Day 27069; Just Another Day.

    I remember VE Day after the war, or rather I remember the celebrations. I remember the chapel minister telling me it was not my sixth birthday but the 'celebration' of my birthday. Aren't adults pompous when they want to be! Falling off a three wheeled bicycle and breaking my arm; falling off the cricket pitch roller and breaking my arm; falling off a two wheeled bike and breaking my arm! Teacher Mr Jones shouting at me in lessons. and the teacher, was it Mr Jones coming into lessons and announcing Mr Ghandi had been killed. 

School trips to Eyam and Hansel and Gretel. In later years camping at Mundesley, a trip for 'the poor boys', courtesy of some charity or other. Playing in the river and canal; in the farmyards and on the railway line. Coming home from school and being told my mother had died; then I went out and did my paper round; no wonder I'm a bit of a fruit and nut' case!

    In the big wild world of work I remember frenetic days at F W Woolworth's and those lovely young Saturday girls. And less than frenetic days at British Celanese, stuck behind a desk adding up lists of Dicel and Tricel, as if I cared! Wet, windy duties on the yard as a teacher, also frenetic and frenetic too the years spent 'youth- leading'. Why did I so often choose jobs offering a less than peaceful existence! All in all years and years gone in a flash. Seldom regretted, not even the morning spent as a Betterware salesman on the outskirts of Ilkeston. (A morning was ample!)

    Marriage, one, children, two. Ups and downs, but far more ups than downs. Excruciating happiness and much love, more than one man deserves. And life goes on; the eyes dim and sometimes the memories fade. Many, many memories. (I honestly believe EVERYTHING we have experienced, however trite  is stored in the brain until death. Otherwise how do we recall memories that we have NOT thought about for so long, triggered and recalled in an instant.) 

    So what's significant about day number 27069, anybody hazard a guess. No, well it's my number of days on this earth. Of no significance to anyone except me, but its set me thinking. Mainly because of the days I can't rather than can remember.Very, very few 'diarists', not surprisingly, record EVERY day of their lives. Certainly not at my level. If I can recall hundreds, maybe thousands  of the days of my life, that leaves many, many more days that  were so mundane as to have vanished 'into the ether' so to speak. They are not necessarily wasted, it is just that we  'live' so to speak on special days. The majority of our time we 'exist', not necessarily in a bad way. My friends, I would like, with your help to conduct an experiment. Anyone why reads my blog is welcome to take part!

On a given day, in the near future I would like people  who choose to do so to tell me, in some detail, what you did, morning 'till night on the chosen day. I too of course will do likewise. Remember, this is NOT a special day. From what you ate to what you did. I know its nosey, but 'never mind eh!' I have readers from all over the world from all walks of life. I will print every reply as a blog a week or two after the invitation. I have readers from all walks of life, all ages, all parts of the world. ( A short profile will be needed.) More details , e.g. length to follow.) The only common denominator, being readers of Grumpy's Blog! Probably a mad thing to do, I've no idea who, if anyone will respond; it could be interesting!    

Now What Year was That

I have been consistently writing on the period 1945-59 for some considerable time. I have also lived for over 25,000 days. I can recall in some detail events from as far back as 1945. Not bad, except that it has dawned on me that my memories are mainly concerned with events rather than specific years. There are huge gaps concerning years, inevitable I suppose but alarming.

I remember in some detail VE Day (8th May 1945), and a teacher in class announcing that a good man called Gandhi had been murdered. (Jan 30th 1948) Coronation Day made an impression (June 2nd 1953). The day I arrived from school to be told that my mother had died will inevitably stay forever in my mind. (Tuesday September 8th 1953) On a damp February day in 1958 the sensational news came in that the plane carrying Manchester United footballers had crashed. I was working for Woolworths at the time. And how could I ever forget finishing under a lorry on Tuesday March 10th 1959.

I started teaching in 1974 and officially retired in 1990. Dare I admit I have been known to forget the exact date of my Wedding Day (April 4th 1970) and on occasion the exact year the children were born. ( July 30th 1971 and June 8th 1973) The days, weeks, months, years roll by, of no consequence outside our immediate friends and family. Unsurprising so but in a way sad. Probably the reason why so many strive to leave something behind for which they will be remembered. (Not the main gist of this particular blog but what are YOU going to leave behind, besides memories of course.)

