Wednesday 28 November 2012

Blog 54 [10]...One thing leads to another...



Blog 54 [10]One thing leads to another...

 

You know how sometimes you need to do something and it starts a chain of events…like for example you paint a door that’s scratched and then the rest of the room looks like it needs touching up as well…or you wash the inside of the windows and the outside looks even dirtier than before? It’s often the case that one little job in the house turns into a major incident. Well this week has been one of those times when something had to be done…but the consequences seemed to be far outweighing the benefits!
Our house was built in the early 1990’s…1994 to be exact, in fact we moved into it in the October of 1994 when I was expecting the ‘Intelligent-one’… whole different blog is that you know moving house when heavily pregnant and I know I’m not the only woman to do it! Well anyway, we moved into a brand new house and enjoyed the first four years with very little to do to it [much to the delight of the ‘Hubby’!] Over the years we have added a conservatory, replaced wooden frames with UPVC double glazing, replaced guttering, pipes, fencing, block paved the back garden, converted the integrated garage into a family room, replaced the faschia boards…the list is never ending really but that is part and parcel of owning a house. For the past few years I really wanted to have a bigger kitchen which could be easily achieved by knocking the wall down between the kitchen and the small dining room. Well it was easy in my mind and I have spent the best part of three years drawing designs, collecting pictures from magazines and looking in showrooms. I think it all stemmed from being at home all day…I had the time to think about it, I knew exactly what I wanted. The hardest part was convincing the ‘Hubby’ who would of course have to do the bulk of the work! Believe me it has been a major struggle to get him to even consider the possibility but I managed it…how I did is a secret which has to be kept to me because if he reads this and knows what my powers of persuasion are he will never allow himself to be persuaded again…and I’ve a few other things I’d like! So, he eventually agreed to go along with me to showrooms and he very VERY slowly came round to the idea of a bigger kitchen as the boys were getting bigger and they would need somewhere to sit and have pizzas and beers with friends and the ‘Bridezilla’ could have her friends round for coffee or wine nights and have somewhere nice to sit away from the televisions [little did I know she’d be getting married before I got the kitchen!] It did however take some time to get the ball rolling and last summer we had a few friends round for supper and one of them is a builder. He talked the ‘Hubby’ through what was needed as the wall I wanted to take a sledge hammer to was unfortunately a supporting wall and therefore a 'rsj-steel girder' was needed. Mmmm this made things complicated. Ah well, I continued with pricing units, checking designs, considering integrated or non-integrated appliances. Then this June the builder friend announced he had a week free before he would start building a hotel and he could come and knock the wall down and all of a sudden it was all very real and we were going to do this!
The kitchen ceiling was supported and the wall was removed and the girder was put in place…an amazing process…at one point I thought the ‘Hubby’ was going to have a heart attack whilst supporting the girder as it was guided in! We were left with an amazing sized room…of course the down side was the dust, the bareness of the girder and the beams, as well as an overwhelming sense of Oh My Goodness what have we done! So, spurred on by the fact that there was no turning back we proceeded to chip off all the wall tiles, remove cupboard doors and then we demolished the breakfast bar…I’m very much into recycling as much as possible so the bricks from the breakfast bar were used to build a fabulous bbq…some of the cupboards were passed onto a neighbour with the same kitchen and he wanted to use them in his utility room…all the handles from the other cupboards were removed and given to a homeowner who wanted a change…[eventually the ‘Birdezilla’ is having the dishwasher and the fridge freezer and washing machine will be sold…sadly the drier went way back in the summer after shouting; ‘Ste… ste… ste…’ at me once it was heating up…beyond fixing, it ended up in a council van for recycling!]
We then had to spend the rest of the summer surrounded by boxes of pans, pots, dishes, cutlery and a whole lot of junk! There eventually became not a room in the house that was clear…did all this stuff actually come out of a very small kitchen? At this point we were faced with the financial burden of trying to complete the heart of our home…my mother always said that it is vulgar to discuss money so in an attempt not to lower the tone of my blog suffice to say that the following procedures could only be carried out in parts each time the ‘Hubby’ received a bonus from work! [Then of course we had to wait for my retirement ‘golden handshake,’ more like silver but hey it’s better than a kick in the teeth, to buy the units!] We had to have a false ceiling put in to cater for pipes and wires as well as hiding the piping that had belonged to a radiator on the now demolished wall in the dining room: the walls, the new ceiling and the new squared off arch that concealed the girder all had to be plastered: once this was dry it could all be painted. Weeks turned into months but by the end of October we were ready to paint. I love fresh white painted ceilings and I dearly wanted a warm cream for my walls and a mink colour for my accent wall. [Ah yes, saw this in a home design magazine…we have a large 3 seater sofa that I wanted incorporated into the new kitchen’s family area with comfy throws and cushions, against the accent wall facing the new breakfast bar!] Could I find the correct colour of mink? Not at all…how many different shades of mink would you think there are? I wasted time and energy and money on these silly little tester pots that produced a wall of streaks of colour varying from terracotta to mud! The stress was beginning to hit me, how on earth I had coped all these months with all the kitchen all over the place without a melt down I don’t know…but throw in the lack of the right colour and I was beginning to sound like a ‘wifezilla’…my new word to describe me and my temper tantrums! The more I stressed over the colour the more my pain seemed to dig away at me and eventually I ended up in a miserable heap…the first of many miserable heaps let me tell you! As for the cream…do these people selling paint really understand how important it is to GET IT RIGHT! Four varying shades of cream splattered across the new archway…not one the warm colour I wanted and had read about…not one pot was the same as the colour in my mind…poor ‘Hubby’ was now getting frustrated…cream is cream is cream…not at all. This was my dream kitchen and even on a budget I didn’t want to compromise it by settling for any old colours. So he came to the rescue…he bought two rolls of wallpaper the exact same colour of a cushion I had wanted for the sofa…and he wall papered the accent wall…and believe me it is his least favourite occupation! He bought a small tin of ‘investment’ paint…my nick name for a brand of expensive paint…and proceeded to mix it in his own little way to get exactly the right colour of warm cream! [We now have enough cream paint to redecorate the whole house!] Peace restored…ah well until this week that is!
