A Simple Story

I was born in 1943 in a rural backwater safe from the bombs also a safety net still akin to the 19th century. Neither electricity nor gas only an old oil lamp and candles for comfort. The luxury of the tin bath once a week brought in from the scullery, placed in front of the cast iron Yorkist fire range with hob and side boiler, to source the hot water poured into the bath at regular intervals to help keep out the cold. Old overcoats and hessian sacks placed across the bottom of the doorways, to aid keeps out the icy drafts, also aid as foot warmers once upon the beds. A copper boiler for the weekly wash a fire beneath to be lit, a combination of paper sticks of kindling all pre chopped as were the logs to maintain the heat of the dark stained grey coloured water, stirred by the posser, to aid mixture of the home made soap, and the garments. Slop bucket (The posh name for it) to be emptied every morning, carried down the lane to the tippler convenience care not to spill on the seat or trouble with the neighbours. Wet batteries for the wireless to be carried once a week from the local store, replacements for the empty ones a choice of 2 stations BBC and BBC. Early nights, early mornings the darkness prevailing throughout the long winter months, only for the daylight to never end in the month of June, impeding one’s sleep even then we were never satisfied with our lot in life. Only my father laying in a military hospital a casualty of war, was missing the value of it all after all he was fighting for it his life style, his freedom our freedom to enable me to write this, ever so simple story! © Harry J Horsman 2013