Mum's Notes from the Early 60s

Mum's notes from early 1960s.

When I was a kid I stumbled upon these old notes in the back of a pocket Oxford dictionary. They were my Mothers and she had aquired the book on 11th October 1958. The front page reads:

Miss Shirley Hayward

52 Gough Grove

Poplar

London. E14

My Mother and Father were married in 1960 and I was born in February of 1961. Today is 14th February 2010 - one day after my forty nineth birthday. The next one is the big 50. Today I visited my mother and she dug out the old dictionary and gave it to me. I was pleased to recieve this because I thought it was lost back in the late seventies, because that was the last time I remembered reading it. I have come home and photocopied the pages and pasted them on this blog. They might be of interest to some people who like such rum little ditties. They are written blogs on each year - small notes of things in her life and mention of the bad winter snow of 1963, the US President's assasination in 63 and Winston Churchill's death in 65, plus other things concerning our family. To me, these notes are special because they start just before my first birthday in January 1962. I was so pleased my Mum came upon these and it was a nice little unexpected suprise when she dug the book out and gave it to me for a keep sake.

You will need to click on each page to see whole page layout. When you have done this, if you click onto page along the top lefthand tool bar, go down to zoom and click 150% then you will get larger text and be able to read the writing more clearly.

GIVING YOU WAR OF THE WORLDS' HMS THUNDER CHILD AND HER HEROIC ADVENTURE

The Last Days Of Thunder Child is a Story from H.G. Wells' War of the Worlds

If you live in the USA, CANADA, AUSTRALIA or NEW ZEALAND you can download this on Kindle or buy in print from Amazon. Check it out and come aboard HMS Thunder Child in 1898 as she embarks on her doomed and heroic voyage fighting the Martian tripods that have invaded Earth in this Retro Sci/Fi or alternative history story - a pastiche perspective of THE WAR OF THE WORLDS gives new meaning from the eyes of the ironclad Royal Navy crew.

Get: The Last Days Of Thunder Child

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My Dad Always Seemed to be Messing About with Cars.

My Dad's 1947 Austin 16

My Dad and I about 1962/1963

An old Austin 16 made 1947. The picture is taken in 1963 with my Dad and me. I can't help thinking what these old cars would be worth now. I would love to go back in time and get one of them and bring it back in such condition.

My Dad and me in the early 60s

Dad and Me

My Dad and I in the early sixties. I've been wading through photos and thought I might play safe and not lose them if I put them in a blog space. I was born in 1961, so I'm guessing this is about 1963. I'm obviously enjoying the day, but I don't know where it was taken. In the background, there are a lot of other people who seem to be enjoying a day out. It might be Theydon Boyes, Essex, England - we used to go there a lot.

My Dad's Wolseley 680 (1954 Model)

My Dad, my Sister and Me

When I was a kid I thought this car was very big. We lived near Limehouse but we would always go away to places in Kent. Not many of the other kid's parents had cars but my Dad always seemed to have one and he was always tinkering about with them. That's me on the right of the picture and my sister and Dad on the left. It was a Wolseley 680 and was built in 1954. The picture is about 1965. I wonder what a car like that would be worth now? It was probably an old banger by then, but now it would be a vintage classic car. I can remember them well when I was a kid, but they did seem to vanish from the roads very quickly. I can't recall seeing many by the 1970s. I really like the retro look of the old British Cars and back then, almost every car on the roads of Britain, where British made motors. I would love to see one that has been restored to its former 1950s glory - they looked great.

Dad on left, Bushie Cauldroy in middle and unknown friend on right

The year is about 1958 and the man with dark hair on the left is my father Alan Powell. The three squaddies are at a British Army Barracks in Germany (Herfad) and he is doing his national service. The man in the middle is called Bushy. I think it might be Bushy Couldroy or something like that. He remained friends with my Dad when they both left the army. I think he worked on fruit and veg running a stall or shop along Burdett Road near Mile End station in East London. I can vaguely remember him in the 1960s as a kid, but by about 1968 they had lost contact.

I don't know who the bloke on the right is, but he obviously does - he has written 'ME' on the photo with an arrow pointing to himself. All three were great Army buddies and spent their national service together. My Dad on the left is now 72 years of age and his hair is white, but still very thick with a Teddy boy bung hanging forward from the top - he has put on a little more weight, as can be expected, but he is still fit and up and about in Hornchurch, Essex.

