The day started in the usual way. I woke early, took out my pencils and sat on my bunk bed sketching images of people. I loved to draw families and create little stories of their lives. I was inspired by the passengers I observed on the passing buses. Our house was in Murchison Avenue and luckily for me, on the 229 bus route. This big, red, double decker stopped just by our house, every half hour and gave me hours of entertainment. It was similar to scrolling Facebook pages, except I'd make up the stories they couldn't share. It was so long ago that mobiles were only available to TV space travelers and I think people were far less open too.

I'd pull back the bedroom nets, take a look at the distinctive characters to start the sketch and story. Some of the regulars travellers must have noticed me and thought I was a very inquisitive or very bored child. I wonder if they made stories too, from their observations from the bus?

There were so many different and interesting characters, that it would have been a crime not to pay them the attention they deserved. Some were so colourful and I loved the brightness they brought to the greyest days. The passengers were all ages but the upper deck seemed to have more of the younger generation, the smokers and eccentrics too.

There wouldn't be so many characters to observe today, it was a Sunday service, and a day of rest for many. Very few shop assistants or factory workers would be on route to Sidcup High Street. I wondered how they'd spend their free days ?

My siblings woke up and did their own things, as quietly as me, so as not to disturb Ron, who was our ruling father. Conversations would have to be whispered at all times. Ron worked nights for the London, Fleet Street press, but not in an exciting role as Editor or journalist, but as a paper handler, moving bundles of newspapers ready for their early morning deliveries across the country. We'd always have the Daily Mirror to read each morning with it's stories of politics or of British youth becomimg more rebellious. The modern pop culture was turning them wild! Many thoughts that The Rolling Stones and The Beatles had a lot to answer for.

Today only my two of my siblings, Bob and Fiona, were in the bedroom with me. Five of us used to share the space, but Gail had moved away a while back, due to her body shape changing quite dramatically. I soon learnt that she had a baby boy to care for. At the age of four, being an Auntie was a strange new concept and some did not believe it.

Jack was not home this morning but had probably stayed elsewhere. I never really knew where he was, only that he'd preferred to be anywhere than home. He had a very modern, Quantish looking girlfriend, so I thought he may be with her? I missed him not being there. He was the wise one and also lucky enough to be able to stay elsewhere.

After an hour our Mum, Dora, woke and started to prepare a few things for the day ahead. Mum would always have her coffee and light her Kensitas cigarette before anything else. She seemed to smoke so many and sometimes leave them to burn away in the ashtray. How the house never caught fire was incredible. I don't think risk assessments were a consideration back in the UK in the 60s.

She used to love collecting gift coupons that came tucked in each cigarette box. She wrapped all the coupons up like packs of cards, ready to be exchanged for something useful for the home. The more she smoked the better the reward. Get sicker but enjoy the material rewards?!

Sunday's were Mum and Dad's social day together at 'The Albany Hotel', the local public house. Mum was always there as she was the pub's assistant manager, but Sunday was her day off, but they'd both be ready to go to there for the midday opening, alcoholic drinks and local gossip.

We'd have our Sunday routine of preparing lunch ready for closing time. My sister Fiona and I would prepare the vegetables and brother Bob would be in charge of meat and timings of the meal. As the youngest, my responsibilities were less than my elders of course. The important thing was that roast dinner would need to be ready for our parents return at 2.45pm.

We all worked well together and the smell of the dinner made us quite hungry. It was nearly time for our parents return, so the table was laid and we waited for the sound of the car to pull up the small drive. It didn't fill us with excitement but it meant we could fill our bellies with food.

The sound of the weary engine pulled up, Mum entered and Dad followed shortly after. "All go well? " she asked. Dad rarely seemed bothered to engage in any conversations with us. Children should be seen and not heard. We knew our duties were over for now and Dad would cut the meat while Mum served the rest. I was passed the Bisto gravy to give it another stir.

On this particular Sunday, the routine took a new direction. The table was laid and Dad removed the roast chicken from the oven it slipped from his hand and onto the floor. He was usually quite drunk and maybe a bit clumbsy too. Dad had a bad temper over most things, so sadly this was something that brought on another one of his rages. His instant reaction was to kick the chicken. as it clearly deserved this, but a foolish action on his part. The hot fat from the roasting dish had made the floor quite slippery and resulted in him following the chicken into the air and he lay beside it now. We were all tense and I didn't know whether to laugh or cry but I knew that I had to keep my distance and show no emotion at all.

Dad managed to get back to his feet. He was hot, greasy with a face of thunder! He gave us all a look as if we were all to blame for his blunder. He found a block of lard that was on the kitchen top and hurled it through the back window of the patio door. Other food items were thrown against the wall. The kitchen diner looked worse than ever as it as was adourned with broken glass in grease, food stained wallpaper and a few teardrops.

We all moved quickly to the living room as instructed by Mum. She cleared up the glass while Dad continued to rant and moan. We all sat quietly and Bob was the saddest at the ruined dinner. My sister and I were more emotionally upset. We didn't speak or move much as we were afraid of any consequence that may follow.

Soon my parents went upstairs to mumble together and then sleep off the drink.

Now I felt safe to move from the corner of the room. I looked for my Teddy bear and went out to the garage where Ted and I had our private chats.
As I cuddled him closely, I whispered in his ear that I felt hungry and sad but that it had been a little bit funny too!
Ted whispered back that it was always good to see the funny side of life.




© Lola