Your childhood

My childhood was pretty normal British 1950's working class, except for the fact that my Mum was blind and really rather an exceptional woman. My Dad was a carpenter who learned his trade as an apprentice from the age of 14. He came from the West country and was something of a country boy. He met my Mum during the war (he was sent shipbuilding in Portsmouth Dockyard during the war, so wasn't called up to serve in the army). She was born in Portsmouth and so was I - in a little flat on the second floor a Victorian terraced house. That was quite a long time after they got together. My Mum went blind when she was 27, before I was born. It was all very tragic I think.

When I was a few months old they moved into a 'prefab'. These were council built prefabricated bungalows erected to replace the terrible bomb damaged housing in the cities. Portsmouth certainly had it fair share of bomb damage. Then when I was 5 years old we moved to a council estate on the outskirts of Portsmouth. It wasn't a bad place to grow up. The house was seriously small - two bedrooms and two rooms downstairs (kitchen and living room). But it did have a big garden and the garden backed on to marshland so it was a little bit like being in the country if you looked in the right direction.

Dad grew lots of vegetables and fruit. I realise now how brilliant he was at gardening. We ate very plainly but there were lots of fresh vegetables. Very little meat. My Dad didn't earn what carpenters can earn these days and we were always rather poor. My love of good food can no doubt be traced back to those fresh vegetables and fruit.

My Mum was totally extraordinary. Despite being totally blind she brought up me and my younger sister with no help other than from my Dad (and he was at work all day). She cooked all the meals and did all the housework. If I think about this (having brought up 4 kids myself) I can't comprehend how she managed. We all know you have to have eyes in the back of your head where toddlers are concerned. She was adamantly an agnostic and refused to have either of us Christened which was very unusual for those days. I liked the fact she was so strong in her views (about almost everything). It made me feel different and strong too, to have a Mum like that. I owe her a lot. She taught me to question everything and never settle for being 'normal'. She died not long ago aged 97 and still curious about things... she loved the internet!

Perhaps it is somewhat ironic that I ended up following a career in the visual arts. But I have my Dad to thank for that. He wrote poetry and painted after he retired. He always wanted to be an artist. So when I went to Art School he was very pleased!

Sorry guys - a long post. But now you know all you ever need to know about Morning Glory.
 
morning glory said:
My childhood was pretty normal British 1950's working class, except for the fact that my Mum was blind and really rather an exceptional woman. My Dad was a carpenter who learned his trade as an apprentice from the age of 14. He came from the West country and was something of a country boy. He met my Mum during the war (he was sent shipbuilding in Portsmouth Dockyard during the war, so wasn't called up to serve in the army). She was born in Portsmouth and so was I - in a little flat on the second floor a Victorian terraced house. That was quite a long time after they got together. My Mum went blind when she was 27, before I was born. It was all very tragic I think.

When I was a few months old they moved into a 'prefab'. These were council built prefabricated bungalows erected to replace the terrible bomb damaged housing in the cities. Portsmouth certainly had it fair share of bomb damage. Then when I was 5 years old we moved to a council estate on the outskirts of Portsmouth. It wasn't a bad place to grow up. The house was seriously small - two bedrooms and two rooms downstairs (kitchen and living room). But it did have a big garden and the garden backed on to marshland so it was a little bit like being in the country if you looked in the right direction.

Dad grew lots of vegetables and fruit. I realise now how brilliant he was at gardening. We ate very plainly but there were lots of fresh vegetables. Very little meat. My Dad didn't earn what carpenters can earn these days and we were always rather poor. My love of good food can no doubt be traced back to those fresh vegetables and fruit.

My Mum was totally extraordinary. Despite being totally blind she brought up me and my younger sister with no help other than from my Dad (and he was at work all day). She cooked all the meals and did all the housework. If I think about this (having brought up 4 kids myself) I can't comprehend how she managed. We all know you have to have eyes in the back of your head where toddlers are concerned. She was adamantly an agnostic and refused to have either of us Christened which was very unusual for those days. I liked the fact she was so strong in her views (about almost everything). It made me feel different and strong too, to have a Mum like that. I owe her a lot. She taught me to question everything and never settle for being 'normal'. She died not long ago aged 97 and still curious about things... she loved the internet!

