CHAPTER 12 – November 2002
1st November – Friday
Last night was Halloween, the time when children dress up as witches and carry pumpkin lanterns. When our own boys were young very little was made of this 'All Saints' celebration but since then we have embraced a long-standing custom of America where children go round knocking at doors asking householders whether they want a 'trick-or-treat'. If they aren't given a treat in the form of sweets or money then the children play a trick. As the years go by the tricks become nastier as adolescents take advantage of a night where misrule is expected. Today the news has been full of instances where houses and cars have been daubed with flour, eggs and sometimes faeces. This is to be regretted as many younger children enjoy the lead up to Halloween, preparing witches costumes, making lanterns and anticipating the parties where they can show off their costumes.
When I was young Halloween wasn't even mentioned and the day passed without any reference to 'All Saints'. However, we did have a day, or rather night, of misrule and that was on the 4th November, which was called 'Mischief Night'. Whether this was a Yorkshire or Northern custom or not I'm not sure as over the years I have asked people of my age as to what tricks they got up to on 'Mischief Night' only to have them give me blank stare.
There was no dressing up or knocking at doors asking for sweets. Our night was one of all tricks and no treats. It was a time when there was an understanding between adults and youngsters that there would be tricks played and that the more imaginative the tricks the better they were received.
Walking through the village to school the following day there would not be one gate left on its hinges unless perhaps it was one where someone old or infirm lived. Even as children we knew our limits although we did get close to breaking them.
Brother John was always indulged and got away with some terrible tricks that would have made the television news now. For one penny we could buy two 'bangers' or one 'jumping cracker'. The latter has long since disappeared, probably because its sole purpose was to frighten. Because it was so unpredictable it was very dangerous. It was a light brown, squashed up banger. The tip was lit and the 'jumping cracker' was thrown down and each time it exploded it gave out a big bang and jumped nobody knew where. Thrown into a group of people it could cause havoc as they ran to make an escape in fear of the cracker landing in their clothes or down their wellingtons or wherever. One year, on 'Mischief Night' John put crackers through various people's letterboxes but of course denied it the following day.
One year, John devised the best mischief ever. On the farm we had what was called an 'electric fence'. This was no more than a wire that was used to keep in cattle where there were no hedges or fences. As the name suggests, the wire was connected up to an electrical source and if the cattle tried to get through it they would get a shock and quickly learn not to stray. John thought it would be a good idea to wind the wire around the doorknob of our next door neighbour, Billy Wright. The plan was that I would knock at their door and then run away quickly. When they opened the door they would of course get a nasty shock. Having done the dirty deed I was so frightened at getting caught that I ran home before hearing the uproar. Our family were always a bit judgemental of others and because Billy Wright was thought to be a bit of a misery then there was a hint of admiration as we were told off for our mischief.
Why is it that as our generation have grown older we expect our children to behave better than we ever did? Brother John is an exception and perhaps that is why he loves children and they love him. He is a conspirator with them rather than a model of good behaviour.
10th November – Sunday
Bonfire night these days seems to last a whole week running from the weekend before the 5th November right through to the weekend after. Even as I was going to sleep last night fireworks were being let off somewhere very close. Henry, our elderly cat, has never managed to get used to the swoosh and bangs of rockets which soar into the sky before exploding into a cascade of colours way up above.
Fireworks seem very sophisticated these days and what's more they seem to work. When I was very small we had few fireworks and these were usually let off in the back yard with the bonfire being quite separate although later on that was to change. There were the penny bangers, jumping crackers, Roman candles, rockets, Catherine wheel, some threepenny cascades and sparklers. Excluding the bangers we would probably have one of each of the others. Dad was the only one who would be allowed to light them which he would do one at a time. Only having one of each he would take the utmost care to set them in place. We would start with a small cascade called something like 'Snowfire', then the Roman candle. Preparing the rocket for maximum effect took ages setting it in a bottle or a can. We would all stand round in eager anticipation, eventually Dad checking to see whether it was still alight, and then if we were lucky it would zoom high and we would watch its crooked climb before it exploded with its shower of bright sparks. However, more often than not it wouldn't work, either from the bottle falling over or just not taking off in a straight climb but shooting just over our heads before fizzling out. If that was difficult and unpredictable it couldn't rival the Catherine wheel. Dad would nail this on the wash-house door, light the touch-paper and stand back. Then the wait and then the flares but no spin, then Dad would give it a little help and round it would go for a short while throwing out a circle of sparks from a multi-coloured spinning disc before grinding to a halt again before Dad would give it more encouragement only to knock it of its nail after which it moved erratically on the ground before giving up the ghost completely.
