When I was about ten years old, I stayed every weekend at my auntie Nellie and uncle Tom's house. In their house I had my own bedroom, looking out onto a railway track. I spent hours watching and waving to the passengers on the steam trains that passed in the dark black night, leaving a trail of smoke that lingered long after the train had disappeared. Obviously no one could see me in that black night , but that did not stop me from believing they could. I dreamed that one day I too would be on a train and travel far and wide.
In the evening before retiring to my bed, auntie ensured that I had my bath, and after she would brush my long jet black hair one hundred times till it shone. She was so proud of my long hair and would not let my mum cut it.
Auntie also believed that I would one day be a famous ballet dancer. Each week I attended a school for dancing, situated in the Holy Trinity Church Hall in Dean Street. I had an hour for tap dancing and ballet. I well remember my bright yellow short tunic dress that we had to wear. My pink shabby ballet shoes that were tied with yellow ribbon were well worn with my attempts to stand on my points.
Sometimes auntie would come and watch me in a lesson and her claps from her sweating hands embarrassed me in from of the other dancers. She meant well though.
Another time auntie took me on a day out to our local beach. I well remember sitting on the ancient wooden steps that have now been replaced by concrete ramps. We sat for hours watching the tide come in. A gentle mist appeared one day like a blanket of cloud that was newly formed. Strange how I look back and can still visualise it.
In those days one could buy a pot of tea on the promenade and drink it on the beach and on returning the tea pot they would refund sixpence.
Mealtimes at aunties house were a great experience because mum could not afford some of the food auntie bought. I used to enjoy the uncut Hovis brown bread and add layers of butter on it. I could smell the aroma of the wheat as I ate it.
My aunt and uncle used to enjoy a drink at the local working means club. And every weekend they fetched me The Young Soldier and the War Cry magazine to read. The Salvation Army sold them for charity. I would read them cover to cover. There was nursing information and I learned about Florence Nightingale, the famous nurse.
That began my urge to write and will continue for the rest of my life. I also see where the caring side of me came from apart from my mum of course. I have a lot to be thankful for because I learned loads from the stories I wrote from those mags. Auntie was indeed one of my role models. She will live in my heart forever.
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