Clearing out the loft saw old memories resurface
John Rippin takes nostalgic trip down Memory Lane
FORMER Echo editor John Rippin, aged 80, and his wife, Rosemary, 74, have been debating whether to tackle a household task they have been putting off. In his seventh article since the lockdown started John also reveals how longforgotten memories have surfaced.
ROSEMARY and I had nothing much to do the other day when she suddenly said: “This is a good time for us to tackle a big job that we’ve been thinking about for ages.”
I put down the book I had been reading and asked her suspiciously: “What are you thinking of?”
Was she expecting me to climb up onto the shed roof and patch a hole in the felt that has been letting in the rain? Or was she, worse still, hoping I would redecorate the stairs and landing ready for new carpets to be fitted once the lockdown is over?
But instead she said: “Let’s clear out the loft.”
My pulse immediately started to race because the loft is jampacked with 50 years of memories – ranging from sentimental treasures to junk.
Somewhere up there is our son’s first tooth, carefully preserved in tissue paper. Then there is the pram that not only served our three children but our grandson as well.
There are enough old clothes and books to fill a charity shop. And what about the piles of 1960s records – mainly 45s – audio cassettes and CDs?
There is a reserve collection of pictures, large and small, that might (only might) at some point take their turn on our walls. Then there’s old furniture, some of it broken, together with an assortment of suitcases, not to mention pieces of carpet.
I also stow up there my musical instruments that are not in favour at present, together with worn out PCs and laptops. And bags of soft toys rub shoulders with piles of children’s games. I could go on and on. Rosemary looked at me expectantly and, rather reluctantly, I said it was worth making an attempt to restore some order.
I opened the trapdoor, lowered the loft ladder, turned on the light and went up first. As I reached the top I knocked over a standard lamp, which caused a box of Christmas baubles to fall and scatter.
“There’s so much stuff up here that it’s hard to move,” I moaned. But I managed to find a space to stand between large storage boxes. Then I shouted “ouch!” as I hit my head on a roof beam.
“Are you all right?” Rosemary shouted.
“Do you think I’m all right when I’ve just hit my head?” I replied somewhat angrily. “I’m seeing stars.”
Rosemary appeared at the top of the ladder and asked me to move forward to make room for her.
She observed the chaos for a few moments, paused and said: “A lot of this needs to be moved to the garage, ready to be given to charity shops once the social distancing has ended. But there’s so much stuff in the garage already that there’s no room. Anyway, we both lack motivation because we’re worried about the coronavirus. We’ll have to leave it.”
We both descended onto the landing. I pushed up the foldable steps, shut the trapdoor and breathed a sigh of relief. EASING.
I had been planning to write a piece about how healthy over70s will be affected by the easing of the lockdown rules. But while carrying out research I have digested so much unclear information that I am confused.
My initial reaction had been that, like everyone else, we will benefit from the amendments. But as all of us, “regardless of medical conditions,” are viewed as clinically vulnerable, I think it is sensible for me to wait a bit before putting pen to paper.
One thing I will say is that every sensible person is hoping the easing will not lead to another spike in Covid-19 cases. That might result in even stricter rules than the original ones. FLASHBACKS.
Over the past two months I have let my mind wander a lot, particularly when sitting in the back garden on sunny days. It is funny what memories can come to the surface when you are half awake.
The other day I recalled for the first time hearing a broadcast by the notorious Lord Haw-Haw when I was aged four or five.
Lord Haw-Haw was the nickname of an American-born politician, William Joyce, who broadcast Nazi propaganda to Britain from Germany during World War Two
I have heard many references to him over the years. But, amazingly, I had completely forgotten about hearing one of his broadcasts. Now I can remember sitting in front of a radiogram and hearing him say “Germany calling, Germany calling.” As he continued to speak my dad started laughing and shouted “that’s rubbish.”
I learnt years later that Joyce was making grossly inflated claims about losses sustained by Allied forces.
It is puzzling why I should suddenly recall the broadcast (and I believe I heard several more of them) after more than 75 years. It makes me think that everything we have ever done or heard is recorded by our subconscious.
Another vision that surfaced – this time at the start of the coronavirus crisis – was when I attended a school pal’s birthday party, held just after the end of World War Two. The boy lived only 30 yards away from my own house.
When I arrived I saw there was plenty of food and a variety of soft drinks. My mouth started to water. There was just one problem. No grown-ups were present to supervise a roomful of small boys aged from four to seven.
Everything went well for a while. We all tucked into the food and downed the drinks. Afterwards games were played and the atmosphere remained friendly. Then, out of the blue, a massive falling out erupted. There was lots of screaming, pinching, slapping, punching and scratching. One unfortunate child was bitten on his arms.
The remaining food was thrown all over the place. Jelly was stuck to the walls and sandwiches were trodden into the carpet. After a few minutes of this bedlam I beat a hasty treat. I had deep scratches on my hands, together with a few bruises.
As was the case with Lord Haw-Haw’s broadcasts, my recollection of the party had been buried deep in my subconscious. How much else is lurking there ready to surprise me?