With the wall gone and the radiator gone and all this space…the new kitchen was cold. The conservatory has been cold forever…the radiators just never seemed to get warm enough; during the summer it’s fantastic but the winter just brings misery and this is now our main dining room. So we decided to get the ‘gasman’ in to look at putting a new, larger radiator in the kitchen and to have  a look at the cold situation in the conservatory. Now then, bearing in mind that he serviced the heating boiler last winter and did say we needed to consider replacing it as it was on its last legs so to say after 18 years of loyal service…so it really shouldn’t have come as a surprise when he announced that in order to put in new a radiator and to get heat into the conservatory we needed a new boiler that would be able to handle the pressure efficiently as well as being far more economical and we needed to be aware that once a new kitchen cupboard is fitted around the existing boiler when it does conk out it would be extremely difficult to remove it without destroying the new fittings. OMG… ‘wifezilla’ was stirring inside me…this is the last thing I wanted to hear! Before I exploded he offered to go away and price up what it would all cost: a new boiler, a new gas pipe as the old one is too narrow [seriously yes you can have different sized gas pipes!] flush through the system, [?!] remove the old water tank and the water cylinder as these will not be needed with the new combi-boiler. This would take approximately 3 days…hate that word it’s a bit like seeing a cheap holiday advertised and then you see the small print… ‘FROM...’ Anyway, his quote was okay [!!] and the work needed doing AND he could start straight away as he had other jobs booked in running up to Christmas…oh yes can you believe that I was thinking way back in June “Ah I’ll have a wonderful kitchen to cook the turkey in…!” So this work began and for the first day with no heat and no hot water it didn’t seem too bad…I stayed in the garage [family room really… but after all these years we still say garage!] There was  a lot of clonking and clanking and drilling and bumping…to get to the main pipes they had to take the upstairs carpet up and the floor…these things never go back the same do they? By the end of the first day I was feeling less ‘wifezilla’ and more myself: I had busied myself with ironing in front of the television. That night was horrendous, we were so cold, no showers and every room upstairs was in a tip as they had to take up more carpet and more floor boards… “Oh mum look I can see the kitchen lights…” shouted the ‘Intelligent-Cutie-pie’ [I said I’d come up with a shorter nick-name!] The kitchen lights were wired up through the false ceiling but with the replacement of the landing floorboards the lights were reflected upwards through the cracks…a very strange feeling to think that there really isn’t that much under our carpets when you see it from this view point! Day two just had to be considered as a day nearer to warmth and all seemed to be progressing until I was asked for a mop and bucket: unfortunately whilst the system was being ‘flushed through’ the teeny tiny radiator in the ensuite was overwhelmed and leaked massively: coming through the ceiling, down the newly painted walls and down the adjoining walls in the living room! Arrggghhh!!! More decorating to be done. A very dear family member offered heaters, electric blankets and hot water bottles in case we were to be without heating for too long. [Based on her own experiences!] Luckily the new boiler and pipes were fitted and by the tea time we were all standing in the lovely warm kitchen watching the boiler and the new remote, wireless controller that can now be carried from room to room…when a drip splashed on the engineer’s head…four adults looked up to see water beginning to pour through one of the new kitchen light fittings; I do mean pour…and the other three adults watched in horror as I morphed into ‘wifezilla’. The engineer raced up stairs pulled back the carpet and floorboards [definitely won’t be going back down properly now, ever!] and the leak was not from one of his new pipes. What? Where is it coming from? Old pipe…possibly the feeding pipe to the conservatory…have to trace it back…will switch everything off for now and be back in the morning…what? Could it get any worse? Well by now you know full well it can!
Day three I needed to go to a memorial service and was in no mood to mess around…just get it fixed was the ‘wifezilla’ motto of the day; they had to empty the ‘Intelligent-one’s’ bedroom of his bed, pull back the carpet and floorboards and see if that’s where the leak had sprung…as I was getting ready to go out they cornered me and explained that the leak was not coming from there but from another pipe which could only be reached from under the bath. Decision time; choice number 1 they could cut into my nice smoothly plastered new kitchen ceiling OR choice number 2 they could take the bath out and lift the floor…another floor ruined…”Just take the bath out” I found the ‘wifezilla’ barking and then I added “I have to go out so I’ll leave you the door key, I’ll push it through the door on my way out…” trying desperately not to get flustered, the pain in my back was winding up tightly now, I haven’t felt this bad in ages, I took the car key off the key ring, collected my bag, locked the front door posted the keys through the letter box and walked to the car whilst rummaging in my handbag for the car key…oh for goodness sake I had put it on the radiator shelf as I went for my bag…OH no! I had locked myself out with the car key inside and two heating engineers upstairs trying to sort my leak and probably a bit bothered by my attitude; they are only doing my job after all! So I banged on the door [the door bell hasn’t worked for years…!] and shouted through the letter box…until finally one of them came downstairs to let me in…oops!
On returning later that day I was faced with a real old mess but a warm house: a) the bath will never go back properly if the ‘Hubby’ has to do it as it needs adjusting and a lot of the tiles came off as well…and he’s in no rush as no one uses it that much anyway…so he decided that we can manage for now and one day he’ll fit a shower like the one in the ensuite; b) also the fact that the heating in the conservatory is a bigger job than they first thought as the pipe work is not correct and they need…wait for it…to take the carpet up in the conservatory, trace the pipes back by removing the skirting boards and then remove the plaster that houses the pipes in the exact spot where my new breakfast bar is supposed to go! Oh dear Lord what did I do in a past life to deserve this? Add to this problem they are booked in to do a job for the next few days and will return the following Friday; ‘wifezilla’ bit her lip…I just wanted to cry…I now felt the full brunt of a week’s worth of extra stress and I was in a miserable heap yet again! They left and I surveyed all the carnage: my kitchen was due to be delivered the day before the heating engineers can return…it’s not their fault it’s just the way things go…but my whole house was upside down with floors and carpets and bedding and all the kitchen contents everywhere…there was only one thing for it…the house was warm, the new boiler heated water in an instance: I’ll treat myself to a steaming hot bubble bath that’ll ease my back…I actually opened the bathroom door before remembering the bath was no longer in there but in the study! The irony of this is that 18 years ago I said to the ‘Hubby’: “We can buy a hook that matches the over-the-bath-shower taps and create a second shower for when we have visitors…” 18 years later I was still waiting for this when my cousin offered me her’s! Her house was similar in age and the bathroom was the same except that she had one of those hooks fitted in: she was having a new bathroom fitted and after a conversation about the shower hook she  very kindly offered me it which has now been sitting on the bathroom shelf for the past two weeks…now I didn’t have a bath or a shower tap; but I had the hook!
Hey ho! So you see how one thing can lead to another?
My kitchen is due to arrive at any point now but there is already a delay on the sink…
...what else could possibly go wrong…? 
...I’ll keep you posted!




