Strange this has brought back very happy memories of Christmas.
Used to go with sister mum & dad to Hull from dreary London. Hull dreary, poor old bomb Hull what a mess, as they come with snow & ice & immediately after WW11. But I loved it. For those who know Hull I kicked my first football in East Park.
But the memory of Christmas morning warm & comfortable in bed in my own little room. I listened as the Grand Mother Clock in the living room chimed 5 o clock then the quarters then six then seven etc.
I then carefully silently, not to awake others, crept down stairs. It was an old terraced house with a very cold outside loo where you scrapped away the snow to open the door. Strange but the coal store was in the scullery/kitchen. All those things embedded after all those years.
There in the living room sat my maternal grandfather in his favourite chair in the corner, a Shetlander, dear old Sandy. Thin with white hair he had the fire, part of the built in cooker range, cracking away. The room yet to warm up but just a lovely feeling of being wanted & satisfaction. Grandad cut a thick slice of bread hooked it onto the toasting fork & I at about 7 or 8 years old toasted my own bread in front of that hot fire. Buttered it & ate it just Grandad & I as he sat there, with a smile on his face puffing away on his condor baccy filled pipe, with me his grandson tucking into this succulent piece of well buttered toast.
How is that for a Christmas Morning.
Laurie
