My mother and me back in the Good Old Days with Dad taking the picture.
A blogger consortium which blogs on a Friday every week had the topic of first memories for this week. And all are fascinating. If you want to check them out, feel free. Most of them are listed on my sidebar ~ Grannymar, Blackwatertown, Ramana's Musings, etc.
My first memory is totally clear to me. And I remember how absolutely flabbergasted my parents were when I brought it to their attention when I was about six.
I was under two and still in my pram.
It was just after the war (or "The Emergency" as it was called in Ireland) and petrol was rationed. So my mother and father and me would take to the roads to visit my grandparents in East Cork on Sundays when the weather was fine. It was exactly 6 miles from our town to the little village where my grandparents lived. My parents were enthusiastic bicyclists but were waiting for me to turn the magical age of two before purchasing a child seat for the crossbar of my father's bike (and those cycling trips I remember clearly also).
So there we were heading out the Youghal Road, my father was pushing me, I remember that clearly as he was a little faster than my mother and would whistle for my entertainment. My father, in those days, lived to amuse me, my being an only child for quite a while.
Next thing, he stopped pushing and was clutching his head and doing this absolutely crazy dance. I can remember laughing and laughing until I got the hiccups and had to be taken out of the pram by my mother and banged on the back until I could catch my breath.
Like I said, I brought this scene up with my parents when I was older.
As in "Why did Daddy do that dance in the middle of the road? It was so funny!"
They were totally gobsmacked I would remember a scene from my pram days that they had just about forgotten.
It turns out poor old Dad had been bitten by a bee and his forehead had swelled out in a huge bump and when he had calmed down, Mum had to get the sting out with her thumbs.
So the reality of NOT having a Fred Astaire as my daddy forced me to adjust that memory.
I preferred the singing, dancing and whistling Daddy.
One of my first memories: It's a sunny Sunday morning in the fall of 1942. I'm sitting on the floor looking at "The Little People," a comic strip in the newspaper. In the room are my cousin Lorna,three years my elder,our parents,two of my aunts and my maternal grandmother. The occasion: My grandfather has just died. I was two years old.
ReplyDeleteWhat a sweet memory!
ReplyDeleteThe first memory I have is not nearly as sweet: being in our air raid shelter, in England during the war (I'd have been maybe 3 or 4 years old). Bombs were dropping close by and my parents were trying to comfort me by telling me that the noise was a neighbour boy and his pals playing with toy guns. Soon after I was evacuated to live with my grandparents in the countryside.
Marc:
ReplyDeleteI imagine you must have seen the upset of everyone around you and remembered that. How sad.
XO
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It must have been so rough in England then, T. All those kids so terrified and often removed from their family homes for their safety.
ReplyDeleteTerrible.
XO
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My earliest memory is not from when I was that young, WWW. Your Dad must have made quite an impression on you. And you were just a little thing in a pram. xox
ReplyDeleteAh he was a younger man then and I was his only for a while. Later years were different kind of impressions entirely, Irene.
ReplyDeleteNeed I say more?
XO
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I can remember far back as going to a dance with my father and coming home with my mother.
ReplyDeleteGFB:
ReplyDeleteI hope t didn't hurt too much?
XO
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I am stunned that you can remember your perambulator days! But the climax is absolutely hilarious!
ReplyDeleteThat memory makes a great story, and a funny one. Gorgeous photo, too.
ReplyDeleteI am finally home from gallivanting and now catching up on blog reading. I love this memory and can just about see your father prancing about to ward off the offensive stinger. Singing with pain is only amusing for the onlooker, I hope you giggled.
ReplyDeleteMy first memory was about age two, also, which surprised my mother when I told her. It was one of smell -- and a dark home's interior. Seems we had visited the home showing of a dead relative. I don't recall it as being a negative experience -- just a memorable one out of the ordinary I'm sure.
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