Part Two

We always had a cat and a budgie. The budgie lived in a cage on top of the old utility sideboard. The budgie was called Peter and he was always given time to fly around the room. My dad taught the budgie to say 'Pretty Patricia' (blushes with embarrassment) apparently, when I was a baby. I was too small to remember that (thank goodness)! We did have several budgies actually, as one died mum would buy another; they were all blue and all called Peter. Ha, ha. Mum took good care of the budgies and they were given seed and water, cuttlefish and sprays of millet. I have always loved budgies, they are happy, vibrant, beautiful birds.

I can remember the day the first budgie died. He'd died one morning and was dead by the time I got back from school for lunch at home. I cried and cried and didn't want to go back to school for the afternoon, but my mother persuaded me. She said it would take my mind off of it if I did.

My tortoiseshell cat (which we call a 'tabby' cat) was Timmy and I loved the bones of him. He never scratched and was so gentle, even his face looked like he was smiling. I spent a lot of time with my cat. He was very special, I was broken hearted when he died in my teens. No cat we had afterwards was special like him. He spoiled me for any other. He used to sit with his chin resting on the top rung of a dining chair, his tummy along the inside of it and his feet sticking out at the bottom. It always looked very funny, but I think he was very clever. He must have had the most kisses of all the cats in the world!

Holidays

There wasn't much money around when I was small, although by the standards of the day we weren't poor. My dad always ran a car and we always had a week's holiday every year in a caravan; mum and dad, me and my sister. How the four of us fitted into that tiny caravan, I shall never know! Caravans were quite primitive then too. There was no running water, water was fetched in a large container from a tap in the field. The lights were gas fed from a cannister and lit by a match. That felt very primitive as we had electricity at home.  The caravan was just big enough for a pull down double bed and two bunks which doubled as seats for a table.  There was just a very small kitchen sink and cooker.  The toilet was in a funny little hut out on the sand!

We usually went to Brean for our holidays, which was then a very desolate place, just a few caravans in a field near the sand dunes. I expect it looks very different now. There is a photograph of a naked Patricia sitting on the caravan step in her sisters over-large knickers (I had wet my own too often. I must say here, that I was under two years old. Ha, ha). In my hand is a lovely ice cream, which by the looks of it, I was really enjoying. It was a very hot day if I remember rightly. We always came back from those holidays really tanned and healthy looking.  We always had a holiday the last week of the school term in the summer.  I can't remember us using sun tan lotion at all. We had olive coloured skin and didn't usually burn.

We had lovely summers back then. June was called 'Flaming June' as it was generally a heat wave month with temperatures much hotter than any other month of the year. My mother suffered from asthma caused by hay fever and spent a lot of June confined to her bed, struggling for breath. I thought she would die and it really scared me. This happened every summer. It was awful to watch her suffer. There were no inhalers in those days to help people breathe and it felt as if she was suffering unnecessarily to me. She used to make up a grey looking thing which she called a 'poultice' which was wet and hot to help give her some relief. She placed this awful thing on her chest. I can't imagine anyone doing that now. We've come a long way since then I am happy to say. However, my mother came through it all and lived until she was 84 years old, which was really surprising and she outlived my dad by three years.

To Be Continued....