Snapshots

Huff

The North American Indians believed you couldn't own the land.  In England much of the land was grabbed by the rich who could manipulate the law to keep it in their families for generations. 

I enjoy looking around the old antique emporiums in Norwich. I once saw a model Thunderbird 5.  So many bits and bobs that would have been parts of people's lives and meant something to them.

Watches, records, clothes even train station lanterns; all waiting to be part of other people's lives.  I can see them in snapshots. The ones who made them, those who sold them, those who gave them, received them and kept them.  Ownerless memories.  Maybe the only thing that truly belongs to us is our memories. 

The picture frame is cream plastic, four by two inches in size.  Most people would throw it away, maybe to replace it with something shiny and perfect.  Honestly you don't need to do that. I've never needed to do that.  It's just another way of junking up the world.  The frame is cracked in one corner but mended with sellotape. 

The black and white photograph is over sixty years old, a picture of my parents wedding day.  A moment in time.  I always think it must be their happiest day, so it has pride of place on my bookshelf.  There are a smattering of uncles, aunties and grandparents too, all smiling, standing by the doors of the little stone church.  1954 or 56?  I bet it's 53.  I'll have to find out. 

Dad is in his army uniform as he was called up for national service at the time.  I'm glad I didn't have to do army service.  I'd have probably shot a sergeant by mistake.  Well, I've never been that good at taking orders anyway. 

Here is a secret that no one would know.   Behind that picture there's another photograph of my cousin Sally and Bruce her neighbour.  I think she had a crush on him at the time.  This is probably in the late sixties. We played catch with a golf ball and it hit me on the ankle, it hurt real bad and I tried to hop it off. 

Just to say, 'real bad', is an expression I've borrowed from a friend.  Of course it's not the queens English but I wouldn't change it for the world, and use it all the time. One day, when I retire, I might have to campaign to have it inserted into the national curriculum and accepted by the BBC. 

It's strange we still say the queens english - it belongs to everyone.  

I digress, I'm always shooting off into randomness.

In that huge garden of Uncle Gerald, Aunty Jill, Sally and a dog called Sam, there was a gigantic laurel bush that you could walk inside.  Like a hidden den.  There was also a Wendy house where Sally's old dolls and toy pram sat waiting for a child to come and play with them.  Sometimes the dog would get out and go wandering over the South Downs; my Aunty would sometimes receive a phone call from a nearby village to say that Sam has been spotted.  I once woke that dog up when it was sleeping and it chased me into the kitchen.  Long time ago now.

I remember once staying there as my parents were involved in taking a school trip to Arles in France.  Sally had a small record player and she played me The Boxer by Simon and Garfunkel; loved that song and Paul Simon ever since.  It's as though Simon and Garfunkel pull you in to listen, like by a fireside, on a cold winters night. 

Here is a secret that no one would know.   Behind that photo of my parents and the one of Sally is another picture of Elvis Presley.   It's made of paper and I think it must have come with the picture frame.  It's just there. 

Did I say I'm not that good at taking orders? I mentioned National Service.  I was in the cub scouts for a little while; wasn't to an enamoured with that except we made bows and arrows and cooked sausages in a camp fire.  However I did love the Air Cadets. 

'Attention!
Right dress!!'

These were the orders that Corporal Kiddle barked out at 6am on a Sunday morning while we waited for the minibus to arrive to take us gliding. 

'Sir' I said

'No talking in the ranks' he shouted

'But people may be trying to sleep', I offered, thinking that a window would open and a boot fly in our direction, at any moment'

'Squad dismissed', Kiddle ordered quietly. 

Well honestly; who wants to do drill at that time in the morning? So we got out of that one.

On arrival at the airfield cadets receive some health and safety instructions.  The most important of these I remember is don't stand in front of the glider.  They are winched up.  And yes you might get hit by the glider as it's pulled towards the sky but also if the winch cable happens to detach itself, it can cut a person in half. 

Pulled fast into the sky at a rate of knots, the nose of the glider dips as the tow rope is released and you sail like a bird through the sky.  The rush of the wind over the wings, the thrill and the views.  I had three flights two short ones but one of 20 minutes. 

That awe inspiring experience stayed with me always, so much so that over forty years later I was pleased to be able to organise the chance for adults with learning disabilities and autism to have that opportunity. 

Of course I had to go risk assess the gliding.  So I had my second gliding experience on an East Anglian airfield where the actor Jimmy Stewart used to fly Liberators from, in the Second World War. 

What do we really own?

Memories fade one into another.  I know they happened somewhere in the space time continuum and will always exist in those micro tiny time slots. 

Do you remember huffing on a window when you were a child and maybe drawing a smiley face? 

Well I hope you make memories to treasure.  For in that huff of a breath, a lifetime is spent.