[Footnote the next blog will be week beginning Monday 10th December.]
Blog 54 [10]
Copyright©GML 2012

Wednesday 21 November 2012

Blog 54[10] A trip down memory lane...



Blog 54 [10] A trip down memory lane...

Hot on the heels of my retirement last week and my reminiscing about Liverpool I found myself actually right back in the heart of Liverpool at the weekend! The ‘Intelligent-one’ was in a competition with other students from his college and other colleges from the North West and they had reached the semi-finals being held in Liverpool. So Saturday morning saw us once again up at the crack of dawn and setting off…with me as navigator as per usual; except that I know this route like the back of my hand! We made it with just 10 minutes to spare before he was meeting his group and after wishing him good luck and waving him off we found ourselves in the heart of Liverpool at 8.30am on a cold Saturday morning with all the day ahead of us! I of course was in my element as this meant a full day of shopping! Of course the ‘Hubby’ and the ‘Cutie-pie-intelligent-computer-programmer’ were not as enthusiastic…can’t get my head round his new nick name; I must devise another which is as flattering to him as being referred to as intelligent but also conjures up how physically cute he is; even at 14!
So, anyway they were less than thrilled and yes I could have left them at home or even sent the ‘Intelligent-one’ to Liverpool on a train; but somehow that would not have been the same! To brighten their moods I suggested breakfast and then over hot food we discussed what they could do whilst I shopped…they were keen to do some shopping but not a great deal! So once they were fed and warmer and happy we made arrangements to meet up at a set time and place and then I was free! Walking through the new shopping areas was a bit alien to me…don’t get me wrong I love all the new shops…Liverpool has been totally re-developed as a major city and all the café cultures and department stores that are part of being a city…but somehow with all this progress there was something missing…so I set off in a completely different direction to the shops to surround myself with history…not just architectural history but personal history…as I walked down towards the Pier Head [or Peer’edd as it was pronounced by Liverpool people we worked with…!] I turned back the clock and sat on a bench and looked out across the Mersey…

“Dear ‘Big sister’,
Guess where I am? It’s been so long since we have talked and laughed together even though I sense you around me sometimes. I’m sitting in our favourite place…although it’s changed so much since you and I were last here! As I look out across the Mersey that view is still very similar but when I turn and face the city…my goodness what changes there are; huge buildings, offices and apartments and hotels…I close my eyes and can picture you and I sitting with the wind blowing our hair and skirts! It was always great to sit here on a Saturday, eating a pie or slices of ham or cheese from the market as we talked about what we were going to do with our lives now that we were both qualified and teaching here in Liverpool…it’s hard to believe how different our lives turned out; almost as different as this city is now…”
As I moved away from the bench I actually talked, in my head to my ‘Big sister’…it may sound a little crazy but it was as if she was there with me...just like old times!

