Today I have a treat for you…some decent writing. No, I haven’t turned over a new leaf…Hugh Roberts, who blogs at Hugh’s Views and News http://hughsviewsandnews.wordpress.com has very kindly done a guest post for me and I’ve done one for him…poor boy!.
I love reading Hugh’s writing…his descriptions of things conjure up crystal clear images in my mind and I can usually relate to where he’s coming from.
Have a read and enjoy his recollections of his first memory. It’s my betting that he’ll take you down memory lane as well.
My First Memory
I’ve never been asked to do a guest post before. When Dorne and I decided to write a guest post for each others blog, I had no idea what to write about. Then I went back to the very beginning of my own blog and saw that all I wanted to write about life. What a great subject I thought and one which I should also write about as a guest blogger.
Ever since I can remember, I have always been a great lover of life. Yes, it’s thrown many bad things at me and said “here, deal with that”, but my love affair with life has never ended or been anywhere near ending. I could simply ‘like’ life but, no, I have always adored life and will do so until my ‘sell by date’ comes along.
The other day I was thinking about my life so far and reliving some memories and I then tried to remember what my first ever memory of life was. A few memories came to the forefront of my mind and by working out the dates of these memories, I was able to remember what my very first memory of my life was. So, let me take you back to that very day I can remember and tell you what I can remember.
I’m sat on the floor in the huge living room of our house. In front of me is a big high dark wooden table and on top of that table I can just make out the brightly coloured yellow truck I had been given that day. The colour fascinated me and yellow became my favourite colour up until about twenty years ago when Blue took over.
Sat at one end of the table, to my right, is my Grandmother. She looks down at me and smiles. She has thick black rimmed spectacles which make her eyes look huge. She’s wearing a green ‘pork pie’ style hat, which has two red cherries stuck to the side and is dressed in a velvet green two piece jacket and skirt. Underneath the jacket I can see a cream cardigan which is helping her keep warm and she wears some white pearls around her neck. Her lips are painted a bright red and she has on a pair of black flat shoes and beige coloured stockings. She’s quite a chubby lady and adores me as I am her first Grandchild.
To my left is the kitchen and in there I can see the back of my mother. She’s busy peeling sprouts and I wonder why she makes a little cross on the bottom of each sprout with the knife. I only know she is doing this because my Grandmother has told her to remember to cross the sprouts at the base. I can see lots of steam coming off various pots boiling away on the stove and the house is smelling of a roast dinner. My mother is wearing a green flowery dress and has on a new pair of slippers which are tartan green in colour and have a cream coloured fur inside of them. She talks to my Grandmother about how long it will be before the men come back from the pub.
Behind me I can hear a baby stir, it’s my baby sister. I look behind me and over in the corner is a small artificial Christmas Tree which is lit up in colourful Victorian looking lanterns. I love looking at the red, green, blue and yellow bright lights. The tree is up on a small table to prevent me getting my hands on the chocolates which hang from some of its branches. There are no presents under the tree for everything has been opened, most of which is scattered across the living room floor.
The baby starts to cry and my Grandmother gets up and takes a peek inside the carrycot while my mother continues to peel sprouts. Besides me I notice a few selection boxes, one of which is opened. On the front of each selection box is a picture of Father Christmas in his sleigh being pulled by some reindeer over some snowy roofs and chimney pots of houses. Pictures of the various chocolate bars and sweets inside the box are also displayed on the front of each box. I’ve eaten most of the content of the open box to the dismay of my Grandmother who has told my mother that I won’t be wanting to eat my Christmas dinner.
Up on the ceiling are pinned two colourful paper bells, one just above me and the other down the far end of the room. When taken down, unclipped, and closed up in a few weeks time, I remember how they both look like the shape of a boot, the type my mother would wear when going out. When taking them down my father would say how the shape reminded him of a country called Italy and that one day he would like to take us all there for a holiday.
The date is 25th December 1966.
So there you have the details I remember of my very first memory of life. What about you? What is the first memory of your life, where were you, who were you with and what was going on?
I want to thank Dorne so much for asking me to write a guest post. She has a great sense of humour and her posts always bring a smile to my face, which is infectious. We both seem to like the odd glass of wine every now and again and I can’t imagine what it would be like if we were both sat around a table with a bottle or two of wine on the go, talking about life. I think it would be priceless.
Thanks Dorne, it’s been a real privilege writing for you.
Thanks Hugh, I loved that. My granny had a pork pie hat and hat pins in it , as well. She always smelt of lavender water. Such memories!
I hope you enjoyed this post and thanks for visiting.
I’ll be back later on, with today’s advent calendar. Bet you can’t wait!
Well hello there and thank you for dropping by here.
I'm a middle-aged Yorkshire lass, who sometimes screws my writing head on and produces articles. Amongst other publications, I have been published in Dog's Monthly and The Guardian. I mostly write about animals ( I've been rescued by two adopted greyhounds), but, I am happy to write about any topic really.
I have fibromyalgia and hypothyroidism, and my hubby has Parkinson's disease, so life is a challenge at times.
On this blog I have a good old moan, try to offer advice and have a good laugh at myself.
So, join me on my journey... as I visit the hospital - yet again and wear rather too much purple.
Thanks for reading.
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