Overload Quick Performance at Shopping Centre in London

At the end of this YouTube Clip Overload sing one of their songs called No, no, no.

Pants that Let him Down

The World Sort of Dawned on Me and then Elaine Happened

My little sister just seemed to gate crash the whole sha-bang of my early life. I remember often going out along the streets of East London's, Mile End, holding my mother's hand as she took me to the shops. I can remember the big red Route master double-decker buses, the black taxis, yellow three-wheeled scammel trucks - the main road was full of traffic and everything seemed busy and flowing. I had toy cars of all the vehicles, I looked at. Matchbox made all designs and I remember constantly playing with such toys knowing I saw the designs along the main roads. The world was a delightful place and often I recall people making a fuss of me when I was out with my Mum.

Then I seem to recall, standing by a pram by the front door one day waiting for my mum to emerge so we could go to the shops. She came out holding a shawl with my sister's newborn head sticking out of it. I'm only eighteen months older then my sister Elaine, but my memory goes back in little flashes, especially the buses, and the taxis, and the shops that I went to. But then one day, my baby sister was there in a shawl. Where did this little person come from? When did she happen?

I remember it was the first time I realised there was another small person in the house. Not just me, Mum and Dad. For the life of me, I can't remember my sister before that. I have no recollection of my mum going away or giving birth. I don't remember a pram or cot with a baby crying in the house before that. I remember being surprised that this baby suddenly appeared when my Mum went back indoors while I was standing next to a pram, but it was not her pram. I was walking but there was a pram before? I knew she went into shops and bought things. I know she bought food in fruit and veg shops, and meat in butchers, and toy cars in toy shops for me, but I could not recall her buying this little baby in a shawl.

I did not have a great deal of interest in Elaine at first because she drank milk from a bottle and cried a lot. She had no interest in cars like my cousins or the neighbours' children, and I could not make out what use she was. When she got older, she had a dummy in her mouth and seemed to like dolls, cuddly bears and a toy pram. I thought this was all rather yucky and boring.

Then one day I remember she was not at home and I grasped she had become ill and taken to the hospital. She had caught pneumonia which I was unaware of at the time. I just knew she had gone to the hospital, but I thought it was because she cried a lot. Maybe in the hospital, they might fix the crying. She seemed to be gone a long time and I remember being a little surprised when my Aunt Joan brought me home from playing with my cousin Johnny one day.

Elaine, my sister, was back home in the living room with my Mum, Dad and my Grandfather. Elaine just said to me; "Colin look at this." It was as though she had not even been away or missed me at all.

I went to the armchair and she had some of my toy cars laid out on the chair and was playing with them. I remember thinking the hospital had made her so better that she could now play with cars like the boys. She still played with dolls and prams after, but she knew how to play with cars too.

As we grew up together, we often had our own silly way of saying things. One such sentence that we always used was as follows: "For the last of the old cegg eggs!"

We used it instead of saying: "please try and understand."

I don't know where it came from but we used to say it to each other often, even when we were teenagers. If I could not understand something and Elaine was becoming frustrated at her attempts to get through to me, or visa verse; we would say it as though exasperated. "For the last of the old cegg eggs." One more time - one more try - for God's sake try and understand. 

She was always very determined as a little girl and was usually good at everything she did. At school, she was the brightest in the class and while learning to read and write she had a better and faster learning ability than me. I was not dumb or anything, but just the average plodder. Elaine seemed to excel in her education.

We both grew up and Elaine married, I got married too, and had loads of kids, between us. My Mum and Dad were swamped with grandchildren from two offspring. I have four sons and four granddaughters plus one grandson. Elaine has four sons and one daughter and her first granddaughter too. She lives in Cambridgeshire and has riding stables and paddocks and became a deputy head Mistress at an all-girls high school. It's hard to imagine her as that little crying baby that gate-crashed my life back in 1962. She's 50 now and when I visit my Mum who lives close by we laugh at Elaine and her antics. She talks to everyone as though we are pupils in her school.

My Dad says so too, but we do love her very much and she never stops having to get up and go ideas. She just seems to want to take everyone, in proximity, with her. I tend to keep my distance in case I get caught up mucking out horse stables. LOL.

White Noise of the Adult World and Betting Shops

I like all little memories that take me back. Don't get me wrong; I love the way things are today, despite the endless bad news. I would say there has always been bad news on television. I remember old people saying; "it wasn't like that in my day."

