A child goes with her father to fetch a pram for the new baby at home. an adult remembers shopping in Nottingham
This memory lives in a bright blue winter sky.
It was a bright, blue skied, breezy February Saturday afternoon. Well, actually, the weather could have been doing anything. It might have been drenching, miserable sleety drizzle for all I know, but in my mind, it was beautiful, sunny and dry.
What sort of weather do your happy memories live in?
It’s a memory which stirs my soul, tingles my belly and rises up to a smile on my lips. That was a happy day for me because I walked with my dad from the 54-bus stop on Long Row in Nottingham, over Victoria Street and down Goose Gate and Hockley.
Hockley and Goose Gate were, and still are, exciting streets which run into each other. They were our walking route into the city centre and held a myriad of small shops; butchers, clothes shops, shoe shops, haberdasher’s, photographers, newsagents and wonder of wonders, Woolworth’s, with its low lighting and overpowering, sickly, rubbery smell of plimsolls and plastic sandals and its white tubs of delicious, pick n mix biscuits.
Would you pick pink wafers, bourbons or custard creams?
However, that Saturday afternoon, and again, it could have been any day of the week apart from Sunday, but I assume it was Saturday afternoon because that’s when my dad was off work, we didn’t go to Woolworth’s, the butchers or the shoe shop.
Shops were always closed on Sundays, apart from back street newsagents as I remember.
That day, we made a once in my lifetime visit to the Nottingham Pram Company. A large shop with plate glass windows which displayed shiny prams and pushchairs. Inside, everything smelt clean and new and promised happiness. Plenty of models were on display. The chrome wheels were polished, the handles gleamed and the covers were brushed.
I couldn’t believe we were there and would leave with something so beautiful, but that’s what we did, and I walked home, beaming with pride, holding onto the navy pram which my dad pushed. I was six years old and we took it home to my baby brother whom I guess was already born, because he had arrived sooner than expected.
I know the birth of a baby brings more than unadulterated happiness. Indeed, my mam was taken into hospital for a few weeks, leaving my eighteen-year-old sister to give up her job and look after us. I was well looked after and I am really grateful to my sister, dad, brother, aunties and a number of kind neighbours, but the skies aren’t quite so bright in those memories.
Still, I don’t think anything will dim the day that we fetched the pram!
February’s a very evocative month for me. Next time, I’ll write a little story for Valentine’s Day!
Wander well,
Mandy.
Things I love:
- Shopping in independent shops.
- Bright blue wintery skies.
- A custard cream.
Wandering Through The Land Of Nod. 