Seemingly insignificant things that connect you to the past

Discussion in 'The Display Case' started by Big Man, Jan 14, 2016.

  1. 2jakes

    2jakes I'll Lock Up

    Messages:
    9,680
    Location:
    Alamo Heights ☀️ Texas
    I posted a song in the “music” section
    which I haven’t heard since I was a kid.
    Found it on YouTube site.
    It was a favorite of my mother. I didn’t think much of it.
    Listening to it now means so much!
     
    Bugguy likes this.
  2. GHT

    GHT I'll Lock Up

    Messages:
    6,884
    Location:
    New Forest
    Since my hip replacement I have tended to use an aid for walking, we call them walking sticks but I call it Michael, as in Michael Caine. Two young men got quite frustrated with me this evening, I was probably dithering as I came out of the convenience store. They tried to pass me one way, in order to avoid them I stepped out of there way, only I didn't, I compounded their frustration by being in their way, again. One of them hissed, "FFS." I stood still, they passed either side of me, reached their car and roared off. Such is youth.

    Back in 1965, two 19 year-olds came out of a pub on their way to their Saturday night venue. It was raining but as luck would have it a taxi was passing by with the For Hire light shining. "Taxi!" One of the teenagers called, the taxi driver pulled into the kerbside, the two men made a dash for it through the rain. They didn't see the little old lady in their way. The poor woman first went one way, then the other and each time she ended up getting in their way. One rather ungallant young man mumbled: "Doddering old fogey!" She heard, and raising a crooked, arthritic finger she chastised him. "You'll be old," she scolded.

    I've never forgotten that incident, nor the shameful remark I made, and I swear that this evening, after the incident with the two young men, I heard a manic cackle in my head. "You'll be old." She screeched.
     
  3. GHT

    GHT I'll Lock Up

    Messages:
    6,884
    Location:
    New Forest
    A couple of days ago, the tickets that I had bought online, for this year's summer jazz festival arrived. The postman knocked on the door, and when I answered it he explained that the letter had no stamp and that I must pay a surcharge. What? I was about to tell him that he could keep the letter, it was probably only advertising bumph anyway, however, I recognised the festival logo on the envelope. I then offered him the surcharge, but he can't take cash. His machine will accept the tap and go debit or credit cards, I can pay by my phone, (me? You've got to be kidding.) Or I can pay by Paypal. No I can't.

    Then I noticed something in the corner of the envelope. It was dusty and there was a clear impression where the stamp had been. I pointed this out and the postman agreed. He then called his office, I'm hearing one side of a two way conversation. "Yes it clearly shows that a stamp was there," "OK, I'll text it," He photographs the impression where the stamp was and sends it by text. "That's right, you can see where it was," continues the postman to his office. They decide to give me the benefit of the doubt. Me? I didn't post it. Out comes the paperwork. Sign here, and here, date of birth, religion, he didn't say those last two, I made that up, but officialdom, it's like an inquisition.
    But I now have my festival tickets.

    In 1954, two small children were told by their mother to sit down and write a thank you letter to their Grandparents for the Christmas gift of a ToyTown Post Office set that they had each received for Christmas.So they duly did what their Mother told them with big brother helping his younger sister with her spelling. They used the ToyTown note paper and the envelopes, then the big brother took his sister by the hand and together, they walked to the nearby shops where there was a letterbox and posted their thank you letters.

    Grandmother's postie was a lady, she was well known and always looked out for everyone. She was also something of a feisty type and when she saw "Receiver to Pay," stamped on two envelopes, she went ballistic. In her manager's office she berated him. "Two small children writing to their grandparents, of an age when they wouldn't know that ToyTown stamps are not Royal Mail stamps, and that they are not the legal tender. Shame on you, what a wicked thing to do." The manager rescinded the charge.

    How do I know she said all that? Grandmother told me, many years later. Grandmother also thought it so amusing that she sent one of the envelopes along with a letter outlining the story, to the local newspaper, expecting no more than the letter to be published in the letters page, if at all. But the newspaper sent a journalist round, returned the envelope, having copied it and asked grandmother to relate all. The paper ran the story, then the national press picked up on it and it made that press too. Royal Mail got the best free advertising they could ever wish for.

    When my Grandmother told me all about this I would have been about 21, maybe 22. I asked my father if he could remember it, (my mother passed away very young) Dad said that he kept a copy of The Daily Express in which the feature appeared, but couldn't remember where it was now. One of those keepsakes that gets lost in a house move. I took my wife to meet my grandparents just after we were married and Granny retold the story to her. My missus said of the missing stamp on the festival tickets envelope. "I bet it was a ToyTown stamp."
     
    3fingers, Kirk H. and Big Man like this.

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