And below that comment, you remember trying to con a day or two off school?
Hey! We're you living next door? Spying on me.
Bazooka Joe had little waxed paper squares with cartoon stories.
Solid guns with caps, "Bombs" with caps. (long quarter inch (5mm?) wide reels of red paper with real small dots, caps, of gunpowder encased in the paper carefully spaced so that the each pull of the trigger brought a fresh cap to exactly the right spot under the pistol hammer. Disappearing all day into the woods only to return instinctively just when tea (posh folk had dinner in the evening, we had dinner at one pm) then play in the evening under the street lamp. Policeman that lived a few streets away and if you were naughty just brought you home, even when you were possibly old enough to go to pub for a couple of half pints of one and tuppence a pint heavy. A district nurse that knew all about you and your family and came on a bike, later a green Morris Minor. A bike that could carry four( And could be left all day anywhere without being stolen.) One on handlebars, one on crossbar, the driver and one on the rear carrier. Wifies at every window watching out for you - your safety and your sins, all to be reported.
Such larks. I could go on.
Now the school sicky...
“I cannot go to school today"
Said little Peggy Ann McKay.
"I have the measles and the mumps,
A gash, a rash and purple bumps.
My mouth is wet, my throat is dry.
I'm going blind in my right eye.
My tonsils are as big as rocks,
I've counted sixteen chicken pox.
And there's one more - that's seventeen,
And don't you think my face looks green?
My leg is cut, my eyes are blue,
It might be the instamatic flu.
I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke,
I'm sure that my left leg is broke.
My hip hurts when I move my chin,
My belly button's caving in.
My back is wrenched, my ankle's sprained,
My 'pendix pains each time it rains.
My toes are cold, my toes are numb,
I have a sliver in my thumb.
My neck is stiff, my voice is weak,
I hardly whisper when I speak.
My tongue is filling up my mouth,
I think my hair is falling out.
My elbow's bent, my spine ain't straight,
My temperature is one-o-eight.
My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,
There's a hole inside my ear.
I have a hangnail, and my heart is ...
What? What's that? What's that you say?
You say today is... Saturday?
G'bye, I'm going out to play!”
Shel Silverstein.
Then I was reminded of skiffle by Timbotoo...
Quote; Haruki Murakami.
“The most important thing we learn at school is the fact that the most important things can't be learned at school.”
8 comments:
I remember cap bombs. Bigger the better. Had a réd one. Réal solidarité cap gun too. Réal Silver !
Mark In Mayenne,
Cap bombs were pretty popular. My 'revolver' was a basic cap gun but did go bang.
Luxury.. I had to make do with a hanky as a sling and some rocks.
Ripper,
Tried, but never got the hang of that.
Mac,
As a child, all of my Christmas/Birthday presents were in bits within 2 days. I had cap guns (caps were on a green roll here). My most treasured toys were Meccano and anything I could strip down and rebuild. My father scolded me for destroying my toys but never considered that they would eventually be back together, working, with improvements (once I had figured out how they worked). Plus, I wanted chemistry sets and working model sets, not cap guns.
Always hated football so never joined in those things with friends. We were more interested in riding scrap motorbikes on a disused airfield. Stripping and fixing those too, going for 'speed records' down the runway and seeing who could pull the biggest wheelie. I've never grown out of it.
I remember when I was 11, one of my mate's next door neighbours bought his son a Mini. It was a non-runner and every Saturday week after week, this chap would turn up and basically stand there, while they were pushing the car up and down the driveway trying to bump start it. One day I asked if I could take a look and the neighbour's lad said I might as well, he had nothing to lose. With the help of his sister's make-up mirror, half an hour and a slight turn of the distributor later (plus re-arranging the plug caps in the right order) it started off the key and ran sweet as a nut. His father, in shock, said "fk me.. that chap is supposed to be a mechanic, and the car gets fixed by a couple of kids in 5 minutes". Of course, this guy had been charging for the visits. 2 weeks after that the lad rolled it on a bend and wrote it off.
Ripper,
Loved my Meccano! Strip down to figure out how it works? Spot on.
Only a hand-full of buddies had motor bikes but if you were fast enough you were welcome on the pillion. Providing you had a helmet and knee and elbow protection. Oh, wait a minute...
Fixing the mini? Nice one.
And today? If there isn't an App for that, then it's bust, right?
"And today? If there isn't an App for that, then it's bust, right?"
Spot on Mac. I owe a lot to my childhood, growing up in a house without electricity gave me an interest in it, especially after we moved and had access to it. My older brother did the rest. To this day I fix all things electronic for friends/family, and if its mechanical, that too. I know now how most things work and although its not perfect, have a lifetime of knowledge.
But as time goes on I'm finding it much harder. Not because of failing health or such although the eyesight fades a bit, but because we have entered a throw away world. We now have circuit boards for example, that have components too small to replace in the conventional way with a soldering iron (new parts get damaged by the heat). They don't fix circuit boards anymore, they replace them, its cheaper.
We only rode motorbikes of the Bitsa brand (bitsa this, bitsa that). A motorbike built by us, from scrap, for our use on the airfield. One of our 'models' featured a cylinder, head and rocker box held on with a large Jubilee clip which went right around the engine, replacing the 4 studs that had stripped. Anything not necessary like fairings, mudguards or lights was removed. It ran, for quite a while. Using Molegrips as a clutch lever. Great days.
Ripper,
I wonder how many times a day, "It's not working we'd better get a new one." is said these days by the generations wot can't fix a fuse or change a light bulb, eh?
I don't suppose woodwork and/or metalwork for lads and cooking for the gals are taught in school any more.
Yup, motorbiking was a rough, off road adventure and, as a pillion passenger, if you didn't lean with the driver you were never invited back on the back.
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