Perhaps it is somewhat ironic that I ended up following a career in the visual arts. But I have my Dad to thank for that. He wrote poetry and painted after he retired. He always wanted to be an artist. So when I went to Art School he was very pleased!

Sorry guys - a long post. But now you know all you ever need to know about Morning Glory.
Click to expand...

I knew a couple many years ago (and both long gone now) who were both totally blind. They used to do a lot of charity work and were always busy. How on earth they managed, I will never know, but manage they did. They had children too, all of whom had normal vision. They were grown up by the time I first met their Mum and Dad, but only one of the children used to visit them and then only occasionally. Such a shame.
 
I guess I should put my 2 cents in, but compared to the stories heretofore, you might fall asleep.

I was born on one side of NYC, in Brooklyn, and when I was 5 moved to the other side of NYC, in New Jersey, just a few miles from mid-town Manhattan.

My dad was a fireman before I was born, but after nearly being killed twice, my mom made him retire early. Shortly thereafter I was born, the last of 6 children (1 brother - the eldest, then 4 sisters, then me).

My dad became a teletype operator, then sports writer for the Associated Press. My mom was a SAHM who kept an immaculate house and was a great cook. Being Norwegian, ahe learned how to cook from our Italian and Jewish neighbors. Norwegian food is pretty limited, so we were all very happy that she had these other influences.

My hometown in Jersey in the 60s was pretty much straight up middle class, but as I grew up in the 70s, all of newer houses being built were huge and the folks that moved in were quite wealthy. This was due to the proximity to NYC, and the ease of commute into it.

So, even though we weren't really poor, it sort of felt like it as my friends came from those newer houses. I know my parents struggled financially (writers salaries aren't much), but we never went hungry, or without any essentials.

While my friends sported the nicest clothes, and went on vacations to the Caribbean and Europe for weeks, we drove down the Jersey shore, or out to the beaches of Long Island, NY for the day.

Thankfully, I didn't get hand me downs since my immediate older siblings were my sisters. But I remember each of my sisters complaining about that.

In the end, I greatly appreciate all of the sacrifices my parents made raising 6 kids. If I thought I was deprived of things my friends had, my parents never bought anything for themselves.

I also appreciate my strict Catholic upbringing, and how each of the members of my family have stayed true to our religion after all of these years of our lives.

Now that I have a family of my own, the tenets of what our parents taught us have served me well. Especially raising a boy in todays' shallow, look at me society If there's one thing that I took from my parents was a sense of hard work. That and a sense of humor. Everyone in my family has an Irish wit, and can have a sharp tongue when needed. Or not.

All of my siblings ended up being teachers in some form, mostly English teachers. I guess that was my dad's influence as a writer. I seem to the the black sheep. I never even graduated college. However, I'm the one who knows which end of a screwdriver to use.
 
The right tool for the right job.

You have a future as a writer, Cin.
 
A mixed bag...

I am a curious mixture of Irish Geordie. Early years mixed Newcastle and Cork before we settled in the south-east of England. My parents were working class people and I arrived quite late on the scene, not particularly unusual in Irish Catholic families. My parents were both in their forties when I was born and unfortunately I didn't get as long as I would have liked to get to know them as they died a few months apart either side of my fifteenth birthday.

I am old enough to remember the 1960s, but too young to have done anything exciting during that decade. Apart from the normal excitement of junior school, obviously.

Legacies of background: lifelong support of Newcastle United (it's not the despair: I can live with that. It's the hope that kills you); Ireland at any sport (a similar feeling); a love of Irish and Northumbrian folk music; a love of beer; a devotion to the great Flann O'Brien.

Could be worse.
 
While over in the what did you cook today thread, @buckytom brought back a strange memory.
I live in a football obsessed town, especially back in the early 80's. I happened to have been in town visiting my dad. (Mom moved us away after the divorce. Good for schools.) Or dad may have called and said he wanted me specifically in town on a certain weekend. The Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders were in town on a recruiting drive. I sure looked out of place. All these high school cheerleaders with their moms and me with this overgrown male called my dad. He was 6 feet 5+ inches. He made up some story about being a single dad and how he had to stand right next to me when I talked to the cheerleaders. Luckily, one cheerleader took pity on me and told my dad that they wanted a picture of him with her. The other one at that table told me if I ever decided I wanted to try out just call them and they would arrange a tryout without dad.
I have to give dad credit, he knew how to get what he wanted.
 
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