“Turning my back on the Mersey I walked back through the Derby Square and unbelievably the old British Home Store shop is still in the same place! As you know ‘Big sis’ I always loved shopping in this area as the sound of the seagulls reminded me of shopping in Bangor County Down as children with grandma during the summer holidays. That sound still makes my heart leap now and it was a bit funny really doing Christmas shopping against a backdrop of modern and old buildings, Christmas displays and the sea gulls flapping about!
I walked through the new shopping area and I was glad to see the market was still there…although upgraded! I couldn’t find the coffee shop we used to sit in but the pub with its glass engraved doors, polished floors and leather bound seats is still as it was all those years ago and as I passed it I imagined the doors opening and from inside there would be laughter and banter and music…remember Friday nights in there? Fighting to get to the bar…holding our glasses of lager high up so as not to spill the precious liquid on our dresses whilst trying to keep our clutch handbags firmly tucked under our arms! Do you remember the group of lads we used to meet up with? The same place every time, they always sat in the left hand corner booth and would shout to us to join them. One of them was a dustbin man whilst he was studying and he had the cheekiest grin and one Friday night we all piled into a taxi to go to his house…which actually was nothing like a house but in a round ring of brick built flats, about 5 storeys high; one on top of the other with balconies and stairwells the likes of which I had only seen on the television; the washing lines were like skipping ropes and were pulled across from one flat to the other across the street by a pulley…his mum and dad were real ‘Scousers’ and had a great sense of humour and sat watching telly whilst the rest of us had a few drinks, sausage rolls and played cards! I wonder what happened to him or the rest of them? I wonder if they missed us once we moved away?
Well I walked right up the old Bold Street and most of the original shops have now gone…the Woolworth’s building…or was it a Co-op building… is a designer shop, the bank is a mini express shop and the boot shop is a party novelty shop! I went into a specialist comic and animation store for a surprise stocking filler for the boys and as I wandered around the shop all of a sudden I heard a song; I honestly cannot remember the last time I heard it on a radio or at a disco even! It was the Elkie Brooks song; “Sunshine after the rain” and as it blasted out it nearly swept me off my feet… do you remember how we used to sing this song on the bus on the way home after a few ‘bevvies’…and sometimes we sang it outside down at Peer ‘ed dancing along the railings with the sound of the Mersey lapping the dock walls! I felt a real pang of sadness well up and for a little while I just had to stand still and look at the DVD section…heaven only knows what anyone thought but I was lost in time…a time when we were recovering from broken hearts and felt we would never love again! It made me think of someone I have not thought of for a long time…the words used to cut deep as we sang with feeling…it made me realise that that part of my life is so far away now…
I found myself at the top of Bold Street facing the old ‘Bombed out church’…a true landmark! Guess what? St Luke’s is still standing, a monument to those who lost their lives in the Second World War, it is now a heritage site; the external building is perfect and quite stunning; the inside is the place for poetry reading and art exhibition. Just think you could have had some of your art work displayed there nowadays! Hard to believe that we all used it as a meeting place: “See you at the bombed out church 7.00pm Saturday;” everyone knew where this was; who would have thought it would still be there and standing proud?

