Yesterday, I introduced you to Thetford. It came up in chatterbox with Aitch who also had memories related to the Mac Tribe and camping in the forest. Dear friend that she is, I remember it not at all well... Her memory is very clear however.
Camping in the caravan with the Mac's, being offered tea but not with sugar. Too polite, she never asked for any. I am reliably informed that in that one single moment, there was a switch; tea never again drunk with sugar added. Certainly we were not strong on sugar at our place. Though I rather thought dad used to take it. That may have changed after his gall bladder removal. Plus his own father's untimely and somewhat unpleasant death resulting from Type 2 Diabetes.
There is a vague tugging of the visual cortex as I think of that wonderful expanse of forest and only one campervan there. Sleeping 7. Two adults, their four kids and an insert.
There is no obvious sign of any lavatorial or ablutionary facilities in that visual blink. Was this the place where we were taught to carry a shovel and paper hankies at all times? Bathing from a bucket? If not here, certainly another like it.
It was, I remember this bit well, the scene of my early driving experience. The father never held me back from tinkering in the engines with him or keeping him company on his field trips. At that time we had progressed from the original and the best Land Rover to a true family car. An Austin 1100. There was an expanse of concreted ground I seem to think had something to do with decoy airfields long abandoned from WW2. Dad used to like taking the new vehicle there to put it through it's paces. For some reason I got to go along.
I also got to sit behind the wheel. Heaven alone knows how I managed it. Can barely reach the pedals now. I hadn't reached my full and final 4"11" by that time. It may have involved a rolled up navvy's jacket behind me and a block of wood tied to each of the pedals.
No. He wouldn't do that would he? It would be illegal. His wife, would frown heavily. The younger sibs would complain like billy-o till they got a shot.
No. What happens in a forest stays in a forest...
Those were the days when summers seemed endless, doors were never locked and innocence reigned.
Camping in the caravan with the Mac's, being offered tea but not with sugar. Too polite, she never asked for any. I am reliably informed that in that one single moment, there was a switch; tea never again drunk with sugar added. Certainly we were not strong on sugar at our place. Though I rather thought dad used to take it. That may have changed after his gall bladder removal. Plus his own father's untimely and somewhat unpleasant death resulting from Type 2 Diabetes.
There is a vague tugging of the visual cortex as I think of that wonderful expanse of forest and only one campervan there. Sleeping 7. Two adults, their four kids and an insert.
There is no obvious sign of any lavatorial or ablutionary facilities in that visual blink. Was this the place where we were taught to carry a shovel and paper hankies at all times? Bathing from a bucket? If not here, certainly another like it.
It was, I remember this bit well, the scene of my early driving experience. The father never held me back from tinkering in the engines with him or keeping him company on his field trips. At that time we had progressed from the original and the best Land Rover to a true family car. An Austin 1100. There was an expanse of concreted ground I seem to think had something to do with decoy airfields long abandoned from WW2. Dad used to like taking the new vehicle there to put it through it's paces. For some reason I got to go along.I also got to sit behind the wheel. Heaven alone knows how I managed it. Can barely reach the pedals now. I hadn't reached my full and final 4"11" by that time. It may have involved a rolled up navvy's jacket behind me and a block of wood tied to each of the pedals.
No. He wouldn't do that would he? It would be illegal. His wife, would frown heavily. The younger sibs would complain like billy-o till they got a shot.
No. What happens in a forest stays in a forest...
Those were the days when summers seemed endless, doors were never locked and innocence reigned.
Ah, yes, the trenching shovel. Folded neatly in half and went behind the spare tire for storage.
ReplyDeleteMum says it is true about the sugar, she remembers it was the only time she went on holiday to Theford with you and infact the first time she had been away without her mum.
ReplyDeleteWhen I have compared notes about holidays from decades ago, sometimes I wonder if my friends and I were on the same trip.
ReplyDeleteAh, memories...
One of my first outings with my dad while I was driving his car (I had a license), caused him to swear profusely. Which was very strange, since he never cursed or used God's word in a manner it should not be used in. It might have something to do with me trying to get on to the motorway by using the exit (the license was English, I was driving in the Netherlands).
ReplyDelete