Marion's Memories - Stockwood
My friends, the story you are reading today is not the one I meant to write.
I promised to tell you how I met my first husband, George, but following last week’s tribute to my Julie, perhaps this is more appropriate.
I moved to Stockwood, where I live and where I hope to end my days, in 1993, after Julie’s dad died.
In fact for eight months I lived with Julie, her young husband, and my two grandsons.
All my life I have been lucky enough to live in good communities - Bedminster’s Regent Street, Knowle West, Totterdown, Keynsham and now Stockwood.
When I first moved here I didn’t know many people but was warmly welcomed by the community.
But I knew I would be because, by co-incidence, my mum was in Bowmead Care Home here for several years after suffering a stroke.
I would often go to the shops for her, and any of the other residents, or change books for them in Stockwood library, where Julie was to later work.
Julie and her husband had bought a house in Sturminster Road so before mum’s demise in 1988 my husband and I used to combine the two visits.
Do any readers remember A C Jones, the ironmonger?
It was a real old fashioned shop where George always bought something - whether he needed it or not.
I knew I would find good friends there, and I did - through the library, the church and neighbours.
In fact I spent New Year’s Eve at the home of someone I met when I moved in, plus other old friends.
I say old friends, but youngest is a mere spring chicken at 65 while the rest of our group vary from seventy plus to over eighty.
Some of the original group are no longer with us but we keep their memories alive by often talking about them.
Over the last year we have welcomed a lovely lady named Connie into our group, so it is not all about losing old friends, it’s also about making new ones.
Derek, as I’m sure readers are aware by now, is my second husband.
When we married in 2001 and he came to live in Stockwood I thought he wouldn’t know anyone.
Derek was living in South Gloucestshire when I met him and yet, to my surprise, he seemed to know more people in the neighbourhood than I did.
And that was despite me doing the school run with Julie.
The reason was that Derek had been born in Kingsdown, a very close community.
He and his first wife, Dorothy, had organised school re - unions which were attended by up to three hundred people.
Quite a lot of those friends now live in Stockwood and, as he always says, what goes around comes around.
Stockwood is a lovely place to live.
Our church, Christ the Servant, is well attended and there are lots of activities in the church hall where Derek and I play short mat bowls twice a week.
We are everlastingly grateful to our friends, both at church and at bowls, for the loving and generous support they gave me when my daughter died without which I could not have coped.
Julie’s friends still keep in touch - especially lovely Rachel who did her hair right up to the end and who now does her best to keep me looking good too.
As we supped our wine and nibbled the lovely food provided by Sheila, our hostess, we wished we could have included Gordon Brown in our little number – or at least one of our MPs - because we certainly put the world to rights.
Although none of us would venture into town or to a pub on such a cold night, the first thing we would do is to abolish 24 hour drinking because the idea obviously isn’t working.
In spite of our advanced ages we can’t think of a time when drunkeness was more prevalent.
It is also sad to think of the poor and homeless, or indeed any one who doesn’t have a warm house or warm bed at night.
Most of our so called “disposable” income this year will no doubt go on keeping warm, so we would give all our pensioners a huge rise.
And if they had a moat we would give them “expenses” to look after that too.
Although I hate to think of my grandsons being bullied by a nasty Sergeant, or indeed by anyone, we would also bring back National Service.
Our men, after all, are such splendid examples.
Derek, like my first husband, did his National Service from January 1949 on.
He caused us much laughter when he confided that throughout it all he managed to avoid wearing army boots.
It appears that reported sick to the Medical Officer saying he had flat feet and without further ado it went on his army record.
Even when he was in the Terratorial Army (TA)) he was allowed to wear shoes.
He must have been very devious to have got away with it.
On a lighter note Derek will be eighty this October and since we are both prudent people we are agonising over how to spend the magnificent sum of 25p a week awarded to those who attain this great age.
I have asked several MP for suggestions but am still awaiting replies.
When this sum was awarded in 1971 a pint of beer cost approximately 15p a pint and a pound of Cheddar cheese 25p so it was actually worth having.
Ah, hang on a moment - it will not actually be 25p since he will have to pay tax on it.
As I wrote this feature the country is pretty much frozen and I’m thinking back to days gone when we used to have coal fires.
Do you remember when we used to throw the ashes over the foot paths, and put down salt?
Well, we don’t have ashes any more but we still do have good neighbours.
Thanks to Carol (who Julie and her second husband used to live next door to) for her kindness in knocking at the doors of all her elderly neighbours to see if they wanted shopping and to warn them not to go out.
See you then. Take care, Marion.
Next week: How it meet my lovely husband
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