It's strange how memories from childhood pop into your head when least expected, bringing people, places and situations back from the past into the forefront of your mind. Sometimes I find myself drifting in and out of sleep in the middle of the night, with my shambled thoughts suddenly clearing and placing an event from decades ago into my head once again.
They say that as children we have minds that act like sponges, soaking up everything that we see, hear and experience, and that everything is stored away in our memories for ever. As we get older so it seems that we forget things, but the reality is that we perhaps lose the ability to unlock the store-cupboard that holds our memories. Occasionally it's as if someone comes along to peek inside and a few memories slip out. Then, with the suddenness of a pistol shot, we recall an event that happened perhaps fifty years or more ago with such clarity that it might have been only yesterday. Mind you, sometimes we recall things that we think happened decades ago with that clarity and then finally discover that they did indeed happen yesterday!
Last night I recalled an incident from childhood that occurred when I was about ten or eleven as far as I recall. Together with my friends Henry and Richard, (almost inseparable, like the Three Musketeers), we were playing in the large car-park that was bordered by the entrance to Corsham Court, St Bartholomew's Church, a small copse and the railings that led into Corsham park, the latter being part of the Corsham Court Estate. The park featured throughout my childhood in so many ways, for it was there that I played out various games with my friends, there that, as an introspective teenager, I communed with nature, and it was there that I worked on the farm whenever the opportunity arose in my teenage years.
Anyway, back to my story. On this occasion we were joined after a while by Robin A... whose parents ran the Post Office, the family living on the premises which lay at the beginning of the row of houses known as the Flemish Buildings, and opposite the imposing Town Hall. As often happens with small boys, we felt that he was a bit of an annoyance, muscling in our games. On this occasion we decided to teach him a lesson that would keep him out of our way in the future, and pinning him against the railings we held a dampened handkerchief over his mouth and convinced him that the dampness was caused by chloroform! As soon as he was released he ran the two hundred yards or so home and reported us to his mother.
Let us say that when we got home there was a little present awaiting each of us and that we were persuaded that it had not been a good idea! Mind you, Robin A... never came near us again either, not unsurprisingly!
Those railings featured prominently on another memorable occasion as well, this time the star of the occasion being Henry. Typical of park railings of the time, I guess that these were about three foot nine high and with pointed tips. Henry, in a fit of bravado and showing-off, boldly stated that he could easily jump them, and then he proceeded with his run-up before we could do more than express our doubts and fears at something which was so patently dangerous. Well he ran, he jumped and he cleared them, but only by a hair's-breadth! In those days, like our peers, we wore short trousers, and so close to disaster was Henry's leap that the spikes caught in the legs of his shorts at the back and they ripped down the seams. Henry's family were Scots and dressed the part in kilts when occasion demanded, and on this occasion a somewhat chastened Henry went home fairly rapidly, cloaked by the woods that lay between the park and our houses, his shorts flapping with the speed of his progress like a grey kilt! Needless to say, this was not an exercise that was ever repeated.
I never found out what happened to him when he got home, but I can imagine that it left him with a sore backside!
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