This series of stories will be titled ‘I’m surprised I turned out as well as I did, given my childhood…’ 5

This story involves someone that I know some of my readers from Facebook will remember because she was a lovely girl and died too young. I’m not going to use names in these stories because people are still living in the same area and I’d hate to cause upset or embarrassment for anyone.

To set the scene a little, I lived at 181 Primrose Hill. Everyone called me ‘Miss Prim’ – too young to remember why, but I answered to that name – that, and the nickname that has stuck with me since - ‘Trouble’…

My aunt was getting married – the next day as it happened – and I, being an adventurous and determined little soul, escaped.

This is similar to how the fronts looked.

This is as close to the back as I can find right now.

The rows of houses seemed to go on forever – hardly surprising, I was very small and if I lived in the middle of the row at 181, I’m guessing there were at least another 199 houses in the rows. Some villages have fewer houses!

The rows were split down the middle as well as across (I mentioned the back lane made of ashes in a previous story) and I crossed that wide lane running down the hill towards the bottom row too. So, I was in unfamiliar territory and exploring.

A thunderstorm started letting me know I really should be making my way home soon, but I didn’t care, I was wild, I was free… I was probably fed-up of the new baby (my sister).

Yeah… not this bad, but you know

At five years old, I had a sense of adventure that sometimes crops up even now. A little bit of wildness that cannot be tamed – I’ve given up trying now – that gets me into trouble (but thankfully, also manages to find a way of dealing with it too).

I don’t recall much of the journey, but I do remember where I ended up – and who else was there.

Two girls, a little older than me; and we all met up in a rickety garden shed, watching the storm clouds. I remember the girls were scared to go out of the shed. I’ve never been scared of the thunder, so the vague recollection that they didn’t want me to leave the shed because of the storm makes more sense than the thought that I was scared to leave.

I also remember the start of the conversation.
“It’s your auntie’s wedding tomorrow, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“You need to look your best for that.”

“Yes, I suppose so…”

“Let’s cut your hair!”

“OK…”

Oh boy… that was not one of my better decisions!

I believe my mother came looking for me. I was in trouble (as usual) for wandering off without telling her where I was going.

To be fair, and always in my defence, I never knew where I was going, so I couldn’t very-well tell her, could I?

I think it must have been the deepening dusk, aided by the storm clouds that hid my new ‘do’ because I didn’t cop for it until we got back to the house.

Wow! There really was a storm that night.

My aunt was a hairdresser, she had her own shop and everything.

I was always reminded of that hack-job because in the panic to get one of her bridesmaids (me) sorted out at SUCH short notice before the wedding, she forgot to put on her mascara – and anyone that remembers the fashions of the 60s will also recall that eyes were heavily lashed-up.

I had NO fringe – none! The ‘cute little hat’ (I loathed it) I had to wear (made me look like a lollipop) hid some of the destruction, but not all. I don’t have access to the pictures now (another story) but I do remember them.

Black and white photos, a sullen little child in the front with the aforementioned-lollipop hat on, sulking from the numerous tellings-off.

I think they probably didn’t mention I had to wear a hat until moments before getting to the church.

AND the dresses were pink! I ask you, who in their right mind would put a red-haired devil-child in a PINK pomander hat. Well they did and I’m scarred for life!

Oops!