The much used, tired old cliche.." If you remember the sixties you were not there.."is not a clarion call for all,for some nothing ever changed,Tweed,brogue's were never far away,the working class,was sadly still the working class.
I came through the sixties hanging on the shirt tales of my friends siblings,grasping at newness with both hands,not sure what it was,or even how to deal with it,a tiny red wireless made in Hong Kong fitting in the palm of my hand easily slipped under a pillow,the kodak instamatic camera,one click,one cartridge,one shot so many memories held in youths fingers.
In the bleary eyed morning of today i read one of my favourite blogs,while being enriched about..Sir Les Paterson...my mind could not help but float off after reading about some of Australia's war effort during the years of rationing in England.
Food rationing not only effected those who had to endure such.But also effected the next generation coming through,not so much in the texture of split peas,but simply mind games.Each time such as i sat down to meal times,the battle commenced, being a finicky eater,who pushed peas around the plate hoping they would fall off,or slipping large chunks of fat to the warm head on my lap who eagerly ate up when adult heads were turned,the big pink tongue,said thank you and i am still hungry i knew this if i received more than one lick,small boys and dogs did not have to say anything in those days we just both new, as the smell of boiled cabbage,sent waves of " fucks sake i give up, get me outta this pan" ...made us respectively go to our places around and under the table.
Should i leave anything on the plate,out came the stories,of crappy Yankie marg...dried powered egg,two ounces of butter a week, if you were lucky to venture far enough to find.Scrag end meat..and so forth usually ended the deliberation." you have never had it so good " " you should be thankful " rang in my ears as i used to watch this lumpy gravy thick enough to plat, slowly solidify.i once battened down the hatches stood my ground and refused to eat such..i was banished to the coal house with an empty can of peas filled with water and a biscuit.
Quite..what the rights and wrongs were of those days..were, now resides in dusty history books or personal diaries that turn up,even in the fifties rationing was still strong..i once read a diary where a lady bought a banana and sliced it into three segments for her family.i remember feeling quite shocked as i closed the book after reading those small lines.Especially into my today's world... of " Sue your arse off sally syndrome "....where heaps and heaps of food is thrown away..rather than even given away to there own workers.Just in case one lies on the floor choking to death totting up the thousands of pounds in claims in the dark side of the mind.
Back then sat at the table where i trembled with each mouthful,looking at the door to escape from,the evening meal became a nightmare of dread..i understood the story where my grandfather marched his unit out of Burma into India with only his clothes,rifle,one bullet and a single toothbrush.But did such as i have to sit nightly with boiled cabbage and lumpy gravy as consorts.I do not think my marching grandfather would have put up with that.
I thought back then,even though i had no clue where children came from,but should i find any of my own under the gooseberry bush..there would be no way such a dinner table would still be around.
The sad thing is you still find it today,flashbacks start,i can feel this anger raise up,froth-up,i want to lean across and shout do you know what you are cooking in that child's head for the future,but no i simply grasp the wine glass,sigh ho-hum and wonder how good it was for Harry Potter who died whilst receiving deep throat.
I went to see Harry Potter this week to see if such was true,indeed it was judging by the smile on his face,the limp in his leg i wonder if that is because he has a Prince Albert,amongst shrunken lunch box.Horny Ron was in good spirits looking gaunt,one of those slugs must still be lingering.I will not say the best one,but good enough to watch again,knowing i will have to sit through a marathon soon of all the potter films released on DVD..better put some chardonnay in the fridge....
There was a time,when i quite fancied a Prince Albert of my own,however after seeing one live in the flesh, on Tuesday night, i am not so sure,this was a real dobber heavy steel,it did look good,a magnificent beast but so cumbersome to work with..i bet the owner did not leave his fat on the plate or chase peas in those days...the first thoughts coming into my head as i watched this steel grow..was would it show up in airport scanners and then what..a drop down of the pants..the mind on this sunday boggles...