No it was bloody worse - they had the depression, national strikes and two world wars. Today is much better and I am very contented and think things are progressing. We just don't always appreciate this.

I don't have a great deal to gripe about really except I would like to earn a lot more money than I do, but then, so do multi-millionaires. So, I'm in the same boat as a multi-millionaire. They just have better seats then me; that's all.

Back in the days of my childhood, I had a blissfully happy and ignorant time. I looked out at the world through very innocent eyes and always had a habit of getting the wrong end of the stick. I think the adult world was a place of white noise that went on around me and often snippets of information were wonderfully misconstrued.

As a kid, I was incredibly naive and sometimes I enjoy that innocence even now when I think back. I, of course, had a very over inflated opinion of myself. I thought I would grow up and be a dynamite footballer – play for England one day – score all the goals in a World Cup final – become Prime Minister and re-build the British Empire – and all that before breakfast… LOL.

I knew I lived on an island surrounded by sea and the world beyond was a wilderness where countries like France, Germany and Holland lived. These poor people couldn’t speak properly because they were not British. I also felt it was my duty to feel incredibly sorry for these foreign people because they were not British and that God might look down on me and be pleased at such charitable thoughts.

I imagined that all these foreign people longed to be British and had an abstract picture of them wishing to be as lucky as me. I thought it was a tremendously sad thing and was ever so shocked when I found out most foreigners were happy being who they were and the thought of being British might be very unappealing. I was flabbergasted by this and thought it was because they lacked the ed-umy-cation. My dear old Nan told me that and I loved her very much. I also felt cheated of so much sympathy I had lavished upon these ungrateful people and felt rather indignant that they might not wish to be British. Who would not wish to be British?

Another thing that springs to mind is betting shops. I had big ideas about betting shops and an awesome misunderstanding of betting shops. For the life of me, I could not understand why little kids were not allowed in betting shops. They were places where a group of silly grown up blokes sat around a table talking about things until one turned to the other and said, "No it's not."

Then the man, talking in the first place insists, "Yes, it is so."

Then both men would hold out a hand to shake and say, "Want a bet on it."

To the little boy me; this is what betting shops were all about – simple – no problem – nothing to it.

What was so adult about, 'want a bet on it?'

I said it all the time with my class mates at school and I was dashed good at it.

I remember winning a bet with a kid in class. He said Batman could fly and I said, “No he can’t, want a bet on it?” Needless to say I came out of the ‘want a bet on it’ clash with honours intact.’

I remember standing in the school playground afterwards and looking up at the blue sky. I was shaking my head despairingly, during one of my deep moments, and thinking, “If only my Dad could see sense and take me to the betting shop. He would win loads of bets.”

I knew my Dad went to the betting shop because he couldn't stand watching those boring horses running along a grass track. I found them blooming boring too, so why the heck could he not take me with him to the betting shop? He always seemed to shoot off before they came on the television.

In my mind’s eye I could see my Dad walking down the street with me by his side, while adoring neighbours looked on whispering; “There goes Powell and Son – the champions of the betting shop.” I, of course, was my Dad’s secret weapon and had won loads of ‘want a bet on it’ contests for him and he would be parading me around very proud of our united reputations.

I couldn’t wait to grow up – Britain was waiting with open arms for astute little chap like me. 

About/Me C.A. Powell

http://about.me/c.a.powell/

 

I found a new site on twitter and linked it to the blog. They also print business cards if you want them. I've thought about book cards placed in the city. I suppose it takes a lot of thought, but you can print them with the book cover on.

 

 

I might leave some on trains going to London or at stations by ticket offices etc.

 

Overload - Brit Boy Band - Take a Look!

Take a look at the new up and coming Brit Boy Band called Overload. They consist of Joey, Ollie, Ryan (RyRy) and Jordi. Go to Overload Twitter page on:  https://twitter.com/OverloadMusic and see the rise of the exciting new Brit Boy Band.

Click Here

 

Overload are out there now. Take a look on Overload at the various Twitter and YouTube sites at  https://twitter.com/OverloadMusic and https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=842IGf2hvYE

A touching and kind influx of well wishing fans from around the world with their messages to Overload.

Below are selection of clips of Overload on their  YouTube page.

https://www.youtube.com/user/GBOverload?feature=watch