Then And Now

[poliphilo]

My mother wouldn't get down on the floor to play. My grandmother- who was crippled- did so sometimes, but my mother, never. I rack my memory  for times she made the effort to engage with me one to one and there's a game of tennis. "The aim is for me to hit the ball so you can't get to it, isn't it?" I asked, naively. "No." she said. She was never any good at explaining things.

There were codes. I only ever knew I'd transgressed them after I'd made the slip. I asked her a question about Churchill once. "Sir Winston to you," she snapped.

Thereby inoculating me against the Tory world view.

She never worked. She put meals on the table. She insisted on an hour to herself after lunch so she could listen to Women's Hour. "Go to your rooms and play- quietly". A daily woman came in to do the cleaning.

In my farthest memories I'm playing round her feet. She is big-boned, statuesque- a sulky giantess. The games are in all in my head.

I can't get used to her being so much smaller than I am. So flimsy.

Comments

[artkouros.livejournal.com]

When I was a kid we had a black woman who would keep an eye on me. She would make a huge lunch for me and then tell me to go outside so she could watch her "stories", the soap operas on TV. I wonder if they had those over there?

[poliphilo.livejournal.com]

Not back then. TV only ran for a few hours a day and there was nothing on in the afternoons.

There were serials on the radio- and my mother was addicted to them. Firstly a thing called Mrs Dale's Diary- about events in the life of a Doctor's wife- and secondly The Archers- "an everyday story of country folk". The Archers is still running.

[pondhopper.livejournal.com]

I don't remember my mother ever playing with me as such though we did things together. She taught me about gardening and cooking from a young age and I liked that better than games.

The only person I have of being tiny with age was my maternal grandmother. She seemed to get shorter and shorter very quickly but maybe that was my perception as I was still growing.
An odd thought, that.

[poliphilo.livejournal.com]

I don't remember doing much of anything with my mother. Walking the dog, I suppose.