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Document : 761
Title    : Recounting Blessings - Chapter 4
Author(s): John Henderson

Copyright holder(s): John Henderson

Text

Chapter 4 
1945-1949
Banknock Village – ‘Grist tae the Mill’

I made passing reference to food and drink in the previous chapter, but I
did not confer the accolade of ‘blessing’ on these as vital commodities
for a healthy life, far less for fuelling people’s sporting inclinations,
including my own. To a certain extent I am going to rectify that omission
now, at least for this period in my life, but, as it is a recurrent theme
in all our existences, I make no apologies for the times when, with the
appearance of innovative culinary provisions and novel beverages, not to
mention their potential for delight, nourishment or abuse, this topic may
re-appear in subsequent reminiscences on these pages.

War-time, to put it mildly, did not make things all that easy for our
parents to ensure a supply of essential vitamins for themselves and their
offspring, as first came survival, and then much further down the list of
priorities came having the well-being and energy to play any sport, far
less the variety of games in which I, for example, became involved during
my boyhood. However, it was soon realised that most folks could, with a
little effort, stimulate appetites and satisfy needs in basic and
imaginative ways - yet still have a bit left over to participate in
recreational activities - despite the shortage of some resources in the
shops, if they only chose to gather Mother Nature’s reasonably abundant
offerings scattered across Scotland’s landscapes, as well as the fruit
and vegetables that could be grown in wisely tended allotments or gardens
in urban and rural areas alike.

I was indeed fortunate to be living then in a rural environment with ready
access to milk on the farms, berries on gentle hillsides and sheltered
valleys, fish in clear running streams, garden vegetables, and even eggs
from the proliferation of hen-runs that appeared, as if by magic on many
spare bits of ground around the village. One major problem of course was
long-term storage to see folks through the bleak winter days, but even
then, before refrigerators became common-place, our temperate climate
blessed us through allowing lots of cold air to pass through the
wire-meshed windows of arguably the most important room in any house –
the larder. I can still picture the white lidded-pails containing carefully
placed eggs all heavily coated with rich layers of white grease – lard I
now presume – and how tasty these were, when, albeit reluctantly
de-greased, they could be enticingly scrambled, boiled or fried. Compared
to the vile powdered stuff that the government issued as egg-substitute for
all, and especially to city dwellers, this was an occasional pleasure to be
savoured and, even then, to be knowingly thankful for.

Meat as I remember was severely rationed, as were, to the continual chagrin
of us children, sweeties – ‘Bad for your teeth anyway’, my mum would
whisper to us in normally unsuccessful mollification! But she never failed
to get a fair helping of sausages or mince from the butcher, plus a wee bit
extra from her sweet-talking him and always having tea and home-made
short-bread ready when his peripatetic van drew into our driveway once a
week. Indeed this was a typically enduring and endearing feature of both my
parents, Jim and Nancy. They had the kindly charisma that seemed to get the
best out of all folks they came into contact with – but not without
sacrifice – for what they gave out were not just mere words, but always,
without exception, true hospitality, a helping hand in time of need, and a
genuine impression of ‘love thy neighbour as yourself.’

My dad, as befitted one whose paternal grand-father had been a jobbing
gardener on the Couston Estate in Newtyle in the 1890s, Forfarshire, and
whose father in turn had been a humble ploughman in Leslie, Fifeshire in
the 1860s, had a real feel for the soil. Thus, although his flower
horticulture was ordinary at best, apart from his wonderful sweet-peas,
regularly dosed with diluted ‘not-so-sweet pee’ from under-bed
chamber-pots, his growing of vegetables and fruit, especially his rasps,
strawberries, black and red currants, were a delight to behold and ‘grist
tae ma mither’s jam an’ jeelly makin’ mill’. 

Nancy, following in her mother Lizzie Telfer of Falkirk’s footsteps, and
using her recipes, was a wonderful baker, an enterprising cook, and an
extraordinarily talented needle-woman. I know my dad did not marry her for
her money as, by the mid-1930s, the early-widow-led Telfer family lived
very modestly. Other matters apart, which wee boys were not supposed to
know about (!), a clinching factor must have been, ‘the surest way to a
man’s heart is through his stomach’! 

Thus good house and children-keeping abilities built on these skills were
well to the fore as Nancy got the best out of the ‘Janus’ stove which
‘nodded’ into both our schoolhouse kitchen and living-room, as she
knitted and crocheted necessary woollies, and darned our clothes well past
the time when normal mending would have been considered possible. That
indeed was where I first heard the phrase, ‘A stitch in time ……..’!
 She was, like most of the Telfer family, a talented musician – she a
pianist, Uncle Willie a violinist and Uncle John a pleasant baritone who
led the unaccompanied singing in the family church in The Pleasance,
Falkirk. Seldom a day passed without us having a ‘session’ round the
piano in the lounge – ‘the holy of holies’ – ‘On your best
behaviour in here,’ mum would warn, ‘but you can make as much noise as
you like as long as it’s with singing or learning to play the piano.’