Walking the streets, the very pavements that you and I walked along together was a strange but yet comforting sensation…hard to pin a word to it really…just thinking that we were here once, together, shopping in Blackler’s for ribbons and buttons or net underskirts for our outfits and smokey grey tights…we used to get our make up from there as well and see little old ladies who had probably been shopping there all their lives getting stockings and gloves of a better quality than anywhere else. Do you remember making a date to meet a lad under the naked man outside the Lewis department store? We waited across the road to see if he turned up…well he did but he wasn’t quite what you remembered him looking like…disadvantage of too much Australian white wine!! So we ‘did a runner’ and had a fish and chip supper on the way back to our bedsit instead! Well as you know I’ve a poor sense of direction…and I must admit all these memories and trying to do Christmas shopping at the same time added to a bit of confusion! I couldn’t find George Henry Lee Department store, although I saw old buildings that could have been it…I couldn’t find the Kirklands Wine bar that was so popular and thought maybe it was further up the main street…but I did pass the Central Underground Train Station and that has changed so much! Amazing how we used to hop on and off those trains! We could go as far as Southport or just a few stops along the line to Bootle. Remember Bootle station? You should, it was where you landed me in a heap of trouble and it was Christmas shopping time too! We had arranged to meet after work on the 4.00pm train into Central for a shopping trip and a bit of supper… [a few drinks or ‘bevvies’ as you loved calling them!] Well I was running late but as was the case in those days you could get on the train at Waterloo and pay as you got off…so I ran for the train and secured a window seat so I could wave to you. A few stops down the line you got on at Bootle and sat chatting ten to the dozen. As we approached Central I realised that I didn’t have enough change for my ticket…you never had any money in those days either…we were going to cash a cheque in the town, how easy things are nowadays with cash points and cards! So you said: “Just say you got on at Bootle, they won’t know and it’s only ½ pence difference.” So I approached the booth, never having lied like this before and suddenly all the fare dodging signs stood out in my face! I was sweating when I said I got on at Bootle…of course by then you were through the barriers…I was asked to repeat where I got on…I lied again…and was promptly arrested by two station guards who escorted me, in front of all the other passengers, into an office marked ‘Police.’ I nearly fainted! I was in my first year of teaching and I was now being arrested for fare dodging! I explained that I was ½ pence short of my fare from Waterloo and only had enough to pay for the train from Bootle. All my personal details were being written down and when they heard my profession was a teacher they looked at me and one of the officers actually suggested that I say I was a secretary as the courts would be more lenient. Courts? Oh good God I’m going to jail! I was sweating profusely by now, my mind whirring with the scandal and I refused to say I was a secretary as I didn’t want to add more lies to the situation! I was then searched and they discovered that I was actually ½ pence short for my fare…so I was telling that bit of truth…but none the less I was going to be cautioned. I began to cry…I know a wimp’s reaction but there you have it…I was terrified that not only would I go to court but I’d have a criminal record and go to prison; I could kiss my future goodbye! If you remember sister dear I was escorted through the barriers and made my way to where you were standing. As I began to explain what had happened and what had been said you said; “Ah…that’s what those men in uniform were at the station for…they must have been checking everyone’s tickets…that’s how they knew you didn’t get on at Bootle…no one could have got on without a ticket…” I could have throttled you…especially when you started to laugh and I do mean laugh, you were bent over double with tears running down your face at my predicament!
As I walked past the station I found that I had walked almost a full circle and was now approaching the new shopping areas again. All these stores in one place… just fabulous. You would be in your element! We had many shopping expeditions…many years of falling out over the same dresses and which one of us would have it because our tastes were similar! I stopped then outside the jeweller’s shop on a corner…it has been there forever! The same shop…it has had a bit of a facelift but it was lovely to see it remaining amongst all these changes... ‘Boodles…’ the only shop for diamonds! Do you remember how we used to look in the windows and choose which rings we’d have…engagement, wedding, eternity and a diamond dress ring; we had it all planned…we’d both find nice young, wealthy lads and marry and meet up at the Pier Head and have lunch in a restaurant instead of sitting on a cold bench in the wind overlooking the Mersey…
Ah well dear, lovely, sweet ‘Big sister’ all that was a lifetime ago…so much has changed since those days…I have a thousand memories of you and I here in this city…in our old Liverpool home…”

 I met up with the ‘Hubby’ and ‘Cutie-pie’ [sorry son!] and after lunch we did a little more shopping : I actually bought a pair of full length leather boots…needed boots for ages and wanted long ones for years! The irony is that my first real pair were bought with my first real salary in Liverpool and here I was in Liverpool again getting my second pair in the sales…32 years later with my teaching pension!
Then we joined the ‘Intelligent-one’ and on the way back to the car-park I stood looking at the Pier Head, the gulls squawking above me, the shoppers whizzing by, the Christmas atmosphere swirling around me and as I saluted you my ‘Big sis’ the words of your favourite song flashed through my mind and the picture of you with your glass in the air swaying in tune to:
“In my Liverpool home…
We speak with an accent exceedingly rare…
Meet under a statue exceedingly bare…If you want a Cathedral we have one to spare…
In my Liverpool home…” *
Blog 54 [10]
Copyright©GML2012
Foot note; I escaped ‘prison’ due to the wonderful headmaster I was working for who understood fully when I explained what had happened; he intervened and wrote a brilliant letter of support and explanation to the Commissioner who gave me a written reprimand! Better than a jail sentence for ½ pence!
*Words from the song 'In my Liverpool Home' by Pete McGovern.

Thursday 15 November 2012

Blog 54 [9]



   Blog 54 [9]…A special….

... Birthday! Yes it was my birthday this week and although it marks the passing of time it was a vey special one; not as special as 16 or 18 or 21 even…not a landmark one such as 30 or 50 can be but extra special as it marked my retirement! Wow I’ve said it and written it and it still feels strange…
All birthdays are wonderful really no matter what age we are, it’s still exciting to wait for a card through the door…I’ve a wonderful aunt who never forgets…I received a Christmas edition of my favourite magazine and a bar of chocolate from my aunt in Ireland [she knows me so well!] so that I can sit down with a pot of coffee and read to my heart’s content! As well as cards this year I got loads of lovely birthday messages on Face Book which is a great way to celebrate the day! I was also treated to an electronic birthday card via email titled ‘Queen for the day’ from a younger cousin of mine who lives miles away but still keeps in touch! Wonderful! As for the ‘Hubby’ and the boys, ‘Bridezilla’ and her ‘Young man’ and my father: they had me thoroughly spoiled with lovely presents AND a birthday cake! What’s so special about a cake? I think we take for granted these little things…when I was 8 my mother baked me a coconut cake shaped like a fairy’s castle and it was smothered in pink icing: I know I would have had cakes before that age but this one has always stayed in my memory because I was having some friends round for tea and there was a national bread strike on and so mum had to bake the bread for the sandwiches! We had what she called ‘French’ sandwiches: open ones to you and me! Sadly the last birthday cake I had was from my mother when I turned 30…strange how that particular year she baked us all cakes, including the ‘Hubby’ and he was just my ‘Young man’ at the time…as if she knew it would be the last birthdays she’d celebrate with us all.
It was very nice this year to get the chance to blow out some candles again and make a wish!
When I was thinking about my birthday and parties I remembered my 18th and how my mum said I could have a few friends round…only those who were 18 were allowed to have alcohol so straight away I thought it would be a flop! To make matters worse mum was making trifles, stuffed eggs, cheese and pickles on sticks stuck into a silver foil covered half cabbage…ah well it WAS the 70’s! I had been saving up for a long dress to wear…handmade in India in beautiful printed reds and golds…and I decided to dye my boring frizzy brown hair a beautiful chestnut…well that’s what it said on the pack! Of course my luck would have it…my hair ended up pink! We washed it a thousand times until there was no shampoo and no hot water left…but still it remained pinky and twice as frizzy so my mum suggested I tied as much of it into a bun on the top of my head as I could and just have soft wispy bits dangling…ha well the idea was there even if that’s not how it turned out! But the party was a success! I thought everyone would laugh at my mum still being in the house at an 18th… but it worked out well; she spent most of the night surrounded by the lads who loved her trifle and talked about pop stars and music…I know! How cool was that? I didn’t think my mum even knew about Rod Stewart and his latest L.P. [Long playing record for the younger generation reading this…they were made out of vinyl…oh and played on a record player…the equivalent of a CD!] One of the lads had bought me this L.P; Atlantic Crossing…and after a short time at the party he announced that he had to go home to revise…mum was VERY impressed with him and they talked about university and all things intellectual! To be told the following week by friends that my mum was simply the best…ah well that was the best birthday present for me!

