easily over powered by my mum and didn't like to upset Sis.

A few days pass may be a week or so, its a week day not sure what day. Tb and Sis come down stairs and give me the baby to hold. We are just nipping across to the shops watch Jim. This was just as I got in from school around 3:30-4: pm. 6:30 no sign of them, mum had got up about an hour earlier and now setting off to work. Dad was at work and wasn't due back until around 10pm. I made Jim a bottle, I never made one before so had to read the label.

8pm no sign of Sis.

I changed the baby's nappy and put him to bed.

10pm Dad rang and said he had to stay at work and to do a double one. In other words, to say and do another shift on top of what he had just done, he would be back around 6:30 the next morning.

I had to get up in the night to change Jim and give him a bottle. Then the alarm went off for school. I had had Jim in bed with me all night as he wouldn't settle. Still no Sis? I was very tired and didn't know what to do. I went in to my parents room Dad had come in unaware that I had been looking after the baby since yesterday tea time. Dad looked bang out there was no way I wanted to wake him. Mum should be in soon, but she was a little late as she stayed in town to buy some new shoes I think or some thing like that.

10/11 am baby had had a big poo and got it every where, no disposables then. YUK.

I was just finishing bathing Jim and getting him dressed when Mum arrived home closely followed by Sis. I can't remember any fuss being made over the situation and I don't think Dad even knew what had happened. I was just pleased Sis was ok, I can remember worrying a great deal about her.

And such was life on Elm Street. I had no self esteem and hated my life, I so much needed some one to talk to badly.

please note the baby above is not Jim but of a child around the same age.

New Motorbike for Tb

This post is very difficult for me to tell. It addresses abuse and blackmail.
We are still living in a two bedroom prefab bungalow built in the mid 1950s. I am ten years old.
A lot of what I am going to talk about is a little hazy in my memory, but some as real as only yesterday.


I can't remember how or why I went for a walk with Tb, ( The Bast**d) I know we went down into the meadows at the bottom of the village. I have always been interested in wild life and I think Tb said there were tadpoles in a little pond? Any way I went for a walk with him. I wish I hadn't, but it would have only delay the inheritable. Yes Tb forced him self on me. I screamed but there was no one to hear me. I fought him off but he was too strong. I cried and asked him to stop, but this made him more excited. How I hated him. I didn't really know what he was doing but I knew it was wrong! Thankfully he was very quick. He said he was only playing. I wanted to go home. He said it was just a game. I can't remember much about the threats, only that there were some. What I can remember, I didn't tell any one. I wish I had told sis, but she was having a bad time walking into doors! if you know what I mean. I don't think she would have done any thing she was just sixteen and to scared of him.


Tb was always looking at me and some times following me, I was getting quite scared of him.
Sis was also scared of Tb, but also loved him very much. What ever he wanted she would go with out so he could have it.

When we were growing up, we was encouraged to save any money and put it in the local bank. Tb had used sises money and now was after mine.
Sis and Tb turned up on a motorbike that he wanted to buy from a friend of his.
Sis had told him I had fifty pounds in my bank account. In 1965 this was a good sum of money for a child to have saved. Every birthday and Christmas money I had put in the bank.

Sis said, can Tb borrow your £50 from the bank? he will pay you back. No I said. Sis said only he want to buy this bike for fifty pounds. Tb: let me talk to her. He corners me! If you lend me the money I will leave you alone. What else could I do! Mum came in from the kitchen: 'where are you going'? I said I have to go to the bank because Tb wants to borrow all my money. Mum : you know you wont get it back. Sis: yes she will, we will give her it back as soon as we can. I was hoping mum would say no she's not, but all she said is well that's up to you. For gods sake woman! I was ten years old and been pushed into giving all my savings away, couldn't she see that!

He got his money and no I didn't get it back and no he didn't leave me alone.

I will continue my story in the next post.

Girl meets boy

Sis is fifteen I am nearly nine.
Sis is fifteen today and going out with her friend to the local picture house, they meet a couple of boys.
Her boyfriend was one year older than her, but much older in his ways. Sis had a sheltered up bringing regarding the way of the world and the wrong kind of fella you can meet.
We lived in a small mining community and him on the out skirts in a rough area of a big city, where the local bobbies go around in twos and threes.
Sis was easily lead, in fact she was easily led around the back of a bus shelter. And so the romance started. I will not use his real name as before, not to protect him but my sister, I will just call him The bas***d or Tb for short.

Tb was not only having sex with an under age girl but also a little light fingered as well.
Needless to say Sis fell pregnant soon after meeting him.