Mum and Dad did get out of the house together now and then to local
functions and that offered a brief period of comparative freedom from
normal discipline for Elizabeth and me. Not that we didn’t love our
regular ‘child-minder’, school-cleaner Maggie Johnston, a great
deal…. She was unique – smelt of carbolic soap, always …. was
exceptionally hard-working and dedicated to the primary school and her
caring boss JNK …. But she had such a ‘soft-centre’ that she spoiled
us two stupid. Nothing untoward really happened on any of these
‘sit-ins’ until bold and inventive me – armed with an experience of
table-tennis at Belmont Camp School, Meigle that dad had head-mastered the
previous month, and that I had been allowed to attend (under-age) –
decided that the living-room table with its lengthening leaves out would be
a challenging, if relatively short surface for ‘ping-pong’. Having no
net was easily overcome – similarly sized books from an adjacent shelf
would serve well enough. Having no bats was also circumvented – thick
cardboard dinner mats grasped at one corner were deemed ‘just the
ticket’. My stash of cheap ping-pong’ balls hoarded after the camp
yielded three usable little white spheres. 

So a match commenced between two siblings, each of whom was always
determined to be the victor in any competition between them. Maggie,
nodding-off comfortably in the armchair by the fire, was blissfully unaware
of the potential hazards in the ensuing conflict. Elizabeth was in her
element on this size of table to which I was not accustomed – she was
also much taller than me – so she duly won the first set with ease. The
normally victorious me at most games between us was, to put it mildly,
crestfallen – nae not so – I was fuming – and in a fit of pique
picked up what I thought was a spare ‘ping-pong’ ball out of my toy-box
and thrashed it right across the room, narrowly missing the dormant Maggie
en route, then travelling onwards and upwards until it smashed a framed and
glassed wall photograph of the pair of us that hung on the corner wall.
Flabbergasted, we, including a now wide-awake Maggie, searched around the
floor for the errant missile. An old chewed-up golf ball then appeared in
sight, gaily rolling its way out from under Maggie’s chair. Immediately I
felt more pity for Maggie and her being likely to be reprimanded for
apparent failure to supervise us properly, than personally worried about
the spanking my temper tantrum might justifiably earn me.

‘Dinnae worry Maggie,’ I said. ‘I’ll tell a wee fib that you told
us to be careful and that I just made a wee mistake.’ Later, Dad appeared
to swallow my story, but gave me one of his special tellings-off that were
always more likely to make me cry than a spanking ever did. And he was well
aware of this … so it was an extra specially eloquent and brows furrowed
admonition that I received that night … for even Elizabeth came out in
sympathy as together we were unceremoniously bundled up the stairs to bed.




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Text
Text audience
Adults (18+): General public: Audience size: 1000+
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Text details
Method of composition: Wordprocessed
Year of composition: 2004
Word count: 1493
General description: Personal memoirs in prose/poetry/photographs

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Web (webpages, discussion boards, newsgroups, chat rooms): 
Text publication details
Published: Publisher: Electric Scotland
Publication year: 2004
Place of publication: http://www.electricscotland.com/poetry/doggerels.htm
Part of a longer series of texts: Name of series: "Recounting Blessings" - autobiography (first 30 chapters as episodes)

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Prose: nonfiction: 

Author
Author details
Author id: 782
Forenames: John
Surname: Henderson
Gender: Male
Decade of birth: 1930
Educational attainment: University
Age left school: 18
Upbringing/religious beliefs: Protestantism
Occupation: University Lecturer (retired)
Place of birth: Causewayhead
Region of birth: Stirling
Birthplace CSD dialect area: Stlg
Country of birth: Scotland
Place of residence: Emba
Region of residence: Paphos
Country of residence: Cyprus
Father's occupation: Headteacher
Father's place of birth: Dunblane
Father's region of birth: E & SE Perthshire
Father's birthplace CSD dialect area: Per
Father's country of birth: Scotland
Mother's occupation: Teacher
Mother's place of birth: Falkirk
Mother's region of birth: Stirling
Mother's birthplace CSD dialect area: Stlg
Mother's country of birth: Scotland

Languages:
Language: English
Speak: Yes
Read: Yes
Write: Yes
Understand: Yes
Circumstances: Everywhere
Language: Scots
Speak: Yes
Read: Yes
Write: Yes
Understand: Yes
Circumstances: Where required