Memories - Remember when...

                                   

This Pantoum poem of mine came up on Facebook Memories the other day, in line with Remembrance Sunday. I wrote it in June, 2018, exactly one hundred years since my paternal grandfather’s 18th birthday. He was going off to war. I have his bible with a hand-written message inside from his future mother-in-law, wishing him well and a safe return.

I wonder, was it hot like today?
And was he eager, and was he keen
To get to Belgium, where he would stay
In the summer of nineteen-eighteen.

And was he eager, and was he keen
Joining his comrades to go to war?
In the summer of nineteen-eighteen,
Manchester boys, not travelled before.

Joining his comrades to go to war,
Weighed down with stuff and Army khaki.
Manchester boys, not travelled before
Building up some camaraderie.

Weighed down with stuff and Army khaki,
Merriment from the back of the truck,
Building up some camaraderie.
Take care now boys, and the best of luck.

Merriment from the back of the truck,
Grandad George with that Manchester lot.
Take care now boys, and the best of luck.
And I’m still wondering, was it hot?

                                                                   PMW 2018



I have some photos that my grandfather and his fiancée gave to each other, with shared messages. The sentiments are beautiful. The young lady became my grandmother. I didn’t have her for long, but we made memories and she is still close to my heart. I can’t really imagine the romance between the two of them, even though the proof is there.

Between the ages of 6 and nearly 8, I loved to stay with them during school holidays. I was their long-awaited, first and only grandchild for years, so they probably made the most of having me around. They lived in a bungalow in Heald Green. It was Cheshire at that time, but I think it’s been swallowed up into South Manchester now. Ringway airport, now Manchester International was close by and the planes coming and going were a source of fascination to me. I wondered if they might land on the roof. My nanna’s scrambled eggs were the best I’ve ever had. I can’t make them anything like as good as hers and I’ve spent many years trying to.

I’ve been jotting down a few memories of that side of my family to pass on to a cousin who is working on a project concerning a mutual family member. Digging out old photos and relevant pieces, I found this poem,

A Memory of Nanna Hetty

Clouds of ‘Pledge’ in the sitting room,
Patio swept with the outside broom.
Tea leaves saved to feed the roses,
Flowers gathered for indoor posies.

She lets me peep in Uncle’s room
And lifts the blinds to ease the gloom.
He isn’t there, he lives in Reading,
Where he moved to, after his wedding.

Blankets cover his un-used bed,
On his wall, an African head,
Carved in wood, it filled me with fear,
Something brought back from Nigeria.

A duster in her pinny pocket,
Grandad’s photo in her locket.
Currant buns on a baking sheet
And comfy slippers on her feet.

                                                            PMW

A get-together with friends or family always includes some ‘remember when’ moments. I suppose us older ones tend to look back more than we look forward – or that’s just me. Those shared memories, coming from our various angles or perceptions can be interesting. Something once considered important, might not have made the same impression on all of us, some parts forgotten or remembered differently.

Another point of interest is when we start to create memories, like our first childhood memory, the first thing we remember. Again, we’re all different. I remember being in my pushchair on a wet day and another child being squashed in with me while our mothers were talking. My distress is probably why I remember it. I cried so much. I expect I was less than two years old.

Memories are important to us. It is comforting to have fond memories to look back on and keep any bad memories away as much as possible.

Thanks for reading, Pam x

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For the Record - Put It Straight

 One glorious summer afternoon, a few years ago, my husband and I were on my ancestry trail in Manchester's Southern Cemetery. I had done some groundwork online and had a print-out map of the burial grounds with my family members plot details marking locations.

There can be lots to learn from headstone inscriptions, things not recorded elsewhere. I took time to make notes, take photographs and have a silent word with my dear departed ones. There are some interesting folk in my bloodline and this cemetery has four if not five generations of my paternal line. How handy for me that they are all in the same place. It makes adding branches to the family tree so much easier. All was going well until I couldn't find my four-greats grandfather, Benjamin. The number for his resting place was a multiple burial pauper's grave with a list of names which didn't include him. This couldn't be it. From my genealogy discoveries, I knew Benjamin to be a successful,  wealthy man with no suggestion of hard times at the end of his life. It looked like the end of my journey - until we realised that the cemetery records office was still open. I went to ask for help.

If ever I had a lucky day, this was it. Someone checked online and got the same information I had, which was clearly wrong. Within minutes, I was sitting at a desk with a huge register in front of me, in awe of the beautifully hand-written burial records in magnificent copperplate. With Benjamin's full name, date of birth, date of death and interment, I found his grave number straight away. Online details end with an E, in the register with a K. I could see what must have happened when the details were transferred to digital. The style of writing had a flourish on the capital K which could easily be mistaken for an E. I mentioned my possible discovery to a staff member.

With the revised details, I found Benjamin's resting place, complete with a headstone befitting the gentleman I considered him to be. I went back to thank the office staff and tell them my findings. They thanked me - had I not queried Benjamin's grave, the error might never have come to light.

My poem:

I'm really having fun in here,
Line after line it seems quite clear,
Data input made a mistake.
Let's put it right for all our sakes.

Please can we put the record straight?
It's all gone wrong on column eight
And what's been listed as an E
Is actu'lly a K, you see.

I wish I had all afternoon,
Sadly, I have to go home soon,
But now you know what has gone wrong,
You can put Ks where they belong.

PMW 2021

Thanks for reading, keep safe, Pam x

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