This coursed an uproar in the family. First of all sis got me to tell our mum and dad, I in return got a slap from dad. This was the first and only time dad hit me, I think it was the shock of it all.

Mum went strait to sis asked if it was true and gave her a slap across the face.

What to do next? does she want to keep it or put it up for adoption and ban Tb from seeing her again? Angie decided to keep the baby and all hell was let loose.

Our Uncle and Aunty from North Yorkshire wanted to adopt it, as they was unable to have a child of there own. Mum took umbrage at this and cut them off from seeing us for quite a long time.

Grammar and Granddad (dads parents) wanted her to be put away in a home! I think this was something that happened years ago to unmarried mothers. This was a bit of a laugh, as grammar was pregnant with our dad when she got married. I was there when dad reminded them of that :).

I can't remember much after that until she was about 37 week into her pregnancy. She went out with Tb to his parents house where he lived and she stayed there. Why I don't know, surely my parent wasn't happy with this. Why didn't they go and fetch her back? after all she was only fifteen.

Any way, a couple of weeks later sis and Tb turn up on a motor bike he had borrowed / stole who knows. Mum was panicking that sis was riding on a bike so close to her delivery date. It turned out sis had had the baby nearly a week earlier and had come to tell us all that they had a baby boy!

He was born in early February and sis was sixteen in the following April.

Before supper markets

Supper Markets were in the future, in the late 50s early 60s you did your shopping via an array of small local shops.
Milk was delivered to your door in pint bottles and by the mid 60s you could get eggs and also orange juice (which came in the same kind of bottle as the milk) as well.
Meat from the butcher who also killed the local grown pigs.
Of course the bakers shop.
A small grocers shop run by three spinster sisters, this was for most of the other food stuff and house hold needs.
I hated going there for mum, the counter was level with the top of my head and I might as well be invisible to the shop ladies. It wasn't that they couldn't see me, just not thought to be important enough to be served in turn, no child was. We had to wait until all the adults had been taken care off. Mrs so and so and her bad knees, Mr 60 a day cigarette man with his bad cough, While the old ladies had their butter and cheese weighed to the exact ounce, while discussing all the latest scandal.
I could be there for nearly and hour if they were busy. After all that waiting and wishing they would serve me, I would run home only to get into trouble for taking so long!

Once I went to the shop for some thing I can't remember what now it is to long ago, but what I do remember is waiting a very long time. So long in fact that I came home with a tin of cat food and a tin of peas, not what I was sent for at all. The best thing was, we didn't even have a cat at that point.

Some days the veg van would call. Mr Hill would give me a sweet and stay to drink tea and chat with mum. On occasions he would bring a brace of rabbits and leave them on the door step if we were out, I think  Mr Hill was: veg man come poacher.

Moving on now to the mid 60s. We move from a prefab bungalow which was put up as temporary housing after the war, to a new 3 bedroom house on an council estate at the edge of the village.
The estate had its own shop called Vivo or some thing similar. It was the first supermarket I had ever seen, all be it very small more like an off-license come corner shop today. It had three small isles filled to the brim with all you would need for a basic shop. This is where I first found the start of my love for curry, the Vesta dried curried meals. I loved them as a young child, and was easy enough for me to cook. However, now you would have to pay me to eat them! but we all have to start some where.

The other thing I found was the newly introduced yogurts in four fruit flavors. The first one I tried was from the new shop, it was horrid. I opened the lid to a watery topped sour smelling gunk, I thought I don't know how people can eat such stuff? It was horrid but I thought every one on the adverts on the telly was smiling and saying how good it was, so I better taste it at least.
It made me feel sick, I took it back to the shop and asked if it was supposed to be like that. I don't know was the answer, 'it only been on the shelf a week'.
 On the shelf ,is what they meant in the sixties, not refrigerated like today. In fact milk was kept in 1 pint bottles in a milk-crate on the floor of the shop and cheese and bacon on a counter to be weighed on request, covered but not chilled.
Needless to say I didn't try yogurt again for a couple years until my mid teens. Now in my late 50s I eat it every day, my favorites being the Longley Farm range followed by Activia.

Sis gets to choose a chicken

My sister and my self used to stay with our mothers brother and his wife in north Yorkshire.
Aunty was from a farming family. we used to go to her parents farm every time we stayed with uncle and aunty. we became very close with both of aunties parents calling them grammar and grandad brooks.
During late summer we would go to the fields and help with the harvest, or more like it hinder.

Life was great around the farm especially in the spring. We had lambs to feed and there were nearly always duck eggs next to the fire waiting to hatch. sometimes we would collect eggs to take back for our tea.