My birthday has also given me the chance to catch up with some friends and family and eat lots of goodies and talk and laugh…and I’m going to give an extra special mention to three wonderful, modest, ladies: I had a wonderful surprise birthday lunch with my mum’s youngest sister, one of her daughters and one of her nieces, my cousins. They brought the lunch and cakes and we sat talking like the girls on ‘Loose Women’ as my aunt said! We did have a laugh and it was great for many reasons including the fact that they had arranged this and taken the time to organise it: buying the lunch, cakes and cards as well as taking the time to knit me a lovely mug cover: a brilliant idea, cosy cup holder with star buttons and coloured co-ordinated to match my kitchen! It was also great because sitting at the table with the three of them made me think if this is what it would be like if my mum and ‘Big sister’ were still alive? It just felt right, it felt great and by no means am I saying that I’d replaced my mum and ‘Big sister’ but to have my aunt who looks just like how I imagine my mum would now be looking like and to share some of her memories was just lovely and to sit with two of my many cousins and have a laugh was almost akin to how maybe my ‘Big sister’ and I would have been sitting together. It was a great idea of theirs and very much appreciated. So thank you ladies…you know who you are…

So you see how busy the week has been? Every day there has been something wonderful and tomorrow two friends are collecting me and we are driving up to see our very dear friend who lives in the lakes…well not literally IN the lakes but the surrounding countryside! The four of us were at school together and we have a lot of catching up to do over an extended pub lunch!
My week has turned from just a birth-day to a birthday week!
So, I am retired. I made the decision a while ago after taking the advice of other teachers and decided that if I wasn’t going to go back to teaching then instead of being unemployed and contributing nothing to my family I would take what teacher’s pension I could and enjoy it whilst I can. So that was it! I’m no longer unemployed, out of work…but retired and it’s beginning to feel great. Physically I’m the same, same chronic pain, same frustration, same ups and downs but mentally, strangely, I feel lighter, less worried, less anxious…relief almost! There was just a tinge of sadness when I realised that this is it my teaching career is over…not quite how I imagined retiring to be: no fond farewells, no acknowledgement of all my years in education…just an emailed confirmation of the date I officially retire. There! Kaput! As my mother used to say! Will I miss it? Well I have been missing the cut and thrust of the work place...ha! I have missed watching the children I teach blossom…seriously…I’ve always taken pride in my achievements…but the time is right to wave goodbye to the blackboard…er white boards nowadays…perhaps it’s time to do something completely different…
 It has been a lifetime and yet it seems to have gone in the blink of an eye. In 1976 I embarked on my Catholic teacher-training course in Liverpool. As you all know from an earlier blog it wasn’t my first career choice but I went along with it to keep the peace at home. I worked hard and struggled with the most awful home sickness. My nerves often got the better of me and I would feel my legs shaking when standing in front of groups of students during discussions and practicing teaching. We did what was called Micro-teaching: teaching the first part of a lesson in front of a camera and then having it played back to the other students so that they could offer praise …or in my case criticism! I shook like a leaf in front of the camera…I stuttered and leant against the table where my ‘visual-aids’ were displayed; it was a Maths lesson on graphs and I was using tower blocks of coloured wooden bricks to explain my point…naturally I knocked them onto the floor…
“Oh shit…oh God I said shit…oh shit I said God in front of the class…oh shit I said shit again…”
I think you can guess what criticism I was offered…
My first teaching practice was in a brilliant school in the docklands and the children were amazing, resourceful kids who had very little of anything except for a great sense of humour and a quick eye for anything that could be recycled! In my first week there I had to accompany a group of them across the road to the church for their Friday afternoon confession. They all sat in rows by the confessional box waiting to take turns with the priest to confess their ‘sins’ before mass on Sunday. When they each came out they sat and said their repentance prayers before getting up and quietly walking around the church, stopping at each statue with the candles flickering in front of them and obviously saying extra prayers as they bowed their heads.
“Are you going in miss?”
“Oh I don’t think so, not today…”
“Our miss always goes in…
“Yeah and she takes ages!”
Mmm well I thought I’d better set a good example and do what their teacher usually did. So I entered the dark confessional and began my ‘Forgive me father for I have sinned…’ when I heard a lot of scuffling and shuffling of feet and whispered giggling…
“Excuse me father, I need to just check the children…”
“You’re with THEM and you’re in HERE?”
I quickly jumped out to see a group of children standing by the door with an angry looking teacher and as I approached she calmly asked where had the other five boys gone? OMG a few of them had ‘clocked off early’ and the ones she had stopped at the door were asked to empty their pockets. What?
Ah well it would appear that you NEVER leave children unattended…even the oldest ones in the school…and as they began to empty their pockets I couldn’t believe what I saw…the bowing of the heads in front of the statues had been the action of blowing the flames out and putting the candles in their pockets…only taking one per statue at a time so as not to raise the alarm…the gentle walking round the church to pray had been so that they could take a bible or cushion pad; one of those that were hand embroidered; it made the lad look 7 months pregnant with it up his jumper…and one or two had taken the baskets from the back of the church used for collections during mass…one little girl had a handful of flowers… “AW they’re fur me mam…”
I’d like to say it got better but you know it didn’t.
I had to teach a topic on birds…and I was thoroughly prepared for all possibilities…or so I thought. My nerves made me feel sick to the stomach the very minute the teacher left me on my own with her class of thirty- seven 9 and 10 year olds. They all sat staring…not a peep out of them. I stood in front of the board and with a piece of chalk in my right hand I leant against the blackboard eagerly awaiting their responses to my questions…basic ones like ‘Let’s see what we know about birds?’ So that I could write the answers on the board and then we could correlate all the information…yeah right. The first few answers; ‘they shit on me mam’s washing…they dive bomb our cat’…and other similar answers I had to try to ignore by suggesting we look at how many different types of birds could we all think of…now the answers came thick and fast and I swayed to and fro in front of the board writing furiously…and when I paused to talk I leant on the board again and found that by swinging my leg up and down my nervous shaking seemed to settle. The lesson was going well and the board was filling up with bird names and I moved about feeling a little less nervous and then I noticed that one little lad at the front of the class didn’t look too good…just as I stopped swinging my leg I lowered it and I stepped back and unfortunately got my foot stuck in the paper bin…at exactly the same time as this, the little lad lurched forward from his desk and puked up over my foot in the bin…just as the class all said “Uew” the teacher re-appeared: she took one look at me and asked “What on earth…?” just as a voice from the back of the class said:
“The new Miss 'as made Johnny sick…and she’s written TITS on the board…” Dear Lord please let the ground open up and swallow me…who’d have thought I’d classify a certain group of birds under that heading!
My second teaching practice was brilliant…I was in a great school in Bootle and the staff had the best ever attitude towards teaching: all the children had to leave school able to read, write, do mental calculations and survive in the outside world; regardless of any other topics or new fangled teaching techniques. I learnt a great deal from these experienced, talented people who showed love and affection for the children they taught. These children came from deprived backgrounds and whose lives were hard enough without teachers making it harder by setting unreasonable tasks. For example there was no homework set as a lot of them went home to houses with no heating or lighting so extra lessons after school were offered and for the most were successful as it gave them a longer time in the warmth and safety of school as well as securing their chances of a better education. The school had access to a swimming pool across the playground and this was where most children had their weekly bath! The standard of teaching was second to none and I was happy there; I felt as though I was blossoming and perhaps I could be a great teacher. However, this was short lived as the last teaching practice school was a slightly tougher area of Liverpool…on my first day I asked the lollipop lady if I was at the right school…she looked me up and down and said:
“EY queen…I’d turn around and run like f**k outta ‘ere… they’ll eat ya alive…”
The first words from the headmaster were:
“Your surname isn’t a common one…I have to ask are you related to the family of the same name from this area?”
“Er no sir…why?”
“It’s that there’s a lot of trouble with rival gangs and the leader has been sent down due to being 'dobbed' in by a person with your surname…you’ll need to watch yer back…”
Good God…really? This goes on in real life and not just on the telly? This has to have been one of the toughest schools I have EVER taught in, in my entire career!
The Headmaster had a cane hanging on the back of his door...and told me he wasn’t afraid to use it if I had any problems. The top juniors, aged 10 and 11, were like men; tall, bulky and tough. They spat and swore and asked staff what were they going to do about it? They ran around the school yard like a mini mafia. My class were younger but just smaller versions…three of the girls mugged a secondary school pupil as she ran across the yard to her school one morning because she was late. They tripped her up, pulled her bag off her, sat on her back and ate her packed lunch…all in view of the rest of the children. I shook with fear every morning when I had to go out on duty with the class teacher who warned me not to make eye contact with any of the parents at the railings or question the older pupils who used the yard as a short cut to where they wanted to be. It was also suggested that I never accept any sweets or cakes that the children may offer…which despite everything they were generous children…
“It’s a hygiene thing…”
“But I ate some chocolate yesterday from Mary…her sister works in the chocolate factory…”
“Think about how she would get it past the security guard…”
“What? I thought they’d get discount…”
“Think about it…”
Dear Lord! It turned out Mary’s sister smuggled bars of chocolate out of the factory…without paper wrappings…down the front of her nickers…defying any security guard to search there…!”
 I was told in confidence if I managed to keep all the children in the classroom for most of the day then I’d pass my practice…it was just a case of getting through another day. The class ignored a lot of what I tried to teach them…one child sat all day under the desk at my feet, pulling at my tights and cutting them with little scissors…another preferred to stand swaying against the wall and pick the display work off bit by bit…another loved going to the toilet and staying there until the Headmaster found him during his daily rounds of all places where children could hide….one child cut her pig tail off and then proceeded to do the same to her friend…
“LoooK miss…we’re ‘airdressers!”
The Bishop came to do his dutiful rounds of all Catholic schools and we had to stand at the door of the class room with just a handful of pupils on show…the ones who were capable of answering the Bishop’s questions…my group were asked;
“What can you say about the miracle of the feeding of the five thousand…what did Jesus do with the fish and the loaves?”
“Please yer ‘ighness he made fish sarnies…I’m glad I wasn’t there I hate fish and me mam says it’s good for you but it stinks the hell out of the kitchen…”
Please now seriously let the floor open up and swallow me…I’m not responsible for what comes out of their mouths…but the look of the Bishop and the Parish priest and the headmaster were enough to make me feel a total failure…I had practiced that story all week…and this is what that child came out with!
This staff were tired, depressed and disillusioned. My college tutor was young, enthusiastic, highly intelligent and in cloud cuckoo land. She suggested that I had a wander around the estate and get a feel for the area and how the children lived. ‘Take a camera and make a folder of photos of the locality and use it as a point of discussion with the children…’ So I proudly set off one lunch time…all the shops were boarded up by metal shutters which were covered in graffiti …only shop doors were open…I guess you needed to know by routine which shop was which…there were no plants, no trees just piles of burnt out bonfires, discarded furniture and burnt out cars…groups of people hanging around smoking with no where to go…and as I clicked clicked away with my trusty little camera I found myself walking along the road where my bus stop was…and I was being followed…now I was frightened and now I realised how dense I was to think I could walk around their domain and intrude on their lives. Surrounded by a group of lads I feared the worst…from nowhere came a voice…
“Oiy yer theiving gits! Get away from er…”
“F**k off you ****
“You f**k orf or I’ll ram yer arses with this…go on…git…”
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry…the sight of the lollipop lady waving her lollipop stick in the air and cursing and swearing as the lads laughed and stuck their fingers up at us was quite something!
She escorted me back to school; warning me that it was not safe to be alone…and to stay in school at all costs…she asked me why did I think there were iron railings all around the school entrance and at the windows…for the safety of those inside…her way of saying “Alright ‘dere now queen…” has never left me!

