Quote:
Originally Posted by fringe_dweller
... and the BS fantasy dream will definitely be over?
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Interesting comment. I was born in the UK in 1954 and I remember my parents going to the shops with ration cards due to the continuing shortages after WW II. Our house did not have heating, other than a single fireplace in one of the rooms. Coal had to be carried, on shoulder, from the local corner shop to make a fire, a 2 mile trip, often through snow. Water pipes had to be thawed in winter, if they hadn’t already burst that is.
Our bath was a tin bath which we filled from a kettle – we had one, once every week, whether we needed it or not! Being the 2nd eldest, I was lucky enough to only have Dad and my older brother go before me in the tub. I felt sorry for my little brother, last in the line of 7. We didn’t go away for holidays. The only fruit we saw was at Xmas – a real treat to have an orange and banana. Mum had to put all our laundry in a pram to walk the 3 miles to the local wash house every Saturday morning. We walked to school; an 8 mile round trip come rain, hail, shine or deep snow. The Education Department provided us with free school uniforms, shoes and school dinners. Dad worked 5 ˝ days a week.
We didn’t have a TV – just a wireless. No car, no ‘phone. We were a typical Northern English working class family. There were people around who were better off than us; as there were families who were worse off than us. Some days, food was simply a slice or two of bread – that’s all we had. We built our push bikes from wrecks scrounged from the local scrap merchants.
We never locked our front door. Cars didn’t have locking doors or locking petrol filler caps. Apart from a few locals who tried to escape the daily grind through alcohol and the odd gang fight between mods and rockers, our neighbourhood was a reasonably quiet and safe place.
Our neighbourhood was a mixed bag of West Indians, Poles, Czechs, etc. We all lived and played together. I didn’t “discover” discrimination until I attended secondary school at age 11.
So, when the dream ends, and if gets no worse than my childhood, I do hope that my tool set and skills are still sharp enough to manage those changes, even though there is no glory in poverty; just hard times.
Cheers
Dennis
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Apparently the Americans are in shock