Sis was sent to the farm once to collect some-thing for aunt. She ran there happy to be given such an important job.
On arrival grammar was in the yard feeding the chickens.

Gran:  hello my little darling. would you like to pick a chicken?
Sis:    Can I really? can I really have one?
Gran: Which one do you want then?
Sis:   After a long time choosing, she said the black one please. she loved the poem about the black hen dad used to read.
Gran: yes that's a good one. To her horror gran swooped it up in one hand and rang it's neck in one smooth action.
Sis was heart broken she thought she was getting it as a present, a pet to take home alive, not dead, and not for aunty to cook for tea!
Gran was taken aback and felt bad and sorry for this shaking little girl who was crying uncontrollably. She hadn't thought twice about killing the bird in-front of her, it's what you did if you wanted a chicken dinner.
Sis knew farms had chickens for eggs but surely you got a chicken from the butchers if it was for cooking?

Poor Mummy Sheep

Sunday, and a traditional Sunday .

As we were growing up up, it was expected that the mother of the house hold would cook a full Sunday roast. Most weeks mum would start with good intentions and buy the joint of meat, potatoes and some veg, that she could cook in to submission :)

But mainly it was, 'oh not lets bother I will just cook the meat and we will have some sandwiches'. That was fine she could cook meat but when it came to the rest well let just say interesting at best.

Once mum cooked a roast dinner that was ok but the roast lamb was gorgeous, so good I wanted more. Sorry was the reply we got, we only have whats on our plates. In my six/seven year old brain came the solution, a cunning plan to gain possession of her meat. I looked at big sis.

Me: Angie do you like lamb?

Sis: Yes.

Me: Oh, (long pause) only I was thinking how sad the mummy sheep must be, when it's baby had gone to be eaten.

Sis: Mum tell her to stop it.

Me: I bet it's mummy was crying for it, and it had gone so we can eat it.

Sis : ( now pushing her dinner to one side, and starting to cry).

Me: Mum if she doesn't want her meat can I have it?

Now if my girls had done that to one of their sisters they would have been in serious trouble and would have had to leave the table.

I on the other hand had got the extra meat. This is some thing I remember with shame and remorse now I am older.

Sis did start eating lamb again some time later, until around ten years ago.

Her son had come for Sunday lunch with his other sibling and their partners. (My nephew was a vegetarian then)

Sis to the family: This lamb cost me an fortune.

Nephew: It cost the lamb a lot more!

Needless to say she is quite sensitive, and has not bought or eat any lamb since.

Bad head and jam dougnuts

One of my memories of my childhood is the constant bad head aches, which still plague me 50+ years on.I suffered from bad migraines from around 6 years old. Some times when they were unbearable I would tap my head against the wall to relieve the pain. It sounds a bit silly doing something like that but at six it worked for me. I can still remember the feeling of almost numbness in my head with every tap.

One of these occasions my dad was looking after me, mum was at work at the bakery . Funny how many nights she had to stay behind to help the owner to do the books or help with a special order. wink, wink, nudge, nudge, say no more ;).

Dad bless him was none the wiser. He was only concerned that she was out when her daughter needed her mum. I can remember him chuntering while looking through the window, where the fizz is your mum? It's not as she gets any over time for staying behind! No one else stays late!

Dad was lovely but a little stupid at times. This particular night dad lost his temper with her, very unusual, mum was fiery at best and prone to throw the odd shoe and dad didn't like to cross her, nor did any one else for that matter.As I remember the argument it went something like this.

Dad: Where the hell have you been.

Mum: You know I stay behind sometimes.

Dad: You could have nipped home first.

Mum: You know where I was.

Dad: Don't you care that Hazel has been banging her head against the wall all night in pain?

Mum. Well I had to help Mr Miller to get his order out.

Dad: And that's more important is it? It's nearly midnight.

And so it went on.It didn't stop her staying out working late about once a week.

Once when I was around eight or nine but no older mum took me to work.

Some thing her work mates said At did not make much sense to me, at the time, to me they were just having a laugh with mum. Mum was going up a ladder with Mr Miller (the backer) to the loft where the sacks of flour were kept. "Hay Mo,(mum) like the red bloomers. Not that he will care. What a funny thing to say I thought. I was taken into the proving room to help roll out some bread cakes with one of the women, it was fun.

The next time I went to the bakery I was picked up from school and took streight there. On arrival only Mr Miller was there, I was given a glass of pop and a sandwich while Mum and Mr Miller were chatting in the door way.

