Photographic Memories
My reminiscences of pantomimes earlier this week also brought back memories of the start of my lifelong interest in photography.
I have been hunting round for some of the photos I took of one of the shows when I was about 14. Fortunately for you, I couldn’t find them — they weren’t very good.
Z is for Zetland Street
I have very fond memories of this house on Zetland Street in Dukinfield. It was the home of my Grand-aunt Alice, sister of my maternal grandmother, and her husband, Uncle Charlie.
We were regular visitors when I was young and could look forward to some of the best home baking prepared by Auntie Alice in her Aga style cooker.
Never Go Back
They do say you should never go back, but sometimes the invitation is irresistible, especially if you’re given the opportunity to re-visit the house where you grew up which you haven’t seen for the best part of 50 years.
All I Want for Christmas II
After flirting with the contemporary yesterday, today’s festive offering is entirely nostalgic, albeit the track titles are somewhat similar.
The year was 1963 and the country was in the grip of Beatlemania. Jumping on the passing bandwagon was Lancashire lass, Dora Bryan, with All I Want for Christmas is a Beatle.
My sister loved it and the 45rpm single was one of her presents that year. Here it is in all its scratchy glory.
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Marriage Made in Heaven
Fish and chips were a bit of a treat when I was a lad. Maybe once a week I was sent to Pearson’s chippie with a deep dish to collect the family’s meal, getting a bag of batter scraps to eat on the way home as a reward.
As I grew older, this great delicacy came wrapped in old newspapers that soaked up the grease and vinegar and made a special scrunching sound when screwed up after you’d finished, the sound of the remains of the salt scratching against the paper.
Chunky Monkey
I don’t receive many presents (awww) but when I do, they’re memorable, Sometimes quite literally. Yesterday I was given a small box of sweets that whisked me back to my childhood.
They’re the pineapple chunks that I’ve posed in a jar on the left. Fifty years ago they were a treat from Mrs Taylor’s toffee shop at 3d a quarter when I got my weekly ‘spends’. {That’s three old pence for four ounces.}
I loved them and would scoff one after another even though I knew that sucking their hard, sugar-coated roughness would leave the roof of my mouth raw. I also suspect they were responsible for many of my childhood visits to the dentist. Worth every filling.
D is for Duck
Or rather the ducks plural that gave the town of Dukinfield its name and where I grew up, or as grown up as I’ve ever managed to get.
Dukinfield means the ‘open land of the ducks‘ from the Old English duce and feld. There is another theory that it translates as ‘field of the raven‘ from the Norse, daken, and that the Vikings were defeated in battle here, but this has been largely dismissed.
ABC Wednesday
A is for Abracadabra
A magical word special to me as an anklebiter after I was given a David Nixon set set for my seventh or eight birthday.
Don’t Cross a Pelican
Like Anthony Burgess, John Barbirolli and Morrisey, I’ve always been a fan of Manchester Central Library which sits prettily in St Peter’s Square in all its faux pantheon splendour.
Furacão me, it’s breezy
I was reading The Hot Word post on the etymology of the words hurricane, typhoon and cyclone. No surprise that two of them should take their names from mythology, but what did make me stop was the way that the comments flipped straight to the pretty basic theological statement — “God Controls the weather!”
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