This series of stories will be titled 'I'm surprised I turned out as well as I did, given my childhood ...' 26![

I’ve mentioned that I was six years old when we moved from the pit rows to the new social housing development in the next village. So my memories in that house are from six years old and earlier.

My sister came along a couple of weeks before my fifth birthday and I already had a brother. My mother had three children of five and under. What I didn’t find out for a few years, was that she’d lost one child between my brother and my sister, from miscarriage. We’d have been four kids at five and under. A massive task!

As it was, my parents arranged for me to start school earlier than the norm because I was such a handful. I can only go on what I remember being told (or overhearing) for some of these facts.

I remember one time that my father took me and my brother for a walk with Kim the dog.

We lived where ‘Primrose Hill’ is on the map and we walked to the arrow (bottom left).

We were all bundled up walking in the fields and Kim caught a field mouse and killed it.

Then he started scrambling about in the ground. He dug and scratched in one place, close to where he’d caught the little mouse.

My father pulled the dog off before he could root out and kill the field mouse’s young.

He took the babies from their nest where they would have surely died, and he took them home.

They were fed milk on the end of a matchstick and surprisingly, they survived.

He kept them in the warmer-part of the oven where they would be warm and safe.

This is the kind of set-up I mean. The fire on one side and the other, the oven and warmers.

The field mice babies seemed to survive quite a while and they were, of course, fascinating. I plagued my father to be able to hold them at every opportunity.

I was standing up near to the table, holding one of them one evening, and I dropped it. I of course, was mortified.

I remember the anger and disappointment from my parents. Obviously, I had never intended to hurt the little creature, but that’s what happened.

I don’t think I was allowed to hold one again.

I don’t know what happened to them – whether they died or were weaned and released. My most enduring memory of that time, however, was the disappointment I’d invoked in my parents.

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The television played a big part in my young life. I’ve remembered Tingha and Tucker, the koala puppet show, but I also remember *High Chaparral, Land of the Giants, Mission Impossible, Ironside, Banana Splits * and especially Marine Boy and Tom and Jerry.

The Banana Splits Show had a few little cartoon shows in there too and The Arabian Nights was a favourite of mine.

I have one vivid memory of sitting at the table across from the television. We were all sat around the little table, watching a show that involved children. It was dark outside and I seem to feel like it was winter.

My mother brought in a dish and put it on the table. Shepherd’s Pie, with mashed potato topping, piped onto the meat and vegetables. The spikes of potato were browned to perfection, crisp and delicious. I couldn’t have been much older than three because the baby-seat was occupied by my little brother.

It’s amazing that memories can last half a century and still be so intense and vivid. I couldn’t quite tell you what I was wearing, but my brother was wearing a striped t-shirt, blues and browns and white. He has a spoon in his hand and is excited and cheerful for his dinner.

I sat opposite my father for that meal and my mother sat to my left. The table was against the wall and only one of the leaves was up. The wallpaper at the side of me was green, mainly leaves, I think…

The wallpaper may have been similar to this… but lighter green

I had a white skater dress with little string ties at the collar. At the end of each string was a round red pompom, I always believed they were cherries.

My mother made a lot of my clothes and I remember one particular dress. It was green, blue and purple tones, quite dark for a child’s dress. It had buttons down the back and was perhaps an ‘A’ line style.

Like the red one in this picture.

I’d been put in that dress and I seem to remember being told not to get dirty – perhaps we were going out.

Remember the tactic of dressing me first and sorting out my siblings while I was left to my own devices at the beach? Yeah… well, same thing applies – it’s never been a good idea.

Off I went, trotting up the path, all the way to the end of the row, close to the Pendean.

I met up with a few other kids who were playing in the trees, and I clambered through the trees with them. From one end to the other.

The jubilation that I’d managed to get to the end AND back without touching the ground was marred by the fact that I’d torn my dress. Right at the top, at the back, close to the buttons.

It was bound to be noticed.

Oh boy, was I in trouble when I got back home.

As far as I can recall, this was close to the pattern of that fabric.

Isn’t it funny what you can remember when you were little?

Images from Google and youtube