Half way through my practice my tutor decided perhaps if I changed the topics I was teaching and gave the children more practical experiences then they would respond…I certainly was never doing a project on birds again! I spent a full weekend changing plans and getting them passed by my tutor…she had also had a word in confidence with the psychology department and they decided I needed an effective method of praising the correct behaviour and ignoring the poor behaviour…sweets was the answer. So she provided me with an everlasting supply of sweets…stating that as I was a poor student no one expected me to pay for these ‘magic’ beans myself….hey presto! I doled these things out constantly…sit up, fold your arms, don’t call out, put your hand up, line up straight, walk quietly, don’t hurt any one, stop spitting, stop swearing, tidiest table, quickest pupil to get changed for P.E.…you name it a sweet was the praise and quite literally I had them eating out of my hand! It all began to go swimmingly…only one minor hiccup…during an art and craft session when the children were making collages of winter scenes I had piled loads of old materials on a desk and they had the freedom to choose what they wanted to use…my tutor arrived and unbeknown to me she had placed her purple, furry hat and her raincoat on the same table before wandering round the room watching my interaction with the children. Imagine my horror when she was leaving and reached for what was left of her hat…and a hole in her raincoat where one of the pockets had been! Well…those children certainly were responding to being more creative!
I qualified in 1979…just in time for the shortage of teaching jobs due to cut backs…so for a short while I worked in a warehouse…whole different blog on careers is that experience! But then just after the Christmas day in December 1979 I received a phone call from a headmaster of a school in Liverpool…he was desperate for a strong teacher who had experience of a ‘certain’ type of pupil and area and he had been having lunch with an ex-tutor of mine who had recommended me for the job…was I interested?
Hell yes! I’d gone through a lot of heartache to just fritter away my teaching qualification in a warehouse packing catalogues [although I did get promoted to counting order forms…!] His instructions were very clear…
“Get the Southport train from Liverpool Central…get off at Waterloo…come up the steps…follow the children in the grey uniform walking towards the church spire you can see from the station and you’ll find us…looking forward to having you on our staff…”
“What about an interview?”
“No need…I’ve heard all about you…”
“And you still want to give me a job?”
“ Ha ha! Just what I expected to hear…see you on the 7th January…”

            ... Best get my jar of sweets ready then...

....and so began my very long and varied teaching career…




Footnote: Johnny and Mary are not the real names of those children.

Blog 54 [9]
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