However, Mam always tried to make Bonfire Night special by preparing treacle toffee and flap-jack. I loved helping her make the toffee and she could sometimes be persuaded to make toffee apples. It was a bit of a hit and miss job as the toffee was either so hard it had to be well hammered to get it out of the tin or it was so sticky we were in danger of losing our teeth. But it all went towards creating an atmosphere of a family celebration much enjoyed.
As I grew a little older, about ten or eleven, the bonfire celebrations developed into something much larger and more sophisticated. John was very keen to have as big a bonfire as possible and would collect stuff to burn and take it on the tractor and trailer down the lane where we would be safe to have lots of fireworks without the danger of frightening the animals. The barn or Dutch barn would be cleared, tidied and straw bales put for people to sit on afterwards when we would eat potatoes and sausages roasted at the bonfire and eat treacle toffee and flapjack that Mam continued to make. We would ask our friends to come and we would all meet in the stackyard and ride down to the bonfire on the trailer. Everyone would bring fireworks so that there would be a decent display. There was by this time a much larger selection with a development of ones which could be held. This was at a time before there was much emphasis on health and safety. The boys would throw bangers and jumping crackers and the girls would run away screaming and laughing.
After John and I left home Andrew, our youngest brother, continued the tradition, and today it is as popular with friends and neighbours as ever it was. Mam always enjoyed the bonfire and we knew that she was really struggling when well into her eighties she could no longer make it down the lane to be with all the youngsters.
Now, instead of the focus of bonfire I watch through my window the various local firework displays, some being set up on the beach and others quite near, all of which give a fine display across the bay between Baggy and Morte Point.
28th November – Thursday
It seemed much easier to start this fragment of autobiography than to bring it to a conclusion. A year ago memories of childhood were more vivid whereas I have now learned that there is so much that has been forgotten. As a child I knew far more about the farming seasons and the details of everyday life than I do now. It has been relatively easy to check factual details as my sister Margaret and Auntie Minnie have been more than willing to 'put me straight'. However, it has become clear that their childhood memories are not mine and they remembered far more of the time when there was less machinery and more manual labour. I have tried though, to be as faithful as possible to what it was like for me and can only apologise for any errors which the tricks of memory play on us all.
Working through the year it has surprised me to find that my childhood for the most part was not as I had been led to believe. In the first eleven years or so of my childhood I was not the spoilt one of the family. It is true that once the farm became Dad's we did have more money and I was able to have more in my teenage years but this was only relative to my older sisters. Amongst my peers at school I continued to be poorly dressed, a scruffy urchin and little bothered about by either Mam or Dad. The farm and making money was always central to Mam and John, and Dad had enough on his plate dealing with the conflicts arising from this.
In my early years though I do think that constantly being told that I should have been a boy didn't make life any easier. I tried very hard to act like a boy to please Mam and Dad whilst at the same time resenting the way in which John and then Andrew were somehow considered better just by the value of being born male.
However, it has been a good exercise in demonstrating how well a life can turn out after such wild and poor beginnings. Although living far apart the women in our family have continued to be important to each other. We have all gone on to enjoy being wives and mothers without becoming timid and submissive. Our families and their families have richer and fuller lives than we could ever have hoped for. In fact sometimes they suffer from the effects of having too much rather than too little. They have though, learned how important it is to love and enjoy their children as they grow up. Although I might not be in touch with Andrew and John as much as I would like, I know that they too have great joy in their families.
Writing this book has given me encouragement to return to study with the Open University and to become a lifelong student. With different parents I would probably have done much better at school but then would never have had the same appreciation of the possibilities which being a mature student offers. This fragment has taught me that the resilience with which I dealt with being an asthmatic, cold, damp and dirty child will serve me well in facing a future that is likely to remain uncertain in terms of health. I am now ready to put my childhood to sleep and face the future living in the present.
Revisiting my childhood in the light of granddaughters Kelly and Amy offers not only an overview of changing patterns of family and social life but also encourages me to believe that as girls growing up in today's world, life offers them so many opportunities that were not available to their grandmothers. That though brings with it challenges which I never had to face but hopefully they will be well equipped not only deal to with them but create an honest and decent world for the generations which follow.
