TASHY DID - A LIFE
Hey kids, grand-kids, and any other nosey people who are reading these pages, this is for you to read now or sometime in the future. It may tell you a little
about how life was 60 or so years ago and rather more about me. Why am I doing it?
In the years after my father's death, way back in 1981, I kept thinking of things I wished I'd talked to him about. After my mother's death, just over
thirteen years later, there was less of a knowledge-vacuum because mother talked more about her past.
Just recently, my daughter and I unearthed my mother's diaries which went back to 1929, when she was just 13 years old. This reminded me of the 1998
incident with my 6 year old and I decided to put down here the story of my life so my children and grandchildren could, if they wished, read about what I had done. I would use my
memory and those diaries to build a picture from 1949 to the present day and add some personal observations.
So, here we go. Each week we will have a new year with preceding weeks being archived. In the first few years, as I will have less to say, probably, I will
add some info about your grandparents and their parents.
1967
Life really was becoming less stressed now. I started the year in the lower sixth form, although as UCS was different this was called transitus, and finished in the sixth form. Unlike every other boy in every other sixth form I did not, around about November time, complete an UCCA form. I had no desire to go to university and, although this broke a tradition in father’s family which encompassed him, his two sister’s and his niece and nephew (and unknown to me my half-sister), he didn’t try to make me change my mind. I will admit that at the time I had no idea which career I wished to pursue except that of a racing driver.
At home I was the family driver. Grandpa had finally run out of money in 1963 and been forced to move from his hotel to an old people’s home in Finchley. He would go over to dinner most Sunday’s with his other daughter, they had now patched up their quarrel, and then on to tea with us. It was my job to take him home, usually with mother. Grandpa would sit in the front with me, would settle in, no seatbelts of course, and then get out his fob watch and look at the time. On arrival at the old people’s home he would take the watch out again, say something like 21 minutes and, if it was a bit faster than last time, give me a quick wink.
Early in the year he suffered a heart attack and again I would take mother to the hospital most nights after school. Later in the year her best friend’s mother was in hospital and, as her friend’s husband was a traveller (commercial not gypsy), I was again on driving duty. On one of those occasion I had one of only 3 incidents/accidents, so far, in my 50 year driving career, or at least those for which I was responsible. We were sitting at a junction waiting to turn left with a car in front. I kept my eyes right and saw a gap in the traffic. The gap passed and, still looking right, I spotted another, I waited until it was there and gently moved forward. Unfortunately, the guy in front had not agreed with me about the first gap being big enough for him to go and I lightly, at about 10mph, touched his rear, if I can say that. He stopped, I stopped and before anyone could do anything, mother leapt from the car, said sorry and told him she was driving. Whilst her parental efforts to protect me may be laudable, the fact that I was still sitting behind the wheel may have ridiculed these efforts. In the end we all agreed no damage had been caused and we both went on our way.
During the summer months it would appear that I did not return from school on games evenings till well past 6.30. I so loved my cricket. By now I was a junior member of the 3rd eleven but never got a game that year. It was also a time when I had my only meeting, within the school, with the Head. It was late June or early July, we had a free period, Roger Taylor was playing Wilhelm Bungert in the Wimbledon semi-finals and someone lived about 200 yards up the road. About ten of us left the school at one-ish and watched a bit of the match before returning in time for our 2.45pm lesson. Sadly, while sixth formers could leave the school at lunch time, lunch time finished at 2.05pm, and it is difficult to disguise a group of people entering through the gates. But this was a sensible school with an intelligent Head. We were called to his study and were admonished. No stupid telling off just an explanation that, in the event of a fire, the school needed to know who was and wasn’t on the premises in lessons times. I even got the impression that there was a hint that if we had asked, he would have said “yes”.
At the end of the summer term the family set off again for Norfolk and the annual summer holiday. This time it coincided with my 18th birthday. Our host made me a really beautiful cake and we had a great party in the evening in their garden. Halfway through mother came up to me and said that it was nicest cake she had eaten for years. Wasn’t our host wonderful? A minute or so later, things clicked and I had to point out to mother that the reason it was so nice was because, on her gluten-free diet, she shouldn’t be eating this cake. Luckily, there were no side effects.
My last year at school began in the September and it would now appear that I had even become a chauffeur for some fellow pupils or, maybe, in view of his later life, a roadie. I lived quite close to a guy called Julian Diggle and we would often come home on the train together. He was younger than me, and a little bit more talented musically. He played drums and had been asked to play in a group which had been put together by a guy who lived over in Mill Hill. The question was how to transport his drums to rehearsals and sometimes, when no one else was available, he would ask me. I was happy to oblige as it gave me a chance to drive even more.
By the end of September, I was using the car to go to school on some days; it saved on a rail ticket. It was also at this time that I represented my school at sport for the first time. It was only in the 3rdXV at rugby but I was very happy. I played centre all season but, and I mention no names here but if you read this you know who you are, we had a kicking obsessed fly half. I think I played about ten games and never scored. To finish this year with Christmas approaching, mother’s diary entry on 16 December notes that I bought a lilac shirt and corduroy jacket. I am the man who put the ish in stylish.
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