I came through the sixties hanging on the shirt tales of my friends siblings,grasping at newness with both hands,not sure what it was,or even how to deal with it,a tiny red wireless made in Hong Kong fitting in the palm of my hand easily slipped under a pillow,the kodak instamatic camera,one click,one cartridge,one shot so many memories held in youths fingers.
In the bleary eyed morning of today i read one of my favourite blogs,while being enriched about..Sir Les Paterson...my mind could not help but float off after reading about some of Australia's war effort during the years of rationing in England.
Food rationing not only effected those who had to endure such.But also effected the next generation coming through,not so much in the texture of split peas,but simply mind games.Each time such as i sat down to meal times,the battle commenced, being a finicky eater,who pushed peas around the plate hoping they would fall off,or slipping large chunks of fat to the warm head on my lap who eagerly ate up when adult heads were turned,the big pink tongue,said thank you and i am still hungry i knew this if i received more than one lick,small boys and dogs did not have to say anything in those days we just both new, as the smell of boiled cabbage,sent waves of " fucks sake i give up, get me outta this pan" ...made us respectively go to our places around and under the table.
Should i leave anything on the plate,out came the stories,of crappy Yankie marg...dried powered egg,two ounces of butter a week, if you were lucky to venture far enough to find.Scrag end meat..and so forth usually ended the deliberation." you have never had it so good " " you should be thankful " rang in my ears as i used to watch this lumpy gravy thick enough to plat, slowly solidify.i once battened down the hatches stood my ground and refused to eat such..i was banished to the coal house with an empty can of peas filled with water and a biscuit.
Quite..what the rights and wrongs were of those days..were, now resides in dusty history books or personal diaries that turn up,even in the fifties rationing was still strong..i once read a diary where a lady bought a banana and sliced it into three segments for her family.i remember feeling quite shocked as i closed the book after reading those small lines.Especially into my today's world... of " Sue your arse off sally syndrome "....where heaps and heaps of food is thrown away..rather than even given away to there own workers.Just in case one lies on the floor choking to death totting up the thousands of pounds in claims in the dark side of the mind.
Back then sat at the table where i trembled with each mouthful,looking at the door to escape from,the evening meal became a nightmare of dread..i understood the story where my grandfather marched his unit out of Burma into India with only his clothes,rifle,one bullet and a single toothbrush.But did such as i have to sit nightly with boiled cabbage and lumpy gravy as consorts.I do not think my marching grandfather would have put up with that.
I thought back then,even though i had no clue where children came from,but should i find any of my own under the gooseberry bush..there would be no way such a dinner table would still be around.
The sad thing is you still find it today,flashbacks start,i can feel this anger raise up,froth-up,i want to lean across and shout do you know what you are cooking in that child's head for the future,but no i simply grasp the wine glass,sigh ho-hum and wonder how good it was for Harry Potter who died whilst receiving deep throat.
I went to see Harry Potter this week to see if such was true,indeed it was judging by the smile on his face,the limp in his leg i wonder if that is because he has a Prince Albert,amongst shrunken lunch box.Horny Ron was in good spirits looking gaunt,one of those slugs must still be lingering.I will not say the best one,but good enough to watch again,knowing i will have to sit through a marathon soon of all the potter films released on DVD..better put some chardonnay in the fridge....
There was a time,when i quite fancied a Prince Albert of my own,however after seeing one live in the flesh, on Tuesday night, i am not so sure,this was a real dobber heavy steel,it did look good,a magnificent beast but so cumbersome to work with..i bet the owner did not leave his fat on the plate or chase peas in those days...the first thoughts coming into my head as i watched this steel grow..was would it show up in airport scanners and then what..a drop down of the pants..the mind on this sunday boggles...
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and I was thinking about how the sins of the grandfathers are visited upon their grandsons being told in late 70s early 80s terry towelling outfits to eah their pot roast/silverside with lumpy white sauce because people are starving and a slap around the head if you offered to wrap it up and send it to them for xmas...