Whilst I have recall of many events over the years I seem to be unable to place many other such occurrences in the exact year they were experienced. And as more years pass the more difficult recall becomes. For instance, I cannot recall a single event that belongs specifically to 1952, 1954, 1955 or 1957. More surprising, virtually the whole of the 1980's is shrouded in the mist and the 1990's are no better.

The only exception to my inability to recall years is 1985. For the only time in my life I kept a comprehensive diary. Two brief entries go a long way to showing why we can recall so little of our lives.

Wednesday 20th November 1985

Another of those frequent days where nothing happens but life is by no means unpleasant, an observation that many in this troubled world would love to make.

Thursday 21st November 1985

Paulette goes out for the evening with Kay. Alison retires to bed. Sarah, who has no lessons first thing in the morning, watches television with me. We watch a programme concerned with the topless young ladies who adorn page three of some of our national newspapers. We watch without embarrassment. I am quietly pleased at Sarah's maturity. Going fast is the child, appearing as the young adult. Of the programme itself, I am saddened by a mere fifteen year old seeking stardom, adulthood and heaven knows what else. How foolish to seek adulthood when it comes all too soon without our searching.

Two entries which confirm life for many of us, though enjoyable, has little of real substance. Understandable, but again the question, how can a year, never mind a day have no lasting impact.

Have you blank years, or even blank decades. A little test. Pick a decade, ideally way back in time. Recall as many as ten events, that you specifically relate to. Anniversaries are out and no looking up information. Or am I alone in losing it, god forbid!

Where Were You When it Happened?

The Armistices of Two World Wars are in the news this time of year and rightly so. There are people who will remember exactly where they were as they were announced, in 1918 and again in 1945. Even the second is not within my memory although I do remember VE Day celebrations quite vividly. Which set me thinking, how many events in life do we remember for whatever reason. Not the everyday events thrown at us on life's long journey, but those unique, special one offs never to be repeated. It would be easy to browse through an almanac of world events but that would be cheating. For if we have to look it up, so to speak, has it really been implanted forever on our hearts.
I remember as a child a teacher coming into a classroom (I can remember which particular classroom and the teacher's name, Mr Jones.) and announcing that a man called Gandhi had been killed. We did not know of a man called Gandhi, or for that matter where India was but the word assassinated intrigued.
How many remember where they were when John F Kennedy's assassination was announced. I was outside my grandmothers in Ockbrook, Derbyshire, tinkering with a vehicle when someone came outside to announce the news. Yet I am unsure as to which vehicle was involved. Surely I haven't imagined so important a moment in history? I certainly didn't imagine being told of Elvis's death whilst on holiday with the children in Chapel St Leonards, Lincolnshire. The whole campsite was full of the news for hours if not days; nothing much ever happens in Chapel. In fact this is one of the few memories of the place retained more than twenty four hours. (Though childhood memories of Chapel are positive if unexciting, at least in adult eyes.)
Being a retired person with nothing better to do I was idly watching the news at home when the events of 9/11 unfolded on the TV screen. Transfixed I watched for hours as the sheer horror and importance of the event became apparent. History in the making, who wouldn't remember for ever such an awesome event.

My wife and I sat in a garage on Harvey Road in Derby when the sensational, sad news was announced on the radio that Princess Diana had been killed in a road accident. I even remember where we were going, to Wirksworth to buy a dog grate for the fireplace and then on to Chesterfield. I am not a Royalist so why should this event be so firmly imprinted in my mind?

It is a fact now that almost any event in the world can now be reported at very short notice indeed. Tsunamis, plane crashes, wars, disasters in general blur into each other; we are so bombarded with the worlds terrors and tribulations. Is it that we are fascinated by the dramatic or the morbid, for many of our memories involve death and destruction.

When I was a schoolboy capital punishment was still the norm in this country. Some murderers were hanged. At eight in the morning in London, nine o'clock elsewhere I seem to remember. I, and some other schoolmates were undoubtedly morbidly fascinated, to the extent that we would knowingly glance at the clock if it were a nine o'clock 'happening'.

It is virtually impossible to escape world events almost as they happen. But why do some events burn into our psyche more than others. I don't remember where I was for instance, when it was announced that John Lennon had been shot. What do you remember? Put it another way, to paraphrase Hal David and Burt Bacharach's 1960's song, 'What's it all about, Alfie.'