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Doodlebugs and nosegays - chapter 3
posted Sunday, 2 January 2005
Country life
Alarm bells
The first of my two schools in Cranbrook, an infants set up in the village hall, was unforgettable for a major event. It was winter and heating was provided by two black enamelled portable paraffin stoves. During early morning horseplay one boy’s cap was knocked flying. As he was stepping backwards searching for it he toppled one of the heaters which sent a river of blue-flamed oil gushing over the floorboards. We all ran out into the snow-covered yard in a state of high excitement. Within minutes the fire engine arrived with a clanging bell and firemen clinging to the ladders, bringing our snowball battles to an abrupt finish. Luckily, one little lad with initiative beyond his years had dashed across the road to the fire station and raised the alarm.
Tingling fingers
That winter provided other highlights. The house next door had a large lake, surrounded by trees and rhododendrons. Although we were strictly warned not to go near it, sliding on the ice was a big thrill. The boy who lived there seemed a bit of a show-off, gliding around on real ice skates. And there was the unforgettable thrill of tumbling with a toboggan down a hilly, snow-covered field . Then the stinging tingle of my toes and fingers when we arrived home to the glowing coal fire, my heightened senses revelling in its sooty smells.
Cranbrook in Kent was yet another wartime billet. I stayed with Uncle Ern, the local policeman who, with Auntie Ada (Dad’s sister), and my cousins Brenda and Iris, lived on the job in the very fine Georgian style residence (see picture) purpose built for the constabulary. At its side were stables and a cobbled yard where I wobbled around on Iris’s bike learning to ride. Behind, via wooden steps over a high brick wall, was an area of land with a vegetable patch and a variety of trees, including an enormous gnarled specimen which produced the most delicious, tangy, Blenheim apples.
One day, peeking over that wall, I spotted Uncle about to carry out one of his more unpleasant duties. A stray dog that had not been claimed within the time allowed was about to be dispatched with a pistol shot to the head. I was seen and sent back down the steps before the trigger was pulled.Alarm bells
The first of my two schools in Cranbrook, an infants set up in the village hall, was unforgettable for a major event. It was winter and heating was provided by two black enamelled portable paraffin stoves. During early morning horseplay one boy’s cap was knocked flying. As he was stepping backwards searching for it he toppled one of the heaters which sent a river of blue-flamed oil gushing over the floorboards. We all ran out into the snow-covered yard in a state of high excitement. Within minutes the fire engine arrived with a clanging bell and firemen clinging to the ladders, bringing our snowball battles to an abrupt finish. Luckily, one little lad with initiative beyond his years had dashed across the road to the fire station and raised the alarm.
Tingling fingers
That winter provided other highlights. The house next door had a large lake, surrounded by trees and rhododendrons. Although we were strictly warned not to go near it, sliding on the ice was a big thrill. The boy who lived there seemed a bit of a show-off, gliding around on real ice skates. And there was the unforgettable thrill of tumbling with a toboggan down a hilly, snow-covered field . Then the stinging tingle of my toes and fingers when we arrived home to the glowing coal fire, my heightened senses revelling in its sooty smells.
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