Mr miller said I would be fine for half an hour, and gave me a job of jamming some doughnuts. I did a good job as I remember, taking the doughnuts off the wire from the deep fat fryer then putting the on a bed of sugar and dusting them. Finally putting the jam in with the foot pumped machine that did two doughnut at a time.

On hindsight what the hell was they doing letting a eight or nine year old lose in such dangerous place on their own? But I did get a couple of doughnut to take home.

I told dad about me doing the doughnuts for Mr Miller, while mum helped with the accounts, he didn't seem very pleased. I thought he would have been proud of me doing so well.

White Cat Wet Shoes

I've just been thinking of my earliest memories although they are rather sketchy.

I was out with my Mum, and she was talking to some one and not taking much notice of me ( something not unusual as I get to know later in life).

I was around two and in a panic, desperate for a wee. Mum didn't come up for breath as she chattered away, so I tugged and tugged at her coat only to be met with a stranger's face waring what to me was the same coat! Standing there crying with wet shoes, I was held out at arms length and given to my Mum who had moved on a little to talk to some one else.

Been forgotten is something that happened more than once. My Dad the most lovable and gentlest of men, but had a reputation of being some what forgetful. I had been left out side the post office in my pram. While at home, Dad was sitting tea in one hand biscuit in the other, slowly at first dawning on him, he had left me:). Grandad also had to bring me home a couple of times after Dad had call to see his parents, while taking me for a walk around the village and yes he left me their too.

Once while going on holiday by train, (I think was to mablethorpe? (it had a station there then), Thankfully this time my sister and myself got on the train with our mum, more than can be said for our luggage! He had however, remembered the bag with the flask and sandwiches in. Dad always enjoyed a cup of tea and a cigarette, and on any journey he'd pour out a drink, opened the sandwiches and lit a cig almost before the train had time to leave the station, bless him.

My second memory, would be around my 3rd birthday. Mum yelling Dad was trying to quieten her down ( not easy mum has always had a temper). A scrawny, scruffy flea ridden white cat had tried to run off with the Sunday chicken and was cornered in the kitchen. Mum was set on hitting it with a sauce pan, dad stopping her, saying it wouldn't have come into a strange house unless it was starving. And that is how we ended up with a white cat called Charlie.

The cat was as deaf as deaf could be apparently not unusual for white cats. At his feeding time we had to tap him and show him his dish, as far as I know it never stole anything else off the table . He was also a soppy old thing, I spent many a happy hour pushing him around in my pram and covering him in a blanket.

The Railway Crossing Kids

As a small child around 3-4 I used to take my self off from the middle of the village to the railway crossings to watch the trains go by. My mum must have had a heart attack every time I went missing. I remember taking the little boy next door down with me once and getting into big trouble with his mum, he was only two at the time. I must have been a handful to watch over.

My Sister did the same when she was little, her and a friend went to see the trains. All the neighbours were out looking for them. You think mum would have learned a lesson by the time she had me.
But in them days children were free-range and got up to all kinds of stuff.

Born and Bread

During my blogs I will not use any of our real names because of privacy to my family and friends. you can just call me Hazel

This is a photo of the mining village I was born in, during the mid fifties.

In my posts I hope to get across what it was like for me growing up in a small coal mining community. My father, (no prizes for guessing) was a coal miner and mum a 'house wife' until I started school.

I will touch on the good times and the not so cheery, I had a lot of both. And also talk about life up to now.

I was born in the mid 1950s in a small run down terrace house, the second daughter to my parents. It was a difficult home birth, coming in breach with the cord wrapped around my neck a couple of times like a nous and weighing in at under 6lbs and 3 weeks late. The doctor had given me just an hour to live at the most. But the midwife had other ideas saying 'she not lost a child yet, and she wasn't going to start now'.

I met her 23 years later after giving birth to our second daughter, she was the visiting home midwife. She had remembered my birth well, and was very pleased to see me so fit and well.

I will continue this trip down memory lane in my next blog.

Mum stayed at home until I started school at the age of 5. When she started work at the local bakery on the High Street. And there lies a story in it's self, but you will have to wait for that one.

Ricky

Me around 2-3 years old.

Happy in my own little world.

It was about this time I had my first dog, I can just remember him.

Actually there were two dogs. My mum and dad bought one each for my sister and me. Two beautiful liver and white cocker-spanials. My Sis, who is six years older than me called her dog Ricky, so I called mine Ricky as well after all that's the kind of thing little sisters do. A couple of weeks later they had died of distemper. They had had their shots for the disease but still contracted it, maybe they had it when they were bought who knows?

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can every one hear me?